Case One, Chapter One: Welcome to Ponyville

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She lay on the cot in her cell, staring out the barred window. The sun winked at her through the bars, half-hidden behind the growing clouds. For her first four months here, she had struggled to remember how the fresh air had tasted, far above the earth where the clouds hovered, but the memory had faded away over time. The cold, unforgiving stone that formed Frostback Prison had quickly filled her entire world.

But now, on the day she was to be released, the ghost of the sweet, familiar taste was dancing on her tongue. It almost made her smile.

A clattering caused her to look up. Two guards, adorned in black uniforms marked with silver badges on their breasts, were standing outside her cell door, their expressions grim beneath the sharp peaks of their caps.

She climbed up off the cot and watched as the guards opened the door with a squeak of hinges and stepped inside. The two of them leered at her. She coolly stared back at them.

“So, today’s the big day, huh, convict?” the tall, broad-shouldered blue unicorn sneered at her. He kept a tight grip on the handle of the black baton on his belt.

“I know you’ll miss me,” she replied with a very pleasant smile, sarcasm and acid dripping off of every syllable. “But don’t be too sad. You’ve got the rest of the prisoners to keep you company.”

“We’ll keep the cell warm for you,” the guard growled, then grasped her right foreleg and held it up. She tried to resist looking down, but couldn’t.

The mark branded into her hoof was still there, staring back at her. A twisted set of lines formed the crude shape of a ring of keys, forever burned into her skin.

“It’s not like you have anywhere else to go, thief,” the unicorn grunted, releasing her. She bit back a curse, glaring at him.

The two guards turned and led their prisoner out of the cell and through the common area of the cell block. The other mares in their gray coveralls let out a raucous burst of cheers, catcalls, and final taunts as she walked, head held high, through the door of the cell block. Just as the steel door closed behind her, she heard the unit officer barking out an order for quiet and grinned as she walked up the hallway, escorted by the two guards.

They walked up to a steel door that buzzed open to let them into the receiving area where new and released inmates were processed. Another guard waited behind a desk, carrying a small box. He was a thestral with a dusky purple coat, a snow white mane and blue eyes and the cutie mark of a wooden signpost. He was wearing the same black uniform as the other guards but had removed his cap to expose his face.

“Thanks, guys,” he said to the two guards guiding the mare. “I can take her from here.”

The guards hesitated for a moment, then stepped back and allowed the mare to step forward.

“Today’s the day,” Officer Gentle Guide smiled at her as she approached. He pulled out a clipboard and held it up for her. “Just sign for your stuff here and you can start your new life outside.”

“Don’t give her false hope, Guide,” the unicorn grunted.

Gentle Guide didn’t answer, choosing to hand over the box as the mare signed for her things. She opened up the box and checked its contents. She hadn’t been carrying much when she’d turned herself in: her keys, some bits, a notebook and collection of pens, a lighter, a silver bracelet chain with a single blue gem, and of course, her trademark dark green cargo shirt. She quickly scanned through the inventory and was satisfied to find that nothing had been tampered with.

“Where to after this?” Guide asked the mare, adding his own signature to the papers.

“I’m staying here,” she replied, counting out the bits in the sack to make sure that none had been “misplaced.” She nodded in satisfaction, then started to put the bits back in the bag, subtly checking the hidden pocket within. The tools within were still safely packed inside and she felt her smirk grow for a moment. “For better or for worse, this is my home.”

Gentle Guide coughed quietly and held something else out to her. The mare blinked and reached out to take the small white card that he was holding out. It was a business card, with a name and address typewritten on it.

“Look, I know it’s going to be hard out there,” Guide said in a quiet tone. “Especially for...for somepony like you.”

The mare's violet eyes narrowed, but she didn’t reply.

“But...listen, this is a friend of mine. He’s been thinking of taking in a partner, and I really think that he could help you put your skills to good use,” Guide continued. “So...just, think about it, all right?”

The mare was silent for several moments, turning the card over and over in her hoof, then nodded. “Thanks for the tip,” she said.

Gentle Guide smiled. “Well, we can’t have you going out into the free world dressed like that, now can we?” he asked, holding out a small key. She held up her foreleg, staring at the gray metallic bracelet that had been locked onto her on her first day. Guide unlocked the bracelet and it clattered onto the desk.

Removing the itchy dark gray jumpsuit was a great relief; she felt as though she was shedding a great weight that she had been bearing for a year, and once it was finally off, she was able to breathe again. Tossing the jumpsuit into a waiting laundry basket, she took the cargo shirt out of the box and pulled it on. The familiar, comfortable fabric embraced her like an old friend. She pocketed the rest of her stuff and turned towards the waiting doors.

“Don’t forget the card!” Guide called.

She paused, then plucked the card off the table and pocketed it.

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you, convict,” the unicorn growled at her as she turned towards the sally port.

“I knew you couldn’t resist this flank,” she shot back, giving the guard a disdainful flick of her tail as she entered the first set of doors. As soon as the door closed behind her, she closed her eyes and took in a slow, deep breath.

Never let them see when they get to you.

The exterior doors opened and she stepped out of the sally port into the front yard of Frostback Prison. A narrow concrete pathway lined with chain-link fences topped with barbed wire lead to a wide set of iron gates, set in a tall brick wall with spikes along the top. Two watchtowers stood at the corners; she knew that inside each of them was a pair of guards equipped with rifles. More guards stood around the yard, watching the inmates milling about the yard. Every eye turned to track her quick walk forward, some with jealousy, others with suspicion. A light rain fell from the sky, the drops caressing her skin.

Two guards stood before the iron gates: all that stood between her and freedom. She paused in front of them. They stared back at her.

“Well?” she asked impatiently, raising an eyebrow.

The guards stood silent for a moment more, then one of them turned and unlocked the door, pushing it open for her.

“Such a gentlepony,” she smiled at him as she stepped outside. The dirt road crunched beneath her hooves, and the trees that lined the road whispered in the wind as she started walking forward. The door closed behind her with a great slam. Nothing in the world had ever sounded so sweet as that.

The prisoner continued to walk eastwards down the road. Nopony was around except for her. Once she was about a mile out, she paused. A smile spread across her face and she closed her eyes. She opened her mouth slightly, allowing the wind to caress her tongue, clean, warm, and tasting of pine. She spread her wings out to the sides: now that the magic-inhibiting bracelet was removed, and she was beyond the boundaries of the anti-flight spells, she was finally aware of the soft tingles of flight magic spreading from her core all the way up to the tips of her feathers. The wind danced through her grayscale mane and blew through her feathers, trying to lift her up. The rain continued to fall, the water sliding off her feathers and onto the ground.

With a laugh, she flapped powerfully, lifting up off the ground and into the sky. Exhilaration flooded her being, and the reality of her situation suddenly sunk in: she was free! With another flap, she took off, chasing after the sunlight.

Before long, the only sign that she had ever been an inmate at Frostback Prison was a soon-to-be laundered jumpsuit and a signature on a piece of paper:

Daring Do.

Ponyville was once just a small village just south of Canterlot, a farming community on the edge of the Everfree Forest, bordered on the south by the Maresippi River. But that was long ago, before the industry boom.

Now, the city was a giant mismatch of wood, concrete, and brick surrounded by farmlands to the north, dense forests to the east, and icy water to the south; a sprawling complex where four hundred thousand ponies lived, worked, played, and died. And for Daring Do, it was home.

She sat in the back of the trolley, the vehicle shivering and clattering as it climbed up Rosebud Avenue. Familiar sights flowed past her: the Flower Sisters’ shop was still there, right next to Carrot Top’s farmer’s market. But so much had changed during her year inside: the gym she used to go to had been torn down, and her favorite pizza place had been replaced by some offices. Ponies, griffons, thestrals, and donkeys walked quickly along the sidewalk, many of them holding up umbrellas or other makeshift shields to protect them from the continuing rain.

The trolley bell rang to signal that they were approaching a stop at an intersection. A three-story red brick building stood on the corner of Rosebud and Oakfield, its greasy windows reflecting the sunlight. Sighing, Daring stood up and joined the other disembarking passengers, climbing off the trolley and onto the cobbled sidewalk. She instinctively did a mental scan of the area, reaching out with her senses to identify any potential threats.

She quickly spotted one. A metal pole stood on the corner of the sidewalk. Two white cylindrical metal tubes sat on top of the pole, shaped like short telescopes with crystalline blue lenses and a box on the end. Each of them was pointed so that they were looking up the two sidewalk paths. Daring scowled and instinctively kept her head lowered so as not to expose her face to the surveillance crystals as she walked up to the door and pushed it open.

The lobby was small and dingy as ever, and the flickering lightbulb still hadn’t been replaced. Daring climbed up the stairs to the third floor and started walking down the hallway. She paused in front of the door for apartment 12. “Home sweet home,” she muttered to herself, plucking her keys from her pocket, selecting the apartment key, and inserting it into the lock.

But the key wouldn’t fit. Daring grunted in confusion and tried again, but the key refused to fit into the lock.

“I knew you’d come back here,” a voice snarled from behind her. Daring let out a slow breath and turned around. A wizened old gray burro was stomping up the hallway towards her, her silvery-blue eyes flashing dangerously from behind her glasses.

“Abigail,” Daring said through her teeth. “I’d say that I missed you while I was in, but I’d be lying.”

“Well, I didn’t miss you,” her landlady huffed, pausing in front of her. “A thief like you isn’t welcome in my apartments. And you won’t be welcome in any other apartments around here. I’ve already seen to that.”

“Like you saw to changing the locks on my door,” Daring added, scowling. “At least let me in so I can get my stuff and leave.”

Abigail gave her a very nasty grin. “You don’t have any stuff. I sold it all when you went to prison.”

Daring’s anger flared at her words, and she took a step forward, her eyes narrowing. Abigail took a nervous step back, her bravado wavering. “You just got out,” she snarled, trying to hide the fact that she was trembling. “You can’t be that eager to go back in.”

Daring paused, hissing in a breath. Then she snapped the apartment key off her ring and flung it at the floor at Abigail’s hooves. “Go fuck yourself,” she snarled and stormed out of the apartment, climbing back down the stairs and shoving the door open. The cold rain embraced her and she shivered, pulling the collar of her shirt up.

“Fuck,” she snarled to herself. She turned around and kicked out at the brick wall. Her hoof cracked the stone, sending fragments flying. “Fuck!” she shouted throatily.

A passing couple stopped to stare, looking at her like she was a bad-tempered rattlesnake that had gotten out of its cage. She huffed and glared at them, and the ponies hurried away. Daring leaned against the wall, breathing heavily until her heart rate settled and she stopped imagining that she was strangling Abigail.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of how long it had been since she’d eaten; plus, she really needed a smoke. Fortunately, the corner deli was still just across the street; she could find something worth eating there while she planned out her next move.

The owner of the deli was behind the counter when she entered. He was a unicorn with a coat the color of fresh bread and tomato red hair, his stomach rounded by years of too much zeppole. His blue eyes widened with recognition when he saw Daring enter.

Daring’s eyes went down to the stack of newspapers in front of the counter. Her own face stared back at her from the front page of the Free Foal Press, underneath the secondary headline: “Turncoat Thief to be Released Today.”

Daring was aware that the other patrons in the deli were all looking at her. A murmuring like the buzzing of angry bees was growing in her ears. She plastered a fake grin onto her face and pulled the paper up. “You see this, Subs? I’m a celebrity now. In fact, I’m surprised you’re not throwing me a ticker tape parade right now.”

“What do you want?” Ciabatta Submarine asked in a cold tone.

The fake grin instantly vanished. Daring slapped the paper down, along with a pack of Blue Camel cigarettes and a jug of milk. “This, plus an apple and a grilled vegetable sub.”

Ciabatta reached behind the counter and retrieved a submarine sandwich wrapped in a white napkin, tossing it onto the counter. Daring dropped some bits onto the table, took her lunch, and turned away, aware of the continuing angry buzzing in her wake.

Fortunately, the rain was easing up as she exited. She strolled over to a sidewalk bench and sat down upon it, setting her purchases down next to her. First things first: she took out the pack of cigarettes, plucked one out and placed it into her mouth. Flicking open the lighter, she lit the cigarette and took a deep suck. The familiar taste of mint and nicotine went a long way to settling her nerves; she exhaled slowly, blowing a small cloud of smoke into the air.

She puffed on the cigarette until there was nothing left to puff, then flicked it aside and turned to her sandwich and milk and started studying the newspaper. Her release wasn’t the top story for the day: that honor went to Mayor Margaret Mare’s preparing for her reelection run as mayor of Ponyville next year, replete with promises to rejuvenate the economy and combat the crime rates.

“Same shit, different day,” Daring muttered to herself, turning the page and scanning the rest of the paper. A brief article about some unusual suicides being investigated by the local police caught her eye, but she passed it over. She paused to study the weather patterns for the week: it would be raining on and off all day and tomorrow, but the rest of the week would be clear.

She finished the paper at the same time that she finished her sandwich. Wiping off her face with the napkin, she settled back onto the bench, lighting a fresh cigarette. Her thoughts turned to planning out her next move.

The acid in her stomach bubbled up as she remembered how everypony in that deli had glared at her when she entered. She glanced down at her hoof again. The brand was still there, mocking her. In their eyes—in the eyes of everypony in this city—she was a thief and a killer, and would never be anything more than a thief and a killer.

So if that’s what they wanted, then maybe she should just go back to being a thief…

The wind danced beneath her wings, and she shook herself out of that thinking. No. She hadn’t spent a year behind bars just to end up back there. Fuck them all: she’d prove them wrong.

But her spirits sank as fast as they rose. Who would employ her? For a moment, she tried to imagine herself working at some menial job: a cashier at a grocery store or a delivery pony. The mental image made her stomach twist in revulsion.

She suddenly remembered the card that Officer Guide had given her. She plucked it out of her pocket and studied it.

Phillip Finder, Private Detective
No Adultery, Divorce or Family Dispute Cases
221 Honeybee Bakery Street, Ponyville

She contemplated her options while sucking down on another cigarette. A PI might not have been her first choice, but it would certainly be better than bagging groceries for a living.

With a grunt, she lifted herself up off the bench, tucking the newspaper under her foreleg—she’d want to get to the crossword later—and picking up the apple. But before she could take off, she spotted a small foal sitting against the wall of the building next to her, hunched over and shivering against the cold. The small earth pony was painfully skinny, his mud-stained coat clinging to his bones. A small pan sat next to the colt, a few coins sitting in the bottom of it.

With a small sigh, Daring dropped her apple into the pan. The colt looked up at her and gave her a grateful smile. She nodded back and took off into the sky, heading towards Honeybee Bakery Street. She flew at a leisurely pace over the city, lighting up her third cigarette to keep her nerve steady as she glided over the city.

Honeybee Bakery Street was a wide paved road in the middle of the city, branching off from the central plaza where City Hall and the Ponyville Police Department stood. Daring located Number 221 fairly quickly. It was a two-story blue cottage, small and unassuming amidst the other houses; the few ponies on the streets passed it by without a second look. The only thing that made it stand out was the sign over the door: a magnifying glass surrounded by the words “Phillip Finder: Private Detective.”

Daring landed in front of the cottage. She walked up and rang the doorbell, taking a final drag on her cigarette before flicking it away. She took in a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

A few seconds later, the door opened and she found herself face to face with a reddish-brown earth pony stallion. He looked to be in his later thirties, about the same age as her. His midnight black mane was long and untidy, the bangs hanging down over his stormcloud gray eyes; accents of silver ran through the black hair. He wore a pale gray short-sleeved shirt. His magnifying glass cutie mark matched the sign on the door.

“G’day,” he greeted her in a low, slow voice tinged with an Aushaylian accent. His eyes quickly scanned her over before settling on her eyes. “You’re Daring Do,” he observed.

She forced herself not to scowl. World’s greatest detective right here.

“I guess you saw my picture in the paper,” she said.

“Yes,” the stallion replied and held out his hoof. “I’m Phillip Finder. Officer Guide called ahead, said you might be coming in.”

Daring paused, blinking in surprise. There was no suspicion in his voice, no rudeness or anger. The tone of genuine respect was almost alien to her.

She reached out and shook his hoof. His grip was firm, but not hard: confident, with no sign of a need to assert dominance.

“C’mon in,” he said, stepping aside and allowing her to enter. She followed him inside, closing the door behind her. A coat rack stood next to the door: hanging upon it was a dark green fishing vest covered in pockets and a dark gray trilby with a black band. They walked down the short hallway to the sitting room.

The room was fairly spacious, with a pair of old couches sitting in front of a set of wide windows that currently displayed a wide view of the rainy street in the back of the cottage. A coffee table stood between the couches and a long, pale green sofa: a chess table, a book of chess openings, and a lime green bowler hat sat on the table. A great bookshelf leaned against the wall to the left, packed almost to bursting with books. Daring studied the titles. There was a smattering of fiction, mostly classics—The Count of Mare Cristo had a bookmark in it—but most of the books appeared to be science textbooks, covering virtually every subject under the sun. An entire shelf was devoted to criminology and forensics; another carried several notebooks. An old but highly polished saxophone sat next to the sofa.

On the far wall was a table covered in beakers, test tubes, bottles, and other chemistry equipment: a flask filled with a pale yellow liquid, an open notebook littered with tiny hoofwriting and a bunsen burner sat in the center of the table. On the floor next to the table was a record player, with a stack of records next to it—mostly jazz and blues, Daring noted. A hallway led to a combination kitchen and dining room.

“So how do you know Guide?” Daring asked, taking in the room.

“I solved a case for him a while back,” Phillip replied, picking up the bowler hat and turning it over in his hooves. “His father was charged with murder.”

“And you got him off?” Daring asked.

“No,” Phillip replied. “I proved that he was a serial killer and got him sent to Clovenworth.” He tossed the hat over to Daring, who snatched it out of the air without flinching. “Nice reflexes,” he nodded. “Tell me about that hat.”

Daring raised an eyebrow and studied the hat. The lime green coloring clashed horribly with the light brown band. “It’s an ugly hat, that’s for sure,” she commented.

The corner of Phillip’s mouth twitched upwards. “It was left by a client who came in while I was out a few minutes ago. What can you tell me about him?”

Still unsure what she was supposed to be looking for, Daring started studying the hat more closely. A label on the inside read “Orange Slice.” Pale red-orange hairs clung to the interior of the hat. There was a small tear on the top of the hat, and marks on the back of the brim. The hat was stained wet from the rain.

“Um…” Daring muttered. “Well, it’s owned by some guy named Orange Slice. He has reddish-orange hair, looks like he’s balding from the amount of hair in here. It’s an old hat; there’s a tear in the hat here, so he doesn’t really care about repairing the hat—or about keeping it, so he’s not sentimental.” She tossed the hat back to Phillip. “Is this a test or something?”

“Learning opportunity,” Phillip replied, walking over and holding the hat up. “Mr. Slice isn’t balding, he recently had a haircut. Notice the smooth lines on the hairs here. He’s out of shape, too: the interior of the hat is covered in sweat, even though it's almost fall and it's been cool for a week. These marks on the back of the brim are teeth marks; he’s picking the hat up with his mouth, which means he’s not a unicorn. And he's got crooked incisors, too.

"This loose gap in this band means that he held something in it: probably matches, which means he’s a smoker. And see these patches?” He pointed to a set of three patches on the hat. “He’s had this repaired thrice within...hmm, a couple years, yet neglects this obvious tear. Those repairs probably cost more than the hat did, so this meant something to him once, but now he doesn’t care about it.” He set the hat down. “Mr. Slice was rich at one point—this hat would’ve been fairly expensive when it was in fashion fifteen years ago—but he’s lost most of his money.”

Daring blinked at Phillip several times. “You can tell all of that from a hat?” she asked.

“Fair dinkum,” Phillip replied. “All it takes is a close eye for detail and plenty of practice.” He glanced at his cutie marks. “Suppose I’ve got a bit of an advantage, though.”

Daring stared at him for a while longer, then nodded. “Impressive.”

Phillip cocked his head. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Daring said. “You did miss something, though.”

“What?” Phillip asked.

Daring smirked. “He’s obviously not very social,” she said. “You think anypony wearing a hat like that would go out in public often?”

Phillip blinked once, then a small grin flickered across his mouth.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. “That’s probably our bloke now,” Phillip said, returning to seriousness. “Take a seat, Daring. It’s time to get to work.”

Case One, Chapter Two: On the Job Training

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Phillip turned and exited the room, retreating back up the hallway to the front door. Daring slowly sank into one of the couches, her head spinning. Had she really been hired that easily?

The door opened and there was some muffled conversation, then the sound of hoofsteps. Phillip reappeared, followed by Orange Slice. He was an older, portly earth pony with a yellow coat and reddish-orange hair; as Phillip had predicted, it was cut short. He was wearing a faded brown jacket and had the cutie mark of a plate holding an orange that had been sliced in half. Daring quickly noted the pack of Frosty cigarettes in his jacket pocket.

“Sit here, sir,” Phillip told his guest, gesturing him into the sofa. He took the chair next to Daring and sat down. Orange Slice glanced at Daring, then slowly lowered himself onto the sofa, licking his lips. Daring noticed his crooked incisors.

“They said I shouldn’t have come here,” he said in a low, throaty voice; the smoking must have done its damage on his vocal cords long ago. “But I have to be sure.”

Phillip interrupted him with a raised hoof. “Start from the beginning,” he said calmly.

Orange Slice sighed and rubbed the back of his mane, staring at the floor in front of his hooves. His hoof twitched towards the pocket with the cigarettes. “It’s my daughter, Scribbled Note,” he explained. “She’s dead. The police are saying that it’s a suicide, but I know it can’t be. Not my daughter.” His lips quivered and he shook his head. “Not my daughter.”

Phillip paused for a moment, his face expressionless, then leaned forward. “Just tell me what happened, sir,” he said in a gentler tone.

Orange Slice took a slow, shaky breath, wiping his face with a hoof, then started speaking. “Scribbled was supposed to take a day off from work this morning; she’d been trying for months now. She just wanted to spend some time with me.” His lips quivered for a moment and he had to take a deep breath before continuing.

“The morning started out perfectly fine; we slept in late, went out for breakfast at the pancake house down the street. Then we went down to the Battery Park and fed the ducks…”

Orange Slice continued his story, describing the morning’s activities, before finally getting to their return home. Phillip and Daring both listened in silence.

“It had been a wonderful day, but then when we got home, it all changed,” Orange Slice said, rubbing his hooves together. “After we had lunch, she went upstairs, saying she needed to take care of something. I heard her typing for a long time in her room, then it went quiet. I went up to check on her, and…” He swallowed and took a shaky breath, his eyes shining with tears. “...and she was hanging there. She...there was nothing I could do.”

Phillip was silent for a few seconds, then asked quietly, “She was completely fine before this? No signs of depression?”

“None!” Orange declared, looking up for the first time. “Everything was perfectly all right before this!” He lowered his face into his hooves, then whispered, “Scribbled wouldn’t kill herself. Not my daughter.”

Phillip was quiet for several seconds, then asked, “What was she doing before she went upstairs?”

Orange Slice shrugged. “Well, she was reading the newspaper while having lunch.” He swallowed and looked up, his expression as desperate as a pony sliding into icy water.

“Please, detective,” he begged. “Will you come and help?”

Phillip leaned forward and laid a hoof on Orange Slice’s knee. “I will,” he replied, standing up. “Daring, you coming?” he asked.

Daring blinked. “Are...are you sure?”

“You’re my partner, aren’t you?” Phillip replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Daring cocked her head to the side. “Am I?”

“...yes,” Phillip said slowly.

Daring raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“Not quite,” Phillip replied. “Need to see what you’re capable of. You coming?”

Daring thought for a few moments. It’s either this or working retail.

“Sure,” she shrugged.

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded. “Lead the way, mate.”

Looking immensely relieved, Orange Slice stood up and started down the hallway. Phillip followed, retrieving the hat and vest from the coat rack and donning them as he exited. Daring exited after them.

“It’s not far from here,” Orange Slice declared, starting up the street. Daring and Phillip silently followed, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

The house wasn’t hard to identify: the two-story light brown cottage with the open porch that stood at the side of the road still had a pair of black and white cruisers sitting on the curb in front of it, and a yellow and black “CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS” tape was stretched across the front door. Two officers stood sentry in front of the porch steps, watching for any unwanted visitors.

The trio approached the house. One of the officers, a turquoise unicorn with a red mane and bushy mustache and the cutie mark of a trio of red stars, turned towards them. His eyes narrowed.

Daring felt her pulse increase as her eyes were instinctively drawn towards the golden badge on the cop’s chest. Her training kicked in, and she began considering her options, determining the best routes that would allow her to quickly slip out of sight, preparing to take off into the sky, studying the cop’s posture for any sign of impending attack.

She continued walking forward, following close behind Phillip, as if she were subconsciously hoping that he would shield her with some aura of honesty and respectability. The officer glanced at her, then looked at Phillip. “This is a crime scene. No entry,” he stated gruffly. He reached one hoof subtly back towards his holster, the hoof strap attached to the weapon's grip visible over the top of the holster.

“My client has hired me to investigate the death of his daughter,” Phillip stated bluntly. “Let me in.”

“You’re not coming in, snoop,” the officer growled.

“Star Cluster? Maybe we should let him in,” the other officer said. This was a younger pegasus, with an orange coat, electric blue hair, and the cutie mark of a shield with a lightning bolt. He looked nervously back and forth between his partner and the detectives. His uniform was clean and pressed, the badge polished to a bright shine. “I mean, you do know who this is, right?” the pegasus offered.

“I know who he is, Sentry,” Officer Cluster replied curtly, not taking his eyes off of Phil. “The question is, do you?” He glared at Daring. “And what about her?”

The pegasus blinked in uncertainty. “Couldn’t we at least—?”

“Oh, joy,” another voice said. “Exactly what I needed.”

A reddish-pink pegasus with an untidy brown mane, the cutie mark of a fishing pole and a deep scowl was stepping off the porch of the house, walking towards the intruders. “Phillip Finder, come to stick his high and mighty nose into our business again,” he growled.

“Detective Herring,” Phillip replied coldly. “Of course it’d be you.”

Herring glared at Orange Slice, who fidgeted in obvious discomfort. “Didn’t I tell you that the police could handle this?” he snapped.

“B-but he can help!” Orange Slice protested.

“Right,” Herring commented. “His presence here is filling us all with confidence. Especially his new partner.” His gaze turned to Daring and focused on her like a pair of searchlights. Daring felt as though her stomach had fallen onto the floor.

“Since when were you interested in taking on convicts, Finder?” Herring asked. Orange Slice and Officer Sentry both started in surprise and turned towards Daring, realization and recognition dawning in their eyes.

White-hot anger flashed through Daring’s core; the muscles in her forelegs instinctively tightened and her heart began to pound against the inside of her skull like a heavy drum, a battering ram against the walls of her self-restraint. The brand on her right hoof began to burn, the pain inching up her foreleg; she hissed under her breath and raised her hoof off the ground in an attempt to lessen the pain.

Thief. Convict. Killer. Always.

“She’s with me,” Phillip replied, with no change in tone, as though this statement solved everything.

Daring blinked and turned to stare at Phillip. Am I?

“You’re kidding, right?” Officer Cluster snorted. “You do know what she’s done, right?”

“She’s. With. Me,” Phillip repeated icily. “And the victim’s father is my client, which means I have a legitimate interest in this case.”

Detective Herring glared at Phillip for a few seconds, then sighed. “You’re just going to sneak in here after we’re gone, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Phillip replied bluntly.

Herring grunted. “Fine. You get five minutes. Let them in.”

Scowling, Officer Cluster lifted the tape up to allow Phillip to pass beneath. He ducked beneath the tape, then paused on the other side, looking back at Daring. “You coming?”

“Uh...okay,” Daring said, following him under the tape, forcing herself not to limp on her still-burning leg. Orange Slice started to follow after him, but Officer Sentry gently stopped him, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, sir. I know this is hard, but you need to let us deal with this, all right?” he said. Orange Slice stared at him, looking as though he might protest, then nodded and retreated.

Daring and Phillip trotted up the pathway to the porch. “So, what is this?” Daring asked Phillip. “On-the-job training or something?”

“Something like that,” Phillip replied as Herring pushed the door open for them. They entered the house, the floorboards creaking beneath their hooves. A framed photograph was hanging on the wall to their left, depicting Orange Slice with a young cream-colored earth pony mare. She had a neat chocolate brown mane drawn back in a bun and bright blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. Her cutie mark was a notebook and dark brown quill. The two of them smiled welcomingly at their visitors from behind the frame. Daring’s stomach twisted at the sight.

“The vic’s room is upstairs on the right,” Herring said, jerking his head towards a flight of wooden stairs. Phillip climbed up the stairs, with Daring following behind. There were two doors on the landing, one directly in front of them, and the other down a short hallway to the right. This second door was open, with more crime scene tape stretched across it. A gray unicorn with a wispy blonde mane and a haggard face stood on the other side. He had a cutie mark of a test tube and a magnifying glass.

“Finder,” the pony said in greeting.

“Trace,” Phillip nodded.

The detective glanced at Daring but did not comment, to her immense relief. “Red gave you five minutes, right?” he said, lifting up the tape.

“Yes,” Phillip nodded.

“Then five minutes is what you two get,” Trace replied, stepping aside to allow Phillip and Daring to pass beneath.

They entered a small, tidy bedroom. The pale pink sheets on the bed were made with an almost military neatness, and the dresser pressed against the wall was dusted. Sitting on the desk was a stack of papers, an ink bottle and quill, a planner, and a framed photograph of a younger Orange Slice holding a small filly with chocolate brown pigtails.

But there was one detail that was glaringly out of place. That was the body of the mare hanging from the open closet door. A spare bedsheet that had been tightly wound into a rope was coiled around her neck and looped around the top of the door. Scribbled Note had not died recently: already there was a dark purple tinge to her hind legs, and her face was turning pale. Her purple tongue hung out of her mouth and her eyes were closed, never to open again. An overturned chair lay on the floor beneath her.

Daring flinched, hissing out an exhalation through her teeth. Phillip paused and looked back at her, raising an eyebrow. She took in a deep breath and forced herself to keep calm, stepping into the room.

Immediately, Phillip held out a hoof and stopped her. “Never step right into a crime scene without looking around first,” he instructed her.

“I did,” she protested.

“No, you glanced around, and then you focused on the body,” Phillip stated, his eyes narrowing. “Crime scenes are three-dimensional. You have to check everything in sight: the floor, the walls, the ceiling. You don’t touch anything, you don’t walk anywhere, you don’t do anything until you’ve taken stock of the entire scene.”

Daring glared at him, then sighed and began to look around more carefully. She slowly began to scan the room more carefully.

“Divide the room into three layers,” Phillip instructed. "Search from eye level and above, then eye level to knees, then knees to floor.”

Daring bit back a retort and began to sweep the room more carefully, studying the walls and ceiling more carefully. Even the ceiling was clean and dust-free: the only noticeable detail was a small air vent over the bed. Seeing nothing else that seemed unusual, she moved down to the next level. The window on the far wall was closed and latched from the inside, and there was no sign of any markings on the windowsill. The photographs and framed Pranceton University diploma on the wall held no interest to her, so she crouched and started sweeping her gaze over the floor. The only point of interest she found other than the boxes of books underneath the bed were some scuff marks leading from the desk to the closet door, apparently left behind from dragging the chair over to its position.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?” she huffed, climbing back to her hooves.

“You’re not supposed to be looking for anything,” Phillip explained, with a bite of impatience in his tone. “You’re supposed to be observing everything.” He entered the room with careful step, his eyes panning from side to side.

“Every detail, even the innocuous ones, tells a story,” he continued. “No matter what we do, we always leave a trace everywhere.”

“I know,” Daring deadpanned. “I was taught not to leave any.”

Phillip paused, blinking as though he didn’t know how to reply to that, then returned to his lecture. “Unless they’re a ghost, all ponies will leave traces everywhere they go. You just have to find those traces and learn to interpret them.”

He passed over the bed, then crouched by the scuff marks on the floor, pulling out a magnifying glass out of one of the pockets on his vest and studying the floor for a few moments. With a grunt, he stood up and turned towards the body. His eyes swept her up and down as he slowly circled her, studying her closely through the magnifying glass. Daring watched his observations with a small feeling of queasiness twisting in her gut, especially when he peeled the dead mare’s eyelids back to study her eyes, then felt underneath her jaw and began gently testing and pulling on her limbs.

“Petechiae, hyoid bone broken,” Phillip muttered, observing the knotted sheet. “No other signs of trauma. Livor mortis and rigor mortis suggests that time of death was...within four hours.”

“Agreed,” Detective Trace nodded. “There’s nothing to contradict what the father told us.”

Perhaps mistaking the look of uncertainty on Daring’s face for confusion, Phillip turned to explain. “Petechiae are these red dots in the vic’s eyes: they’re burst blood vessels. The hyoid bone is in the neck; you’ll usually find it broken in the case of hangings. Livor mortis is this purple color in the legs: it’s from gravity pulling down the blood. Rigor mortis is this stiffening of the joints.” He demonstrated by gently trying to bend Scribbled Note’s knee, but it refused to yield.

Daring nodded, licking her lips and glancing down at the pack of Blue Camel in her pocket. Just as long as I don’t have to go near the thing, we’re good.

Phillip looked around the room once more, frowning. “Wait. Something’s missing here.”

Trace Evidence and Daring both looked around the room. “What?” Trace asked.

“Her typewriter,” Phillip said. “Where’s her typewriter?” He turned to Daring. “You remember?”

Daring thought for a moment, then her eyes widened with realization. “You’re right: Slice was saying that he heard her typing.”

“He didn’t mention that,” Trace frowned, looking around. He turned and shouted down the stairs. “Hey! Did anypony find a typewriter?”

Phillip peered out the window. “Flowers below the window have been squashed,” he declared, turning and heading back down the stairs. Daring followed, with Trace Evidence on her tail. They exited out the back door and went around to the back of the house, where the flowerbed sat. Phillip crouched down before the flowerbed and briefly studied the crushed petunias, then stood up and looked around.

“Where did they take it?” he muttered to himself.

“I’ll look around,” Daring said, taking off. She hovered above the ground, her head panning from side to side. She spotted a dumpster sitting in an alleyway not far from the house and swooped down to investigate. Lifting up the top, she peered inside and was rewarded with the sight of a broken typewriter, smashed into pieces.

“Found it!” she called. The other two stallions hurried over, with Red Herring and Orange Slice sprinting up after them. Phillip studied the broken pieces, lifting them up out of the dumpster and scattering them on the floor.

“Hey! That’s evidence!” Red Herring protested.

Ignoring him, Phillip began to sort through the broken pieces, muttering to himself as he worked. “Damn,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Trace Evidence asked.

“They took the typewriter ribbon,” Phillip said, standing up. “There’s no way of knowing what she typed.”

“But why would they take the typewriter?” Red Herring asked.

“Obvious,” Phillip grunted. “Whoever killed her didn’t want us to know what she had to say.”

Orange Slice turned pale and slowly sank to the ground. Daring hesitated for a moment, then walked over to him. “Uh...you okay?” she asked.

He blinked several times, then replied to the ground. “I don’t know how I should feel,” he whispered.

Daring was faintly aware of the three stallions behind her discussing something. She hovered for a moment, then bent down and sat next to the mourning father.

“Well...don’t worry, okay?” she said slowly. “They…” She stopped herself. “We’ll find out what happened.”

Orange Slice looked up, his wet eyes hopeful. “Can you promise me that?” he asked.

Daring hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded. “I promise.”

A wide smile split Orange’s face. With a sudden motion, he lunged forward and hugged her, tears falling from his eyes. “Thank you!”

Daring froze, then awkwardly patted him on the back, silently pleading with him to let go. His tears were soaking into her coat.

Suddenly, the stallion’s voices behind her became raised. She turned around to see Phillip, Trace, and Red arguing with each other.

“Bulldust!” Phillip was saying, stamping his hoof. “You need my help on this!”

“Right, because we’re apparently so helpless that we need the great Phillip Finder to hold our hooves,” Red scoffed.

“That’s not what I—” Phillip started to say.

“This is a crime, that means it’s our responsibility,” Red snapped. “You’re not a cop anymore, Finder. You’re a private detective. That means that you don’t have any legal authority anymore.”

Trace held up a hoof in front of his partner. “We appreciate your help: you just gave us evidence that this is more than just a suicide, and we’ll look into it. But my partner’s right: there’s nothing more you can do here, and your time’s up. Time to go, Phillip.”

Phillip glowered at the detectives, then turned and walked away. He laid a comforting hoof on Orange Slice’s shoulder for a moment, then jerked his head to Daring and led her away. They walked back up the road and away from the cottage, Officers Cluster and Sentry watching them go.

“So you were a cop?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Phillip answered.

“But not anymore?”

“No,” he grunted. “Too restrictive. I prefer doing things my way.”

Daring nodded. “So where are we going now? We are going to keep investigating, right?”

“Yes,” Phillip answered. “Yesterday, there were several other suicides similar to this one.”

“Yeah, I read something about that in the paper,” Daring agreed.

“I think they may be related,” Phillip continued. “I want to go down to the precinct and see what I can find.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Daring said with a grin. She grabbed Phillip underneath the forelegs and lifted off the ground with a great flap of her wings.

“Hey!” Phillip shouted in protest, instinctively trying to escape her grasp before relaxing. Looking down, he watched as the city of Ponyville sped by underneath them. From his new vantage point, the ponies below looked like toy versions of themselves, and the rooftops were merely squares of a wide variety of colors. The wind kissed his face, cold and sweet smelling, a refreshing relief from the noxious mixture of garbage, steam, and all the diverse odors of ponies on the street level.

Daring easily shifted her grip on him to keep him from falling and continued flying towards the center of town. Her wings were spread wide to catch the rising thermals, occasionally flapping hard to keep them aloft. A grin was spread across her face, her eyes wide with delight.

“You could’ve warned me you were going to do that,” he grumbled.

She glanced down at him. “What, don’t like flying?”

“If I’d been meant to fly, I would’ve been born with wings,” Phillip answered.

“Well, I was, so I’m meant to,” Daring replied with a smirk. They flew in silence for a few moments more, then she spoke up again.

“So, you can tell all about a pony just by looking at them?” she asked, her face falling into more serious lines.

“Not everything,” Phillip answered. “But I can learn a lot. World’s full of obvious things. Most ponies just don’t know where to look.”

Daring was silent for a moment more, then asked, “So what can you tell by looking at me?”

Phillip looked up at her. “I can tell you’ll be needing a place to stay.”

She scowled. “And how do you know that?”

“I saw your keychain,” Phillip answered. “Safe-deposit key, mailbox key, but no house or apartment key, but there was a mark where something had been yanked off. Also, the pack of cigarettes. Balance of probability is, you got them at the same place you bought your newspaper and your lunch—I could smell it on your breath—but the newspaper wasn’t wet from the rain. In the span of about an hour, you’d smoked three cigarettes. You were stressed about something. Two and two together, you were kicked out of your home.”

Daring didn’t answer, but she could feel acid rising up from her stomach.

“I have a spare bedroom if you want,” Phillip added.

She looked down at him, her eyebrows almost disappearing into her mane. “You’d...let me stay in your house?”

“Yes,” Phillip answered.

“But…” She swallowed and spat the rest of the sentence out. “I’m a criminal. You have to know that, right?”

“Were,” Phillip replied. “You were a criminal.” He looked up at her. “You weren’t planning on stealing from me, were you?”

She blinked. “No.”

“Good,” Phillip answered. “You wouldn’t get away with it, anyway.”

She laughed through her nostrils. “Keep thinking that,” she said, flapping her wings to keep them on course.

For a moment, she thought she saw the ghost of a smile flicker on Phillip’s face. There was a moment more of silent flight, then Daring sighed.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No worries,” her partner replied.

Case One, Chapter Three: The Exchange Principle

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The Ponyville Police Station was a simple building, a square five-story edifice of red brick and glass that towered over the surrounding offices, sitting on the southern edge of the central city plaza. Rusted letters spelling out “PONYVILLE POLICE DEPARTMENT” stood over the revolving doors in the front. A steady stream of citizens and police officers flowed through the doors. A fleet of cruisers and other carriages stood ready in the parking bay next to the building.

Daring and Phillip landed in front of the police station, drawing a few stares from passerby. Dusting himself off, Phillip gave Daring a dirty look. “I know how to walk, you know.”

Daring smirked and spread her wings. “I find this to be faster.”

Choosing not to answer, Phillip proceeded forward towards the police station. Daring fell into step behind him, staring up at the brick building as it loomed over them. The rows of windows seemed to her like dozens of eyes, glaring down at her. With a shaky breath, she followed Phillip through the revolving doors.

The lobby of the police station was wide, with an arched ceiling and a black and white tiled floor. A creaking, slowly turning fan was set in the center of the ceiling, providing no relief whatsoever from the stuffy atmosphere. A few old benches formed a waiting area off to one side: a pair of young burros sat on one bench. An elderly pegasus mare that was rocking back and forth, hugging her knees, was sitting on the opposite bench. An old water cooler stood in a corner; a gurgling coffee machine and a stack of paper cups sat atop a table next to it. A dark green unicorn was sitting behind the counter at the head of the room, taking a long draught from a silver flask; the elevated chair he was sitting in gave him the ability to look down in judgment upon anypony who dared approach him. A series of doors on the far wall led to the offices within the building.

As the pair entered the lobby, a pair of cops shoved past them and approached the desk, holding a shackled pony between them. The pale blue pegasus could barely be twenty years old, with a shock of light brown hair; his head lolled as he stumbled and struggled to keep his balance. Blood dripped from his bruised face, leaving a trail of dark spots towards the desk.

“Poor wanker must’ve tripped and fallen down the stairs,” Phillip muttered dryly, turning his head away as the arresting officers presented the beaten pony to the desk sergeant like a pair of fishers boasting of their prize catch.

Daring glanced up. Another surveillance crystal was mounted on the wall over the doors. The sapphire lens was focused on her; she knew that somewhere in this building, an officer was watching her every move, her image transmitted via magic and projected onto an enchanted screen. Gritting her teeth, she lowered her head and walked forward as quickly as she could, shivers running up and down her spine.

Ignoring the desk sergeant completely, Phillip pushed through one of the doors and entered the inner depths of the police station. They walked down a stark white hallway, with officers flowing in and out of offices on either side. A few of them stopped to stare at Phillip as he passed, but none of them challenged him.

“Hey, look, the hero’s back,” a tall earth pony sneered to his partner as they passed by.

Ignoring them, Phillip pushed open a door and descended down a flight of stairs, Daring following close behind him. They walked down a close, concrete hallway, then through a stark metal door. They found themselves inside a basement laboratory. The stark white windowless walls reminded Daring very strongly of the cells and hallways in Frostback: close and bare, a constant reminder that you had been shoved aside and left to be forgotten. Long tables loaded with a wide variety of chemical equipment were set up in rows, the paraphernalia neatly arranged atop them. The constant buzz from the lights set up in the ceiling was mostly drowned out by a radio in the corner, which was tuned to a classical music channel.

There were only two other occupants in the laboratory as they entered, both of them wearing white lab coats. One was a chubby zebra with a long, frizzy mane that spilled down to his shoulders and dark blue eyes like the dusk sky. His cutie mark was a black cauldron, from which blossomed a plume of smoke that shaped itself into a coiled serpent. He wore a single silver ring in his left ear. His partner was a young mulberry unicorn mare with violet eyes. Her dark sapphire mane and tail had rose and purple stripes running through it, and her cutie mark was a light pink six-pointed star with five smaller white stars surrounding it. The mare was bending over a microscope, while the zebra was watching in silence.

As Daring and Phillip approached, the unicorn suddenly gave a loud squeal of excitement. “It works, it works, it works, it works!” she sang, bouncing around in a circle with a giddy smile on her face. “A chemical test that will positively identify blood traces, every time! No more false positives! No more missing crucial evidence! No more—” She stopped mid-bounce and stared at the zebra, who was looking at her with a completely unamused expression. She chuckled nervously, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Your enthusiasm is appreciated, Twilight Sparkle,” the zebra said in a deep, sonorous voice, turning to a set of notebooks on the table. “But perhaps you could hold off on the celebration. There is still much work to do.”

Phillip coughed to announce their presence. The zebra turned towards them, momentary surprise flickering across his face before his expression settled into a neutral position. “Good afternoon, Phillip Finder.”

“G’day, Doctor Suunkii. Twilight,” Phillip nodded to the pair.

“Hello, Phillip,” the mare greeted him with a polite nod. “Who’s your friend?”

“Daring Do,” Phillip replied. “Daring, this is Doctor Suunkii and Twilight Sparkle.”

“Hey,” Daring replied, raising a hoof.

“Hello!” Twilight said with a smile, walking up and shaking Daring’s hoof, much to Daring’s surprise. “Nice to meet you.”

“Greetings, Daring Do,” Suunkii replied, his expression showing no sign of any emotion.

“I need information,” Phillip reported. “There were three suicides yesterday. I need to know everything you have on them.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow at him. Phillip gave a long sigh and rolled his eyes. “May I please have the files on the suicides?” he grumbled.

“All right,” Dr. Suunkii nodded. “Come with me.” He exited the room out of a different door, with Phillip following, leaving Daring and Twilight alone in the lab. An awkward silence quickly descended over the two mares.

“So,” Twilight said slowly with a rather awkward attempt at a smile. “Congratulations on being released.”

Daring scowled at her. Twilight winced, flattening her ears against her head. “I’m sorry, I-I didn't mean to…”

Daring closed her eyes and took in a slow breath through her nostrils, held it in her gut for a moment, then released it through her mouth. “It’s fine,” she grunted, ignoring the still lingering flickers of pain running up her right foreleg. They stood in awkward silence for a few moments before Twilight cleared her throat and started again.

“How did you meet Phillip?” she asked.

“Just today,” Daring replied. “I was recommended to find him for a job. He took me on.”

“Ah,” Twilight nodded, pursing her lips. “He just accepted you like that?”

“I guess so,” Daring shrugged. “How do you know him?”

“Doctor Suunkii knew him when he was a detective here,” Twilight replied, bending back over the microscope and taking up a pen in her magic. “He comes here if he needs information on a case he’s working on, and he helps with our research sometimes.”

“And you allow this?” Daring asked slowly.

Twilight hesitated for a moment before answering. “I’d prefer to trust the police to investigate crime,” she said. “But, well…”

“You can’t trust the police here,” Daring snorted.

Twilight nodded. “Unfortunately, no. Phillip’s methods may not always be...agreeable, but he believes in justice. I’d trust him over most of the officers here to solve an important case.”

Daring nodded. There was silence between them for a few moments longer, penetrated by the music from the radio and the scratching of Twilight’s pen against the paper as she took notes on her new discovery.

“So how did you find your way down here?” Daring asked. “Your accent’s definitely not from Ponyville. Canterlot, I’d guess.”

Twilight looked up with a smile. “Very good,” she nodded. “I was born and raised in Canterlot, yes. I’m a graduate student from the Royal Academy of Magic.”

Daring’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You must be pretty good at magic, then.”

Twilight rubbed the back of her mane, her blush and embarrassed smile returning. “Well, I suppose I am pretty talented. Princess Celestia and Luna must've thought so, or they wouldn't have accepted me.” She looked back through the microscope. “I’m here working on my doctorate in magic. I’m doing research into the forensic applications of magic.”

“You could’ve done that anywhere else,” Daring said. “Why here in Pony-shitville?”

“Because I wanted to be where I could do the most good,” Twilight responded. “And I decided that that place was Ponyville.”

Daring snorted. “You sound like a politician.”

Twilight gave her a look over the microscope. “The only way that anything was ever improved or changed for the better was because somepony believed in what they knew was right and was willing to fight for it. You and I both know, there is something seriously wrong with this city, and it doesn’t have to be this way. Ponies here shouldn’t have to be afraid, and one day, they won’t have to be.”

“You’re just one pony,” Daring replied.

“Sometimes, one pony is all the world needs,” Twilight replied.

Daring just shrugged. At that moment, the door opened again and Phillip and Suunkii reentered, carrying a collection of three folders. Phillip dropped the folders onto the table and began to sort through the papers.

Twilight let out a cry of protest. “You’re messing them up!”

Ignoring her, Phillip drew his hoof across the case reports, his eyes constantly sliding back and forth as he absorbed the information contained therein.

“Scribbled Note. Aesthetic Tone. Gentle Brush. And Pristine Touch,” he reported. “All dead, COD strangulation from being hanged. No sign of forced entry.” He glanced down at the bottom of the autopsy reports. “Hmm. Doctor Mortis signed off on these.”

“Then you can be assured that they were thoroughly checked for any sign of irregularity, which would have been noted,” Suunkii stated.

“Fair dinkum,” Phillip nodded in agreement. He started studying the information on the victims. “Hmm. They all worked for Silvertongue.”

Daring’s eyebrows shot up again. “Really?”

“Yup,” Phillip stated. “Scribbled, Tone, Brush, and Pristine all worked in his gallery.”

“Silvertongue?” Twilight asked. “As in Charlie August Silvertongue, the art historian?”

Daring snorted. “You haven’t been here long, have you?”

“I’ve lived here for almost a year now,” Twilight huffed in reply.

“Daring,” Phillip cut her off firmly before turning to Twilight. “Charlie Silvertongue is the richest pony in this city. Art historian, gallery owner, philanthropist. He’s also the biggest criminal in this region.”

“A statement that has, unfortunately, never been proven in the court of law,” Suunkii grumbled.

Phillip spread out crime scene photographs across the table (Twilight cringed, her hoof involuntarily twitching as she struggled to suppress the urge to put them back in the proper order) and started studying them carefully. “I’m gonna need copies of these,” he said. Twilight and Suunkii both raised an eyebrow at him, prompting a sigh. “Please,” he grumbled.

“Of course you will,” Suunkii sighed with a roll of his eyes.

Phillip traced a hoof over the photographs that showed the victims’ bodies. Their pale faces stared back at him from the film: they seemed horribly, nauseatingly fake in the pictures, like mannequins, with no life in them whatsoever. Daring glanced down at the image of a bespectacled unicorn stallion hanging from a ceiling rafter, his once-yellow face marred with pale blue and white splotches. She shuddered and looked away.

“What’s wrong?” Twilight asked.

“Nothing,” Daring grunted.

“We’re going to need to take a closer look at these crime scenes,” Phillip said, taking the files over to a photocopier in the corner. He swept the photographs over the crystal screen. The machine hummed and began to spit out copies of the pictures onto the tray. He gathered them up and tucked them into his vest.

“I’ll let you know if I need anything else,” Phillip said to Twilight and Suunkii.

“I hope you find something helpful,” Twilight said, offering her hoof to shake. He shook it firmly, then Dr. Suunkii’s.

Twilight offered her right hoof to Daring, who hesitated for a moment, then raised her left hoof in reply, preferring to hide the brand. Twilight deftly switched hooves and shook hers.

“Good luck,” Twilight smiled.

“Thanks,” Daring said slowly.

“C’mon,” Phillip called to Daring from the door. Daring turned and followed him out, closing the door behind them.

“They are just perfect for each other, are they not?” Suunkii muttered, turning back to the notebook.

Twilight gathered up the scattered case notes and photographs in her magic and began to neatly sort them back into their proper folders. “Yes, I think they are,” she said with a small, completely unironic smile.

Their first stop was Pristine Touch’s apartment. Thirty-Seven Deco Way was a five-story glass and steel structure, roughly shaped like a crescent moon from above, located in one of the more modern districts of Ponyville. A red and white canopy stretched over the glass door. Several of the upper windows had balconies attached to them to allow the occupants access to the outside air.

Phillip approached the door and tried the handle, but it refused to budge. “Locked,” he grunted.

Daring spotted a panel next to the door. Several buttons were placed on the panel, each with a name written next to it; she noticed one that was labeled “Pristine Touch.” A speaker was set at the top of the panel, next to a crystal lens. “Here,” she called to Phillip.

Phillip pressed the button for the first name, and a buzzing noise came from the speaker. Daring stepped back a little. A moment later, the crystal lens began to glow.

“Who are you?” a gruff voice came from the speaker.

“I’m a private detective,” Phillip replied, looking into the lens. “I need you to let me in.”

The voice scoffed. “Look, bud, I don’t know you from Apples. These are private properties. Either show me a badge or scram.” And with a click, the resident signed off.

Scowling, Phillip reached for the next button, but Daring reached out and stopped him. “That’s not going to get us anywhere,” she said. “Let me handle this.”

His eyebrows knitted in a display of offense, but he stepped aside. Daring studied the written labels on the panel, quickly identifying one that was fresher than all the others: Sundrop Dew. New tenants, she thought.

She glanced up at a strand of her mane that was dangling in front of her face, realizing that the distinctive coloring would likely give her identity away. “I need to borrow that,” she said to Phillip, snatching his hat off his head.

“Oi!” he protested, but she was already slipping the hat onto her head. Her ears fit through the holes in the brim easily. She tucked the brim down over her face, then pushed it back: appearing too shady would probably make her would-be accomplice suspicious. She took a deep breath to center herself, then pressed the button for Sundrop Dew. The speaker buzzed, then the crystal began to glow again.

“Hello?” a mare’s voice asked.

“Oh, hi!” Daring said with a smile, affecting a nervous demeanor. “Thank the Mother, I thought I was gonna be stuck out here. I, uh, I live in the apartment below you. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

“No, well, I just recently moved in,” Sundrop replied.

Daring fought back a self-satisfied grin. “Actually, I, er,” she stammered, carefully simulating an embarrassed cringe. “I just locked my keys in my apartment, so...you think you could let me in?”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” Sundrop replied. There was a click and the door unlocked.

“Thanks!” Daring said with a relieved smile as the crystal lens faded out. She pushed the door open and smirked at Phillip, giving him an “after you” gesture.

“Show-off,” he grumbled, snatching his hat back as he passed her.

They ascended three flights of stairs and started down the hallway, their hoofsteps thudding against the wooden floor with its thin red carpeting. All of the apartment doors were on their left. They paused in front of the door labeled 3C.

“It’ll be locked,” Daring said, scanning the door. She noted a small padlock emblem on the door lock. “Hmm. Basic pickproof enchantment on the locks. Let me take care of this.”

She reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a wallet and a small blue gem attached to a silver bracelet chain. She affixed the gem to the lock: it stuck to the lock like a magnet and began to glow faintly.

“That’ll temporarily suspend the enchantment on the lock,” she stated to Phillip, opening up the wallet and pulling aside a small false layer. Concealed within the hidden pocket was a set of small picks and tension wrenches.

“Where’d you get that gem?” Phillip asked.

Daring’s eyes involuntarily slid down to her right hoof, towards the brand. “Same place I learned how to lie through my teeth to sneak into an apartment building,” she said, selecting a pick and tension wrench and inserting them into the lock. She gently turned the wrench as she began to feel around with the pick, testing for the pins. “Besides, what were you going to do when you found out that this was locked?” she asked him. “Just kick the door in?”

“...that’s what I usually do,” Phillip muttered.

She paused in her work to give him a smirk. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

He shrugged, but his forehead creased and a small scowl crossed his face. “Don't usually need to be,” he grunted.

Chuckling to herself, Daring continued picking the lock. There were five pins, and she defeated all of them in just under nineteen seconds. I’m out of practice, she thought. She pushed the door open and the two entered, closing the door behind them.

The apartment was spacious, the walls painted in subdued blues and browns. A short hallway led to a large sitting room, decorated with low, squashy chairs and a clear plastic coffee table. Framed abstract art decorated the walls. A sliding glass door led to a balcony; another hallway led to a kitchen and dining room that seemed to be barely used. Phillip pulled the copied photographs of the crime scene out of his vest and spread them out on the table.

“Right. Pristine Touch was found hanging from a pipe running through the ceiling.” He nodded at a ceiling tile that had been moved aside, exposing a thick black rust-spotted iron pipe running across the ceiling. “If we’re operating under the assumption that somepony came in and killed him, first we need to answer the obvious question: how did they get in, and how did they get out?”

Daring slowly turned in a circle, taking in the entire room, then scanned the crime scene photographs, being careful to avoid the sight of the hanging corpse. Her trained instincts kicked in, identifying potential places of entry and exit, noting blind spots and places to hide or take cover.

“Front door?” Phillip asked, thinking out loud.

“No,” Daring replied. “Chained from the inside. The cops had to cut it open to get in. And I saw some of the reports. The neighbors were both awake around the time of death and they didn’t hear anyone pass by all evening.”

“Balcony?” Phillip wondered.

“Magic-tempered burglar-proof glass,” Daring reported, glancing up. “It can only be opened from the inside. Same for the windows. The killer didn’t get in through there.”

“Teleportation?” Phillip queried.

Daring scoffed. “A modern building like this will have anti-teleportation wards in the walls.”

“Then how?” Phillip muttered, looking around. “There’s no other way.”

Daring’s eyes panned across the room. A faint breeze crossed her face and she looked up. An air vent was set in the wall above them. “Up there,” she said, pointing.

Phillip looked up and studied the vent. “Look at the dust around it. It’s been disturbed. That vent cover’s been removed.”

Daring flapped up with her wings and leveled with the vent, plucking a folding pocketknife from her a pocket and flicking open the screwdriver. She unscrewed the vent cover and removed it, handing it down to Phillip, who set it gently on the floor. Daring took a small penlight out of her pocket and swept the vent with it.

“What do you see?” Phillip asked.

“Lot of dust,” Daring answered. “Wait, there’s something here.”

“Use these,” Phillip said, taking two items out of his vest: a set of tweezers and a small plastic bag. She took them and used the tweezers to gently extract the item that had caught her attention, placing it into the bag. She floated down and showed the clue to Phillip.

Inside the bag was a small teardrop-shaped flower petal, barely amounting to a sliver. It was a vibrant purple color with a small accent of blue at the tip.

“That doesn’t belong in there,” Phillip muttered.

“I recognize that petal,” Daring said. “It’s a shrinking violet. If you breathe in the pollen, you temporarily shrink. Small enough to fit inside that vent.”

“Our killer used it to enter and exit via the vent,” Phillip stated. “And since they had to remove the vent and replace it later, we’re most likely dealing with a unicorn. They used their magic for that.”

He tucked the bag into his vest and started to look around. “Now, how did he kill Pristine Touch?”

“He strangled him and hung him, right?” Daring said.

Phillip shook his head. “Not strangled. Hanged. There are differences between the two.” He thought for a moment, then walked off. “What was he doing before he died?”

He looked into the kitchen, studying the plates and cutlery sitting in the sink. “Dinner plates. He’d already eaten.” He moved past the kitchen, with Daring following.

Pausing at a partially open door, Phillip looked inside. Behind the door was a lush bedroom, with a double bed covered in pale blue and purple sheets, all of which were tangled at the bottom of the mattress. A large set of windows was set over the bed, the light blocked out by a set of curtains. A well-stocked bookshelf stood against the far wall; a desk sat next to it, the cushioned chair facing the wall.

Phillip glanced down and noticed the open paperback novel laying on the floor next to the chair, which was pulled out a short distance from the desk. “This was where he was ambushed,” he said. “No sign of struggle. He was reading when the killer came in.”

“And that’s where the sheet came from,” Daring nodded towards the bed.

Phillip scanned the room from the doorway, his eyes taking in every inch of the bedroom before entering. He walked over to the desk and paused in front of the desk, crouching down to study it.

“Dust here,” he muttered.

“And that’s unusual?” Daring asked from the doorway.

“When it’s the only dust on the table, yes,” Phillip replied. He took out a small paper bag and brush and swept the faint yellow-white dust into the bag. “Should have Twilight and Suunkii take a look at this, and we need to visit the other crime scenes, too.”

“You’re the detective,” Daring shrugged.

“Given time, you will be, too,” Phillip replied, taking another slow sweep around the room.

Daring raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure about that?”

He paused in his search to look back at her. “Yes, I am.” He looked back down and continued his search, and thus missed the small touch of red that briefly crossed Daring’s face.

“Nothing else here,” Phillip grunted, pushing past Daring to exit. He walked over to the table and scooped up the crime scene photographs. “Let’s go to the other scenes and see if the cops missed anything.”

Daring grinned. Phillip saw the motion out of the corner of his eye. “Daring, no—”

It was too late. Daring pushed open the balcony door and in one smooth motion, seized Phillip underneath his forelegs and flew out the door. His shout of protest mixed with her laughter as they flew off to the next scene.

Case One, Chapter Four: Getting to Know You

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Carefully, Suunkii filled the test tube with a pale blue liquid, then tipped a small scoop of the pale white dust into the tube. Clasping the tube in a set of tongs, he lowered it into the steady blue flame of the Bunsen burner. The liquid inside began to bubble, then turned dark green.

Suunkii nodded and removed the tube from the burner, setting it into a stand. “You were correct, Phillip,” he declared, shutting off the burner. “That dust you found at all of the crime scenes is indeed organic and does indeed have magical properties.”

“What kind?” Phillip asked, pacing the tiled floors of the forensic laboratories. Daring and Detective Red Herring watched him in silence.

Suunkii rolled his eyes. “I do not know yet. That is the purpose of these tests. I will find out for you.” He took an eyedropper from a drawer and extracted some of the green liquid from the tube. He squeezed out a drop onto a microscope slide, then placed the slide under a microscope. Pressing his eyes to the scopes, he began to adjust the dials.

Behind him, Twilight extracted a book from amongst the creaking, overstuffed shelves in the back of the room and flipped through it. “Ah, here it is,” she declared, pointing to a page as she walked back to where Phillip, Daring, and Red waited. She turned the book around to reveal an image of a flower with five bright purple, teardrop-shaped petals. The flower had a blue circle in the center and a long, pale green stalk.

“Shrinking violets are a rare plant that only grows in fertile soil that’s been infused with magic, like the soil from the Everfree Forest,” Twilight explained. “They require a lot of care, especially since they only emerge from the ground once every few days for a few minutes at a time, and they need to be watered and pruned then.” She looked up. “Not to mention, the pollen isn’t easy to use; you have to harvest it very carefully, and then prepare it in a very precise way. Whoever your assassin is, they’ll be experienced with plants.”

Phillip turned and looked at Red Herring, raising an eyebrow. The detective huffed through his nostrils. “So, you were right,” he grunted. “They were all murdered by a pony who took this shrinking violet stuff, snuck in through the air vents, and attacked them.”

“A high-level unicorn with botanical experience, or connections to somepony with botanical experience,” Phillip stated.

“Right,” Red grunted. “Well, your usual meddling has proven helpful, I’ll admit.” He stepped forward, glaring at Phil. “But as I told you before, this is a police matter, and we don’t need your help with this.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Phillip commented dryly. Daring forced down a snicker.

Red Herring’s scowl deepened. “I’ve had more than enough of you for the day. Go back home and stay there for the rest of the night.” He stormed out of the lab to find his partner and report on their findings.

Phillip and Daring both looked at each other. “It’s late,” Phillip said. “We can pick this up in the morning.”

“I should have some idea of what this is by tomorrow morning,” Suunkii stated without looking up from the microscope.

“Right,” Phillip grunted, heading towards the exit.

“Finder, wait. A moment,” Suunkii called, his eyes still glued to the microscope. Phillip paused at the door, then jerked his head to Daring, indicating for her to exit. She raised an eyebrow at him, but walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Once the door closed, Suunkii finally looked up and faced Phillip, his eyes creased with worry. “Are you sure that this is wise?” he asked, a note of concern in his otherwise placid voice.

Phillip didn’t answer for a moment. “Suun, I know what I’m doing,” he stated. “She needs a second chance.”

The zebra sighed and ran a hoof across his face. “I am not talking about her, although I am not sure if she can be trusted,” he said. “I am talking about your current line of work.”

“I fight crime, same as when I worked here,” Phillip answered.

“But you no longer have the protection of a badge,” Suunkii answered.

“Don’t need it,” Phillip replied shortly.

Suunkii’s throat convulsed as if he were trying to force words from his mouth, but he let out a sigh instead. “Just...be careful.”

Phillip grunted and turned around, but paused before exiting. "How're Muziqaa and Sirba?" he asked without turning, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible over the radio.

"My son and my wife are both well," Suunkii stated, turning back to his work. "It...has been a while since they have seen you."

"It has," Phillip grunted. He hesitated for a moment longer, then said, "Be seeing you," and exited. Suunkii stared at the door for a moment, then lowered his gaze back to the microscope.

“Doctor Suunkii?” Twilight asked, replacing the book on the shelf.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone once more emotionless.

“What was Phillip like when he was an officer here?” Twilight asked.

“He was, in some ways, much like yourself,” Suunkii replied. “A highly moral, uncompromising individual, who was proud to serve others and fight for justice. He was also my friend.”

“What happened to him?” Twilight asked.

Suunkii didn’t reply for a moment, then sighed. “The same thing that happens to many young, idealistic ponies in this city, Twilight. He lost hope.”

Twilight frowned grimly. “Then maybe all he needs is to find it again.”

The trolley’s bell rang out into the lonely night streets as it mounted the hill. The sign for Honeybee Bakery Street approached, glowing in the flickering light of a street lamp. Phillip reached up and rang the bell. The trolley driver released the grip lever and pulled the brake, bringing the vehicle to a halt. Phillip and Daring both got up and exited the trolley. The vehicle trundled away as the two began to walk up the empty street. Neither of them spoke until they reached 221 and had entered, closing and locking the door behind them.

“You hungry?” Phillip asked, doffing his hat and vest and placing them on the rack.

“Yeah,” Daring nodded. Ciabatta’s sandwich had been long ago.

“You eat meat?” Phillip asked, walking towards the kitchen, past a back door that led onto a small porch.

“Yeah, seafood,” Daring said. She knew many ponies who were totally vegetarian, but she had learned long ago that any food was valuable, and grown to appreciate the taste of fish.

“Good,” Phillip nodded, starting to take materials out of the cupboards and turning on the oven. “Tuna cakes and salad sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Daring agreed, her stomach grumbling.

“Ripper,” Phillip said, chopping up some tomatoes. “There’s lettuce and tuna in the fridge, top shelf on the right.”

Daring opened up the refrigerator, then paused, staring at the contents of a plastic bag on the floor of the fridge. She slowly closed the door, stared for a moment longer, then turned to face Phillip.

“Are those eyeballs?!”

“Yes,” Phillip answered without looking up. “I borrowed them from the morgue. Doing an experiment on the effects of temperature on decomposition.”

Daring stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Detecting her gaze, Phillip looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Daring tried to speak, then sighed and shrugged. Opening the fridge, she retrieved the tuna and lettuce and tossed them over to Phillip.

The dinner was ready within minutes, and Daring found to her great pleasure that, while it was no five-star meal, it was more than palatable. They ate in silence: Phillip did not raise his head from his plate, apparently lost in thought.

Finishing her meal, Daring dropped her plates in the sink and exited onto the back porch. The cool air embraced her as she closed the door behind her. Sighing, she leaned against the railing of the porch, scanning the backyard. The small field of overgrown grass was devoid of any decoration, save for a wilted cherry tree that hadn’t been pruned in years. A picket fence surrounded the yard, separating the property from the neighbors’ yards; the white paint was long faded, and several of the boards were rotten. Nopony else was out at this time of night; the only sources of light came from dim lights from the cottage windows and the stars above.

Taking the packet of Blue Camel from her pocket, she shook out a cigarette and inserted it into her mouth, then flicked open her lighter and lit the stick. A sigh of relief escaped her as the taste of mint and nicotine filled her mouth. She took a long drag, then tilted her head back and closed her eyes, slowly exhaling the smoke.

The door opened and Phillip walked out onto the porch. She turned to see that he was carrying his saxophone. He paused, as if just realizing that she was there.

“Do you mind if I play?” he asked. “Helps me think.”

Daring shrugged. “Nah, go ahead.”

Phillip climbed up onto the railing and raised the saxophone to his lips. He inserted the reed into his mouth, closed his eyes, and began to play. The music that flowed from the bell of his instrument was like a flowing river; instead of forming any recognizable tune, it smoothly washed from chord to chord. He sank to low grumbles, then gradually rose to sharp squeals and cries before settling into gentle hums and whispers. Daring listened in silence to the impromptu concert, observing Phillip. His eyes remained closed throughout, his tail waving and his body rocking in time with whatever beat he set; the energy he put into the music was palpable, but never passionate, always controlled. He never gave more emotion than was necessary, but always enough to provide. His hooves floated up and down the instrument, caressing the unfeeling brass as gently as a lover.

When the concert was over, Phillip slowly withdrew the saxophone reed from his mouth, setting the instrument down in his lap. His eyes remained closed for a long time, then he slowly opened them, looking as though he were waking up from a very deep sleep.

“You’re good,” Daring said.

“Thanks,” Phillip said.

“Where’d you learn to play?” Daring asked. “Teach yourself?”

“No,” Phillip answered. “My father taught me." He looked around at her. “Why d’you ask?”

“If we’re going to be partners, we should at least get to know each other, right?” Daring shrugged.

Phillip considered this for a moment, then nodded. “That’s fair.”

“So, there’s one thing I gotta know,” Daring said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “How does somepony from ‘down undah’ end up halfway up the Maresippi?”

Phillip gave her a sideways look, obviously unamused by her brief imitation of his accent, then spoke. “My parents were part of a traveling band that played across Equestria. I was born in Sydneigh. Wound up traveling across the empire while I was still a baby. My father had me learning music as soon as I could talk, and had me playing in the band.” A faint smile briefly crossed his face, but it disappeared quickly.

“But I earned my cutie mark here,” he continued. “It was when I was thirteen; I’d been going with the band on tours before, and we were staying here for two moons.

“There was a young mare, a few years older than me, who lived in the motel room next to ours. She was nice. Friendly. We became fairly close. But almost every time I saw her, she had some kind of bruise on her face or on her body. Every night, while I laid awake trying to sleep, I could hear her through the vent—crying. The soft kind of crying, the kind when you can’t stop crying.

“I eventually figured out that she had a coltfriend who abused her. He hit her. Stole from her. Raped her several times.”

Daring let out a hiss through her teeth. “What’d you do?”

“She wouldn’t talk to me about it,” Phillip said. “Or anypony. I tried to call the police, but they wouldn’t do anything. My parents and I talked to her, but she was too scared of him to do anything, and he always avoided us.” His hoof trembled, seemingly involuntary.

“She still cried every night," he whispered. "There was blood on her sheets every day. Nopony could do anything about it. Nopony but me.”

He took a breath to steady himself before continuing. “I’d never seen the coltfriend. Didn’t know what he looked like. But there were enough clues in her room for me to work with: marks on her face from when he hit her, his hair in the bathroom, a matchbook from his favorite club in the trash. Things most ponies wouldn’t notice, but they were all so obvious to me.

“I learned who he was, where he lived, what he did every day. And then one night, I slipped out…”

The rain poured down onto his head as he crouched in the alleyway next to the Midnight Oil bar; the drainpipe rattled and grumbled as water poured down it into an open barrel. Distant thunder rumbled through the cold air. He watched the pale orange light of the neon sign reflecting off the puddles of rainwater at the mouth of the alleyway, turning on again and off again in time with his breathing.

And then, his quarry appeared. Cut Stone, a huge, hulking brute of a pony. His coat was granite gray, and his mane was a dark red, slick with rain and sticking to his head. He staggered and weaved across the sidewalk, clutching an empty cider bottle.

Phillip’s heart accelerated at the sight of the other pony, but despite the sudden rush of energy that made his entire body tremble, his mind remained clear and focused. He stood up, pulling up the hood on his rain jacket and tugging his scarf up over his face, covering everything except his eyes. He galloped forward, his hoofsteps splashing against the sidewalk. Cut Stone was too deep in his drunken stupor to notice his presence until it was too late.

He chopped his hoof into Cut Stone’s throat, causing him to choke and stagger. Darting around Cut, Phillip bucked him in the side, sending him tumbling into the alleyway. Phillip sprinted in after him. Struggling to get to his hooves, Cut threw the bottle at him, but he ducked beneath it and tackled him to the ground. Their hooves scrambled against each other as they battled for dominance, tumbling and rolling across the alleyway.

Cut Stone used his greater bulk to pin Phillip beneath him and began scrabbling for his throat, slurring drunken threats. Fending off his clumsy attacks, Phillip lunged up and headbutted Stone in the face, breaking his nose. With a howl of pain, the other pony reared backward, clutching his now-bloodied face. Snatching up a dropped brick, Phillip struck Stone across the face, knocking him down. Pouncing on Cut, Phillip seized his head and forcefully slammed it against the ground with a great crack. His hooves came down like a pair of sledgehammers, mercilessly pounding into the bastard’s face. His heavy breathing echoed in his head, and the scent of blood filled his nostrils; he barely felt the rain pouring down onto his back.

Cut Stone slowly went limp, moaning in pain. Phillip paused in his beatdown and grabbed Stone by the throat, lifting him up so that he could look into his swollen green eyes.

“If you hurt her again,” he snarled, his voice pitched to match the rumbling thunder, “I will know. And I will be back.”

Cut Stone whimpered. Phillip shoved him to the ground and stood up, panting. His defeated prey lay still, unmoving save for his slow, wheezing breath. The rain mixed with the blood and tears across his face. Turning on his heels, Phillip walked to the end of the alleyway, pulling back the hood of his rain jacket and tugging his scarf down, relishing the taste of the cool night air. The rain washed the blood from his hooves, as if trying to wipe away the evidence of his encounter.

He paused, looking up at the black and empty sky above him. A crackle of lightning ran across the clouds as the thunder roared at him. His breathing slowed and his heart rate was already steadying once more. Discarding the scarf into a trash can, he walked away at a languid pace, his face expressionless, and soon disappeared into the rainy night.

“The next morning, we found out that I’d earned my cutie mark,” Phillip explained, his tone still neutral and detached. “I didn’t tell my parents what happened. The wanker spent two weeks eating through a straw. He never hurt her again. She didn’t cry anymore. And I slept peacefully every night for weeks.”

Daring nodded. “That’s quite a story.” She took a drag on her cigarette. “And you were a cop?”

“Yeah,” Phillip grunted. “Joined straight out of Pranceton. Made my way to Detective Sergeant.”

“When’d you leave?” Daring asked.

"About a year ago," Phillip said.

"So you're new to the private eye shtick," Daring stated. Phillip nodded. "Why'd you leave anyway?"

A scowl fixed itself on Phillip’s face. “Wasn’t fit for it.” He was silent for several long moments, then shook his head slightly, resetting his face to its normal neutral expression. “And you?” he asked.

Daring smiled smugly. “When I was a kid, I ran away from home a lot. I’d go exploring the neighborhood, sometimes for days at a time. I memorized the neighborhood streets, learned how to navigate using the stars and the sun, and how to sneak around without being seen: I liked pretending I was hunting for buried treasure in the alleyways and empty lots and stuff. One time, I snuck into an old mansion.”

“It was empty?” Phillip asked.

Daring laughed. “Nope. Some bigwigs were holding a party there. I snuck around their house for four hours, exploring the house from basement to attic. I overheard one of them talking about some old coins that they'd managed to cheat their neighbor out of. When I was in the basement, I found this hidden safe that you opened by pressing some buttons. It took me half an hour of experimenting, but I figured out the sequence and opened it! The gold coins were inside. I snatched them all up in a bag and left. None of them ever knew I was there.”

“Proud of yourself for that, are you?” Phillip said, though he could not hide a smile crossing his face.

“Damn right,” Daring smirked. “After that I went to the library and spent half the day reading about ancient cultures, figuring out who made those coins and what they meant. It was really cool. I found out I earned my cutie mark when I got home. Mom didn’t even realize I’d gone out.” She blinked, then her smile faded. “Then again, she never did notice.”

Phillip nodded. "You still have the coins?"

"Nah," Daring shook her head. "Had to sell them to buy food after I ran away."

“And that's when you joined the Family, right?”

Daring glanced down at her right hoof. The red lines that formed the brand seemed to glow in the dim light. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she muttered, lowering her hoof.

Phillip didn’t reply. After about a minute of silent contemplation, he slid off the railing and walked towards the door. “You should get some sleep,” he quietly suggested, reentering the house.

Daring stayed outside to finish her cigarette, staring up at the distant, twinkling stars. She identified all the constellations she could see: Heracles attacking Draco, Cepheus, and Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor and Major. As always, her eyes drifted towards Polaris, the unmoving North Star. It winked down at her as if reassuring her that he would always be there for her to navigate by. The vision gave her momentary comfort; she felt as though the porch was the deck of a ship, gently rocking beneath her hooves. For the moment, the seas of her life had calmed.

Dousing her cigarette on the porch banister, she retreated back inside, closing the door behind her.

A stream of warmth and light poured down onto Daring’s face, pulling her back into the waking world. She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself staring at the stone roof of her cell, covered in the thin, itchy blankets of her cot and laying on a rock-hard mattress.

Instead, she found herself studying a white tiled ceiling, and realized that she was covered in warm blue sheets and laying on a cloud-soft mattress. Blinking, she sat up and looked around. The bedroom was sparse and mostly undecorated: there were only the light brown walls with the reddish-brown carpeting, a dresser in the corner next to the closet, a bedside table with a clock and a lamp, and the bed. Sunlight shone through the uncurtained window. Daring glanced at the clock to find that it was just past eight in the morning.

Shaking off the remnants of sleep, Daring climbed out of bed, yawning. Stumbling her way to the door, she exited out into the upstairs hallway. The door next to hers was still closed, and she detected the sound of snoring from the other side. She went into the bathroom opposite for a quick morning shower, then descended into the kitchen to make some breakfast.

First was the most important step: turning on the coffee machine and preparing it for percolation. Opening the fridge, she quickly snatched up the carton of eggs, trying not to look at the bag of eyeballs. Then after some rummaging, she pulled a skillet and a loaf of bread out of the cupboards and set herself to work making eggs in the basket.

She had already made six slices and was consuming her third one when she heard hoofsteps approaching. Phillip stumbled into the room, shaking his mane out of his eyes and yawning as he tugged another gray shirt over his body.

“Morning,” Daring said, wondering if he had any other clothes.

“Gmfay,” Phillip mumbled. “Kofeh.” He dragged himself over to the coffee machine, grabbed a mug from the rack next to the machine, filled it to the brim, then drained half of it one go. The caffeine seemed to go a long way towards waking him up; his eyes opened all the way and he stood up straighter, turning to face Daring.

“You made breakfast?” he asked, seemingly just realizing that there was food on the table.

“Yeah,” Daring said. “Least I could do after you let me stay here.”

He stared at her for a moment, then took another sip of coffee. “Thanks,” he said.

She nodded through a mouthful of toast, then swallowed. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“First, we polish this off,” Phillip said. “Then, it’s time we look into the connection between the victims.” He looked into his mug, as if wondering if he could find a clue in the steaming black coffee.

“We need to pay a visit to Silvertongue’s gallery.”

Case One, Chapter Five: The Gallery

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Daring’s first impression of the August Gallery of Art was that it looked more like a small fortress or a large mausoleum, or at least an imitation of one, than a museum. The three-story building was made of a reddish-brown slate, with carvings of faces decorating the rooftop, glaring down at the visitors beneath. A set of glass doors bordered by a stone column on either side provided an entrance.

She and Phillip pushed through the glass doors and entered the lobby. The interior was almost entirely colored white: white tile floors, white stone columns, granite floor-to-ceiling water feature that made the brightly colored stones at the bottom stand out like a mustard stain on a dress shirt, and white ceiling. Some simple, decorative portraits from various time periods and styles were placed along the walls, introducing visitors to the gallery. A small line was forming in front of the receptionist’s desk.

“Here’s the plan,” Phillip said to Daring in an undertone as they slipped into line. “We need to get into the offices where the vics worked and find more information about them.”

“Right,” Daring nodded. “How about you let me take the lead in getting us in there?” She smirked and nudged him. “I think I’m a bit more qualified for the job.”

"You sure?" Phillip asked, frowning slightly.

"Don't worry," Daring replied. "It'll be like a Hayana Pone adventure, getting into some temple or mercenary headquarters."

"Never liked those stories," Phillip muttered.

They reached the receptionist, a young mare with a strawberry red-blonde mane who graced them with a wide smile.

“Welcome to the August Gallery of Art! Two adults?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” Daring said with a friendly smile of her own. She glanced over at Phillip while the receptionist prepared two white bracelets and drew her tail over his jaw, causing him to flinch in surprise.

“Thank you for paying for this, honey,” she cooed. “I so love art. This is the best birthday present ever!”

Phillip had just enough time to give her a venomous glare before the receptionist looked up. “That will be thirty bits, please,” she said.

Phillip handed over the requested price and the receptionist placed the bracelets on their right wrists. “Enjoy the gallery!” she said, waving them off as they walked past through another set of doors into the gallery proper.

“Would it kill you to smile?” Daring asked Phillip as they walked down a hallway lined with portraits. “If you don’t play along, ponies are going to get suspicious.”

Phillip glared at her. “Why should I need to play along with anything?”

Daring rolled her eyes. “You have much to learn.”

They pushed through another set of doors and entered a grand room. A massive skylight set in the ceiling provided illumination, which fell on a circle of statues in the center of the room. Faust, the first Princess of Equestria, and her two daughters Celestia and Luna were replicated here in seven-foot tall marble, every detail of their forms faithfully displayed. They smiled benevolently upon the visitors as they perused the exhibits. Ponies constantly flowed in and out of the room, examining and commenting upon the sculptures. The clicking of hoofsteps mixed with the constant low buzz of quiet conversation. A small tour group walked past.

“And here is the centerpiece of the gallery: the Three Princesses,” the guide announced through a plastic smile. “Carved in celebration of Celestia and Luna’s ascension to the throne of Equestria and becoming alicorns in 1313 AE, six hundred and thirty six years ago…”

Daring forced herself to tune her out. “C’mon, sweetie,” she purred, looping her foreleg through Phillip’s. “Let’s go looking for ways in.”

He scowled at her but said nothing as she guided him out of the room and into a hallway, the walls of which were lined with pre-historical artwork—crude portraits of berry dye on early parchment and papyrus.

"Look at that," Daring said, admiring a huge painting on an ancient sheet of papyrus, the edges eaten away by time and rot. The image depicted several ponies in the act of gathering a harvest of wheat, cutting and chafing the golden rods and baking them into bread which they placed at a massive feast. "You think the ponies who painted this knew that hundreds of years later, ponies like us would be looking at it, learning about who they were and what they were like?"

"Stay focused," Phillip replied curtly.

Daring scowled at him. "You just have no appreciation for history."

As they rounded a corner, examining the paintings on the wall and the little informational plaques, Daring spotted a door marked “Employees Only.” A bored-looking security guard, a pale cream-colored unicorn with a dusty blonde mane and a five o’clock shadow across his jaw, stood sentinel in front of the door. Her eyes panned over to the security crystal opposite him, set up high on the wall. The telescope-like tube slowly panned back and forth across the hallway; the pupilless icy blue eye swept over her, transmitting her image to a central security center. She tried not to shiver as the smile wavered on her face; a quick mental calculation told her that it took about ten seconds for a single pan of the crystal. The guard barely blinked at them as they passed. She studied the door handle and found that it was protected by only a very simple lock.

Abruptly, she slipped and stumbled into the security guard, knocking them both off-balance. “Oh, sorry!” she giggled, adding a slight slur to her voice. She climbed up the unicorn’s body to get back to her hooves.

The guard shoved her off him and she stumbled into Phillip, still giggling and swaying on her hooves. “Sorry about her,” Phillip said, glaring at Daring. “She’s an idiot.” He quickly guided her out of the exhibit while the guard was distracted with smoothing out his shirt. Daring stuck her tongue out at Phil as she recovered her footing.

The two of them passed the hours making a careful sweep of the gallery, journeying through the history of art from the Three Tribes era, to the formation of Equestria, the reign of Faust, and the ascension of Celestia and Luna all the way up to modern era, all to keep up the illusion of simply being visitors enjoying the exhibits. During their visit, they spotted several more “Employees Only” doors, each of them monitored by a security crystal, a guard, or both.

“You have any idea on how to get inside the offices?” Phillip asked as they descended back to the ground floor.

“A dozen. Each of them as half-baked as the last.” The tantalizing scent of cooked hay doused in ketchup caught Daring’s nose and she realized that they had wandered by the cafe, and a glance at the clock overhead told her that it was already almost lunchtime. “Say, speaking of baked, I’m hungry.”

“Daring…” Phillip said in a tone that made it very clear that his patience was running thin.

“Aw, c’mon, sweetie,” Daring cooed, leaning against him and fluttering her eyelashes. “It’s my birthday. And besides, you can’t think on an empty stomach.”

Phillip closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Is everything I do with you going to be like this?”

“Yup,” Daring said with a massive grin.

And so, a few minutes later, the two of them were feasting on their lunch: two paper cups of black coffee, a pair of greasy hayburgers and a couple of carrot dogs. Daring was spreading out a collection of condiments on her burger: ketchup, mustard, relish, onions, and garlic.

“How can you eat all that?” Phillip asked as she licked her lips.

“Where I grew up, you couldn’t afford to be picky about food,” Daring stated.

“Or about dental hygiene,” Phillip dryly commented, watching as she took a bite of her overflowing burger. “I can already smell your breath from here.”

Daring chewed her burger, turning a thought over in her mind.

Phillip took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. “You getting any ideas?” he asked, biting down on his carrot dog.

“I think I’ve got a plan,” Daring said, lifting up the top bun on her burger. “That first door we passed,” Daring said. “You think that guard is still there?”

“None of the guards have changed shifts yet,” Phillip stated.

“Cool,” Daring grinned. She scooped up some of the garlic and onions in her wing. “Let’s go somewhere where we won’t be seen for a bit.”

Quickly finishing their meal and tossing the trash into a trash can, the pair pushed through another set of doors and entered a small enclosed garden populated with topiary bushes, bushes of flowers spanning every color of the rainbow, and elaborately carved fountains. Daring sat down on a stone bench and spread out her wing, examining the onion rings and garlic cloves.

“I need some paper,” she said, holding out her hoof. Phillip took a hoof-sized notebook out of a vest pocket, tore off the top sheet and handed it to her. Daring cut up the garlic and the onion with a pocketknife she pulled out of her front pocket and dropped the pieces into the paper, then pulled against her mane. A quick cut with the knife gave her a small hoofful of her mane, which she dropped into the paper as well. She then bunched the paper up, then tugged a hair tie out of another pocket and tied the bundle up with it. Finally, she plucked a match out of a matchbook in an inner pocket and slipped it into the hair tie to act like a fuse.

“One stink bomb, ready to go,” Daring smirked, tucking her makeshift weapon into an inner pocket.

“You sure about this plan?” Phillip asked as she stood back up.

“No,” Daring admitted. “But that’s where the fun comes from.”

They walked back into the gallery, passing through the main room. The three Princesses smiled down upon them as they walked across and up the hallway with the pre-historical artwork. There were only a few ponies in this section, perusing the proto-artwork. The same guard was standing in front of the “Employees Only” door, shuffling his hooves and yawning as he scratched his jaw. Daring watched as the surveillance crystal panned towards them, then back away.

Taking out her lighter, she lit the match on her stink bomb, then slowly rolled it out into the hallway, next to the guard. The flame danced and shimmered, then the paper itself began to smolder, producing a thin column of blue smoke that spiraled up into the air like a ghost. Within seconds, an indescribable, overwhelming odor filled the hallway: the burning hair, onions, and garlic mixed to produce a dreadful stench that clung to every available surface.

The security guard was unfortunate enough to be right next to the source of the stench. He coughed and gagged as he looked around for the source of the odor. Other ponies cleared out of the hallway, retreating from the stink bomb like it was an enemy attack. The security guard spotted the stink bomb and quickly snatched it up with his magic, extinguishing the flames, but the stench remained, clinging to the walls and to the pony’s coat and shirt. He quickly staggered out of the room, retching violently.

Daring watched the crystal until it swept away from them, then she and Phillip sprinted up to the door. Grasping the handle, she took the keys that she’d pickpocketed from the security guard earlier and inserted one into the lock. Her luck held: the key was the correct one. Opening the door, she ushered Phillip inside, then entered herself, closing the door behind them. All this was accomplished before the surveillance crystal had a chance to see them.

They found themselves in a small carpeted hallway leading to a large workspace. There was a small cluster of cubicles, each with a name tag attached to them, and a number of large easels and worktables with scattered equipment like paintbrushes, bone folders, spatulas, tweezers, and lamps. Nopony was in sight. All was quiet.

Hearing hoofsteps, Daring and Phillip pressed themselves against a wall. A trio of ponies walked past, all of them too engrossed in their own conversation to notice any intruders. “Feels awful empty without those five around,” a young orange unicorn mare was saying to her companions as they walked past.

“Yeah,” one of her friends, a chubby blue earth pony, agreed. “Shifting Tone’s been gone for two days now. I sure hope she’s alright.”

“Me too,” the third member of the group, a tall green unicorn with a salt and pepper beard, sighed. “With them gone, all the fun went out of the work here.”

Daring and Phillip waited until the group had passed out of sight, then proceeded forwards. Phillip circled around the cluster of cubicles, identifying Scribbled Note’s cubicle. The little workspace was littered with papers and notes scattered everywhere, tacked up on the walls and stacked on the table. Each of them was covered in the same neat, looping hoofwriting. A single photograph of Note dressed in bright blue robe and mortarboard, smiling from ear to ear and embracing her father, was a harsh reminder that only days ago, a living pony with a life and dreams of her own had been here.

“So what exactly are you looking for?” Daring asked quietly, keeping watch as Phillip began to quickly rifle through the desk.

“The vics were all killed for a reason,” Phillip replied. “There may be a clue here.” He opened up a bottom drawer, then frowned. “Somepony’s been through this one.”

Daring glanced over. There was a stack of manila folders inside the drawer, and they and their contents had been scattered around haphazardly within the drawer, folders yawning open as if they had been opened and then stuffed back inside with the notes inside scattered around everywhere.

Phillip reached inside and plucked out a small clump of curly mane hairs. They were a light aqua blue color. He sniffed the hairs, then tucked them into his vest and continued his search.

“None of the other drawers have been ransacked,” Phillip muttered. He took out one unlabelled folder and opened it to find that it was empty. “Whatever’s in here went walkabout. Whoever went through that drawer knew what they were looking for and where it would be.”

The duo continued their search, examining Aesthetic Tone’s, Gentle Brush’s and Pristine Touch’s cubicles. Phillip discovered that each of their desks had been searched, and files had been removed from their drawers.

“They were all involved in something,” Phillip concluded, speaking more to himself than to Daring. “And one of their coworkers hasn’t been to work since they died.”

“She could be sick or something,” Daring offered.

Phillip walked over to the cubicle marked “Shifting Tone” and paused at the entrance. Daring looked over his shoulder. There was a photograph tacked up on the cubicle wall, depicting a pale cyan unicorn mare with a curly blue mane, smiling and hugging a dark brown unicorn stallion with a white mane. Phillip took the hairs that he’d found in Scribbled Note’s desk out of his pocket and held them up. They were a match to the mare in the photograph.

“And she might not be,” Phillip said, entering the cubicle. The small workspace was decorated in color photographs of paintings of flowers and nature scenes, and the desk was a study in organized chaos, with books, folders, and notebooks scattered about everywhere. Daring spotted one thick tome near the top of the stacks, the pages well-worn from being read so often. The book’s title was, Magical Plants: Care, Environments, and Usage.

Phillip began to search through her drawers, and to the surprise of neither, there was an empty folder in her lower drawers. “So either she’s the next target…” Phillip said.

“Or she’s the killer,” Daring said, eyeing the botany tome. Her eyes suddenly spotted a flash of color on the floor. “What’s that?” she asked, crouching down. She plucked out a photograph that had fallen on the ground and slid partly underneath the table. The picture depicted a necklace lined with golden coins, each of which had a hole in the center and was embossed with arcane symbols. An intricately carved jade fox was attached to the necklace.

“Good onya,” Phillip praised her, taking the photograph. “This might be what this is all about.”

“We’d better get out of here before somepony finds us,” Daring said, looking up.

“Too right,” Phillip nodded. The two retreated back to the door that they’d entered through. Daring took a small hoof mirror out of one pocket and inserted it under the door, using it to scan the hallway outside. Even through the door, they could both smell the remnants of the stink bomb.

“All clear,” she reported. Phillip pushed the door open a crack and peeked through the gap, watching the surveillance crystal. Once it had turned its gaze aside, he pushed the door open and they both darted out through the door and around the corner.

Once they were safely out of sight, Phillip paused to take a breath. “Bonzer job, Daring,” he nodded. “Your blood’s worth bottling.”

Daring had to pause while she tried to translate his idiom. “Thanks,” she said with a grin. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Detective Finder,” a voice suddenly interrupted them. Both of them looked up to find themselves facing a tall, rotund unicorn stallion. This pony had a light blue coat and silvery hair like gossamer. His pale bluish-gray eyes twinkled behind his gold-rimmed glasses. He wore a pressed black suit and tie, immaculately clean. His cutie mark was a silver statue of a pony rearing up on its hind legs. He was accompanied by two burly nondescript earth ponies that were wearing dark suits and sunglasses. They stood on either side of the stallion, menace oozing from their stony expressions.

Phillip and Daring both had to take a moment to recover from the shock of suddenly facing this pony. “Charlie Silvertongue,” Phillip greeted him coldly.

Charlie August Silvertongue studied Phillip carefully, ignoring Daring. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

“I like art,” Phillip replied curtly.

“Really?” Silvertongue asked, raising his eyebrows. “I did not take you for the type to appreciate art.”

“Maybe you don’t know him that well,” Daring cut in. “And besides, since we paid to be here, maybe you could be a little more grateful.”

Silvertongue’s eyes panned over to study her. “Miss Do,” he nodded politely. "Allow me to welcome you back to the free world, and thank you for your patronage. Could I tempt you with a private tour of the gallery?"

His voice felt like a cheese grater against her ears. Daring gritted her teeth, fighting to keep her wings from instinctively spreading open. Silvertongue’s bodyguards both stepped forward, sensing that their master was in danger.

Phillip put a hoof on Daring’s shoulder, staying her. “Do the names Scribbled Note, Aesthetic Tone, Gentle Brush and Pristine Touch mean anything to you?” he asked.

"Yes," Silvertongue nodded quietly. “They were all employees of mine; good workers, with good families. They worked in restoration. I was deeply saddened to hear of their deaths.”

“I’m sure you were,” Phillip growled.

“Your wallet probably wasn’t, though,” Daring added. Phillip squeezed her shoulder in warning.

“And if you and your new partner are on the case, I am certain that the killer will be caught and brought to justice,” Silvertongue said mildly, choosing to study a portrait of Starswirl the Bearded on the wall.

“Case won’t solve itself,” Phillip grunted, starting to guide Daring around the ensemble.

“Before you go, I want to tell you both something,” Silvertongue called, not looking away from the painting. “In this city, you either bend or you break. Not knowing when to yield is the most dangerous thing here.” He turned and faced him, his polite smile never wavering. “That’s a word of advice you should both take to heart, Mr. Finder and Ms. Do.”

Phillip and Daring both glared at Silvertongue, then glanced at his two bodyguards. The hulking behemoths leered at them, tilting their heads to the side in unison to loosen their neck muscles with a sickening series of cracks and pops.

“Run along now, Mr. Finder,” Silvertongue said, turning back to the painting. “We both have important work to do.” He sniffed the air. “And I believe that both of you need a bath. Have you been rolling in garbage?”

Their hearts thudding heavily in their ears, Phillip and Daring passed in between the two goons. As they walked down the hallway, Daring turned around and waved at Silvertongue with a false, cheery smile. “See you around, Chuck!” she called in a parting shot.

Silvertongue’s calm expression turned into a mask of fury for a moment, but Daring had only a moment to enjoy it before Phillip grabbed her foreleg and dragged her along behind him. They hustled out of the lobby and out the front door. The taste of the sun-kissed fresh air as they exited was as sweet as honey on their tongues, and they both breathed it in deeply, trying to settle their tremulous pulses.

Phillip gave Daring a glare as they walked back down the steps. “We paid?”

“Well, okay, you paid,” Daring admitted. “Now, c’mon. We got a lead to chase after.”

There was a phone booth at the bottom of the stairs. Phillip entered the booth and opened up the attached phone book, running his hoof down the names. “Shifting Tone,” he reported. “Nineteen Painter’s Way—Daring, wait!”

His cry of protest went unheeded as Daring seized him underneath his forelegs and flapped up into the air. Ponies on the sidewalk stopped and stared as she carried her protesting cargo over the city’s rooftops, towards the farmlands of the north.

Case One, Chapter Six: Blood in the Dark

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Painter’s Way was a narrow cobblestone street near the northern borders of Ponyville, where the city’s roads and edifices intersected with green pastures of farmland. Number Nineteen was a brown and vibrant golden cottage, sitting on a small patch of green grass. A concrete walkway lined with flowers spanning every color of the rainbow led up to the door.

Daring set Phillip down in front of the walkway and they both sprinted for the door. Phillip pounded against the white door. “Shifting Tone!” he called. There was no response. Without waiting, Phillip turned about and brought his hind legs up. With a grunt, he kicked the door open. The force of his kick tore the door right off its jamb and sent it smashing into the wall.

“Or you could’ve looked around for a key,” Daring sighed, following him into a sitting room featuring a low white table surrounded by violet cushions and a carpeting the color of freshly-turned dirt.

“This is faster. Shifting Tone!” Phillip called into the house. Again, there was no answer. Phillip sprinted up the stairs to the second floor, with Daring right on his tail.

They turned a corner at the top and found themselves facing a closed door. A chill ran down Daring’s spine; she had been here before, and she knew what was on the other side of that door. Phillip pressed forward and seized the doorknob, and she flinched, preparing herself for the death that awaited on the other side.

The door swung open, revealing a bedroom colored in subdued tones: creamy whites, pale tans, and dark blues. A double bed with blue sheets sat in the center of the room, the bedding neatly folded. Bookshelves spanned one wall, while a dresser stood against the other. There was no sign of anypony. Daring let out a long exhalation of relief.

“Where is she?” Phillip asked, looking around the room. He shook his head and took a breath, forcing himself to focus. He slowly turned in a circle, sweeping his gaze across the room. “Bed’s made. Newspaper in front lawn. She’s been gone for two days, since the ponies started dying.” His eyes panned over to a framed photograph on the dresser. It depicted Shifting Tone with the same dark brown white-maned unicorn from her cubicle; the stallion in the picture had a sprig of mint leaves for a cutie mark. Phillip picked the picture up and examined the stallion. “Hmmm…”

“What now?” Daring asked. “You look around and make some brilliant deduction and we head off to wherever she’s hiding?”

“No,” Phillip answered. “We take the easy route.” Taking the photograph, he turned and exited the room, descending back down the stairs. Daring followed him out of the house and back out onto the street.

Phillip walked over to the cottage next door, a dark blue building with rose pots in the windows, and knocked at the door. After a few moments, a middle-aged unicorn mare answered the door.

“Yes?” she asked with a pleasant smile. “Can I help you two?”

“We’re with the police,” Phillip stated. “Do you know Shifting Tone?”

The mare nodded, her brow creasing in concern. “Oh, yes, since she moved here. Is she in trouble?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out ourselves,” Phillip replied. “Have you seen her recently?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t seen her all day today...or yesterday, for that matter,” the mare replied. “She seemed fine when I last saw her.”

Phillip held up the picture that he’d taken from the bedroom. “Do you recognize this stallion?” he asked.

The mare nodded. “That’s her coltfriend, Jamie Mint. He’s a bartender, he lives on Nightlife Way.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Phillip said, tucking the photo back into his vest. “C’mon, Daring!”

The cry was barely out of his mouth before Daring grabbed him underneath the forelegs and flapped up into the air. A short flight to the east brought them to the mouth Nightlife Way, a one-way street leading to a cul-de-sac, like a river of paved stone leading to a pond. Humble houses lined both sides of the street. From the air, Daring’s sharp eyes spotted a mailbox with “Mint” painted on it in white-green. She swooped in and landed in front of the door.

Phillip knocked sharply. After a few moments, the door opened to reveal the white-maned unicorn, his hair in disarray.

“H-hello,” Jamie Mint stammered, blinking rapidly. “Who are you?”

“We’re detectives,” Phillip answered. “We need to talk to you about Shifting Tone.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Oh, come in! Come in!” he cried, gesturing them to come inside. They followed him into the house. He led them into the living room, which featured several tall stools, a polished wooden floor, and a modest but respectable bar in the corner.

“Anything to drink?” Jamie asked, going behind the bar as if on instinct as Daring and Phillip settled into chairs.

“You got any Manticore Rare?” Daring asked before Phillip could cut her off. “I need a glass, neat.”

“One Manticore Rare, neat, coming up,” Jamie said, grabbing a bottle of dark reddish-brown liquid and an old-fashioned glass in his magic and setting to work. “And for you?”

“Early for me,” Phillip grunted, glaring at Daring. “When did you last see Shifting Tone?”

“Face to face, two days ago,” Jamie said, pouring out the bourbon and sliding the glass over to Daring. “She was in a pretty good mood. We spent the night out walking along the Maresippi.” He smiled faintly. “She loved the river at night.”

Daring knocked back half of her drink in one go. “Ah, I needed that, thanks,” she sighed, shaking her head and pointedly ignoring the dirty look that Phillip was giving her. “You said face to face. You’ve heard from her since?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said. He pulled a folded sheet of thin paper that rustled like dry leaves when it was held out from underneath the bar and gave it to Phillip. “This appeared on my bar this morning.”

“Appeared?” Daring asked as Phillip unfolded the paper.

“Yeah,” Jamie nodded. “I taught her a spell for sending short letters and notes back and forth.” The faint smile appeared on his face again. “Sometimes I’d wake up and there’d be a note waiting for me on the bedside table…”

Daring hesitated, then reached out and patted Jamie on the shoulder. “We’re gonna find her, all right?” she said.

Jamie shook his head sadly. “You know, when I realized when she was missing, I thought about calling the police.” He made a face. “Like that would’ve helped.” His eyes misted over, and he wiped them with his foreleg. “I appreciate you trying, but…” He turned his head away and fell silent.

Daring glanced over and read the note over Phillip’s shoulder.

Jamie—
The likelihood is, when you read this, I will be dead or about to die. Don’t try to look for me; you won’t find me, and you’ll probably get hurt. When they do find my body, know that I gave my life for a better purpose—fighting back against the fat cats who grind us under their heels.
Please tell Scribbled Note’s, Aesthetic Tone’s, Gentle Brush’s and Pristine Touch’s families that I didn’t mean for them to die in my place.
I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together. I will always love you.
—Shifting Tone.

Reading the message, Daring began to understand why Jamie had given up. “‘Gave my life for a better purpose?’ She sounds like a zealot or something,” she commented quietly.

“And we know how those usually end up,” Phillip agreed, examining the ridges of tears along the edge of the note. “This was torn out of a book.” He turned the note around. There was a set of printed words on the other side:

Good News Journal
Given from:
Dedicated to:

“It’s from a Good News copy of the Covenant Journal,” Phillip declared.

“Gee, that narrows it down,” Daring said dryly, taking another long sip of her bourbon.

“Ink’s barely faded, no dust or fading on paper,” Phillip muttered to himself, apparently ignoring her. “It’s probably never been opened.” He rested his chin on his hoof for a few moments, lost in thought, then asked Jamie, “You said this was delivered by her magic?”

“Yeah,” Jamie nodded. “I saw it appear right in front of me.”

“Good,” Phillip nodded, tucking the note into his vest. “Because that means that we can track it. Daring, we need to head back to the precinct.”

Daring nodded and finished off her drink. “We’ll find her, Jamie,” she said, her tone filled with what she hoped was more than drink-fueled conviction.

Jamie managed to smile again as they departed. Once more, Daring grabbed Phillip underneath the forelegs and took off into the sky, soaring up to where the gray-streaked rain clouds were beginning to gather.

By the time they landed in front of the police station, Daring was panting. “Okay,” she huffed, reaching back to massage a kink in her back. “No more flights today.”

“Good,” Phillip said. “I like having my hooves on the ground.”

Daring straightened out her spine with a crack. “Geez, you should lose some weight,” she grunted.

Ignoring her, Phillip pushed open the door and entered the lobby. Daring followed on his tail as they pushed across the lobby, retracing their steps through the hallway and down the stairs to the basement laboratory.

Twilight Sparkle and Doctor Suunkii were still right where they left them, as if they had never left the laboratory. Suunkii was currently bending over a microscope, dictating notes to Twilight as she scribbled furiously on a notepad. A string quartet was sobbing out of the radio in the corner.

“G’day,” Phillip called as they entered.

Both lab ponies looked up at their entry. “Hello, Phillip Finder, Daring Do,” Suunkii said calmly. “How is the case coming?”

“We may have a lead,” Phillip said, pulling out the letter and showing it to Twilight. “This was teleported via magic by a suspect. Is there a way to trace the magic back?”

Twilight puckered her lips in thought, gently taking the letter in her magic. “There might be something I can do,” she mused, turning the paper over and over. “Whenever a pony uses their magic on something, they leave traces of their energy on the object and in the surrounding environment. Also, whenever an object is teleported, part of the magical energies from the place they were teleported from remains on the object. If I can extract the magical energies on this paper, I can create a spell that will cause the paper to glow when it gets close to the source of those energies.” She took the paper over to what looked like a fume hood lined with lead sheeting in the corner. Her horn lit up with a purple aura and she began to direct magic into the hood via a tube that connected the inside of the hood to the outside. Arcs of violet lightning danced around the paper, which began to glow faintly blue.

“What’ve you found out about that dust?” Phillip asked Suunkii.

“Funny that you should ask,” Suunkii noted. At that moment, the door opened and Trace Evidence walked in.

“Hello, Phillip,” Trace greeted him coolly. “I heard a funny story from a security guard at the August Art Gallery. Somepony set off a stink bomb at the gallery, and you and your partner were seen there.”

“Quite a coincidence,” Daring commented, hopping up onto a table to sit.

Trace Evidence glanced at her, then sniffed the air. “What smells like onions?”

“Her lunch,” Phillip answered.

“If I may get back to the matter at hoof,” Suunkii interrupted, pulling a slide out of the microscope. Sitting upon it was a sample of the white dust that Phillip and Daring had recovered from the previous crime scenes.

“This is not dust,” Suunkii declared. “I have found that it is organic and infused with magic. After several tests, I have identified some of the components as petals from an Asphodelus plant and root from a burning wormwood.”

“Okay…” Trace Evidence said slowly.

“On their own, both of these plants are innocuous,” Suunkii explained. “Combined in a potion, they serve as the chief ingredients of a drug that can put a pony into a dazed, almost trance-like state where they are highly susceptible to suggestion. It would be a simple manner for a killer to bring a drugged pony into a room and get them to hang themselves.”

“How hard is it to make this potion?” Trace asked.

“It is very complicated,” Suunkii reported. “And neither of these plants are easy to raise, especially in this climate; as a matter of fact, the burning wormwood is only native to the Everfree Forest.”

“So, once again, somepony good with plants,” Trace commented.

“I did it!” Twilight suddenly shouted, causing everypony to jump and look around, glaring at her. Twilight flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I finished the spell. The paper should glow when it’s close to where it was teleported from.”

“Except where are you going to look?” Daring asked Phillip as he retrieved the paper from Twilight. “Do you have any idea how many Covenant Journals are in this city?”

“But I’m going with the most likely option,” Phillip replied. “Knowing there were ponies after her, this mare would go someplace quiet, where she could hide. Someplace where the first thing she turned to in order to write a note is something that she found in her room: something that came standard in her room.”

“You think she’s hiding in a hotel room,” Trace Evidence concluded.

“Probably,” Phillip nodded. “We should get some officers to help, there may be trouble.”

“I’ll call in a patrol car,” Trace said. “Red’s got a migraine, so I’ll go with you two.”

“Good. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” Phillip said. “C’mon, Daring.”

With a sigh, Daring heaved herself off the table. “I should’ve kept the bottle,” she muttered to herself as she followed Trace and Phillip back out of the lab.

“Good luck!” Twilight called after them as they ascended back up the stairs.

The sun had long set, but their search continued determinedly. A police cruiser trundled through the streets of Ponyville’s dockside district, its headlights piercing the encroaching darkness. The dark waters of the Maresippi lapped at the bank to their right, the reflected images of the stars shivering as though in fright.

“We’ve been at this all day,” Officer Star Cluster complained from the driver’s seat. “For all we know, she’s dead already.”

“We still have to make sure,” Officer Flash Sentry replied from the passenger seat. “And if it turns out that she’s still alive, then she’ll need help.”

“Kid, you obviously don’t know Silvertongue,” Star Cluster grunted. “There’s next to no chance that she’s still alive.”

“Enough,” Phillip grunted from the backseat. “Ponies have died, and more ponies may die if we don’t solve this. Now put your hoof down.”

“Yes, sir,” Star Cluster growled, accelerating through a green light.

“You really think that she’s in a hotel, sir?” Flash asked.

“It’s the best theory,” Phillip replied. “And don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry, sir,” Flash replied, then winced. “I mean—”

“Flash, do us both a favor and stuff it,” Star grunted, pausing at a stop sign just long enough to be considered a full stop, then cruising through.

Phillip glanced up in the rearview mirror. A light golden-brown Hayson Commander was following behind them. He could see the slightly blurry images of Trace Evidence behind the wheel and Daring Do in the passenger seat. He looked up as they approached a small motel. A flickering red neon sign that read “Vacancy” stood next to a short dirt road. At the end of the road stood a low, long, pale green wooden building set at the top of a sloping hill that led to the river bank.

Suddenly, the paper in his hoof began to glow a faint blue-green. “Hold it. We’re here,” he called. Star Cluster turned down the road towards the motel, with Trace following. They pulled up to the motel’s parking lot and disembarked.

“You two, go around to the back,” Trace ordered Star and Flash. Flash saluted and bustled around to the back of the building, with his partner reluctantly following.

Still holding the paper, Phillip walked through the motel’s front door, with Daring and Trace on his tail. The lobby was a small, dark room with peeling wallpaper. A fat earth pony stallion sat behind the counter, snoring loudly. Ignoring him, the trio walked up the hallway. The paper continued to glow, becoming brighter and brighter as they continued past several doors. Once they reached door number twelve, the paper glowed almost as bright as a flame, then went out.

Trace knocked at the door. “Shifting Tone? This is the police. Open up.” There was no answer.

“Allow me,” Phillip said, stepping forward. He turned about and once again, bucked backward with a grunt. With a resounding crack, the door flew open.

The motel room consisted of a single small room with chartreuse carpeting that smelled faintly of mold; the sound of a leaky faucet came from behind a closed door next to the entrance. A desk with a chair stood against one wall, next to a large, old radio and a lamp that, along with a light in the ceiling, provided illumination. A small bed was pressed against the opposite wall. A small cyan unicorn mare with curly blue locks was sitting on the bed, hugging her knees. She looked up as they entered. Her aqua blue eyes were streaked with red.

“So you found me first,” she said flatly.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Phillip said, standing in front of her. “We need to take you somewhere safe.”

“There’s no point,” Shifting Tone said, shaking her head. “I’m lucky to have hidden for as long as I have.”

“Enough with the melodrama, okay?” Daring interrupted, walking around Phillip and sitting on the bed in front of Shifting. “This is about Silvertongue, isn’t it? He killed your friends, and now he’s after you.”

Shifting stared at Daring for a few moments before slowly nodding as though she couldn’t quite figure Daring out.

“So tell us what happened,” Daring pressed. “Then we can stick it to that smug bastard for you.” When Shifting still didn’t answer, Daring leaned forward a little, her face softening.

“At least so Jamie can understand why,” she said in a quieter tone.

Shifting Tone bit her lip in thought, then lowered her gaze. “I stole something from Silvertongue’s gallery,” she reported. “Something that all five of us were working on.”

“Was it this?” Daring asked, taking out the photograph of the necklace and showing it to Shifting Tone.

She nodded in affirmation. “It’s a necklace from the Haycraftian era,” she explained. “Silvertongue uses his galleries to smuggle weapons and contraband, including enchanted items. We found that this necklace had a powerful luck enchantment on it: anypony who wears it is blessed with good luck.”

“And you stole it for yourself?” Trace asked.

Shifting Tone shook her head. “I gave it to a friend,” she replied. “Somepony who can fight back against Silvertongue and all the others. But Silvertongue didn’t know which one of us stole it, so…”

“He decided to be thorough and kill all of you,” Phillip nodded.

Shifting Tone nodded, tears leaking from her eyes. "I didn't want them to die..." she whimpered. "We knew what Silvertongue was doing, what he was, but we were never involved in it...I thought if I could just do this one thing to help, then maybe..."

“Who did you give it to?” Trace Evidence pressed.

Before Shifting could reply, the lights suddenly snapped out, plunging everypony into darkness. “He’s here,” Phillip hissed.

There was a shift and a click as Trace Evidence drew his service pistol and cocked it, rising to his hind legs; the holding strap for the .50 caliber pistol was secured snugly around his left foreleg and he gripped the weapon itself in his right hoof, preparing to push against the trigger at the slightest movement. In the dark, Phillip tapped Trace’s shoulder, then pointed into the corner of the room. Trace squinted, but then he spotted it: an air vent set against the wall near the floor. He aimed his pistol at the vent, his horn glowing with a faint golden aura. Daring moved closer to Shifting Tone; she could feel and hear the mare's heavy, shuddering breaths.

But the attack came from the doorway. There was a flicker of movement, then a sphere of purple light flew into the room and detonated in a blinding flash. All ponies yelled in surprise and pain and staggered, raising their forelegs to cover their faces.

Her vision covered in a wash of white light, Daring struggled to refocus, concentrating on her other senses. She reached out with a hoof and grabbed a hold of the edge of the bed.

There was the sound of hoofsteps from the doorway, then she felt a wave of energy rush through the air, accompanied by a shock of static electricity that made her coat stand on end. Phillip and Trace both cried out, then she heard them slamming into the wall behind her. The hoofsteps came closer, and Daring heard the snick of a switchblade opening.

She lunged forward and felt Shifting Tone's cold flesh beneath her hooves. Grabbing her torso tightly, she dived backward, using her wings to propel herself. But she was too slow: Shifting Tone jerked violently in her grasp and screamed right into her ear, and she smelled blood from the wound. Collapsing to the floor, Daring blinked rapidly to try to get her eyes working again. Vision returned slowly, in a blur of colors; she could just make out Shifting Tone sprawled on top of her, her eyes closed and breathing ragged. Quickly rolling around on top of her, Daring spotted the bright red of blood against her blue coat. She pressed down against the wound; the blood was shockingly warm and sticky and smelled of copper.

She spotted two other ponies next to her, laying against the wall. Trace was sitting still and appeared to be stunned, while Phillip was shaking his head and trying to get up. Turning to look over her shoulder, she spotted a unicorn in a black hooded sweatshirt and a ski mask walking around the bed. A switchblade knife, the blade stained red with blood, was clutched in their hoof.

But then, a blur of brown and green tackled the figure, knocking the knife from their grasp. They rolled out of the room into the hallway, their hooves scrabbling against one another. The unicorn managed to get his hind legs underneath Phil and pushed him off; Phillip rolled when he hit the ground and got back up on his hooves, using the wall for support. Squinting through the darkness of the hallway, he could just make out the shape of the assassin getting back up to their hooves. Lighting up his horn so that he could see, the assassin turned towards him and lunged forward with a straight punch to the face.

Phillip weaved underneath the blow, sending a quick jab to his opponent's lower ribs and immediately following up with a straight shot to the chin that sent him staggering back. Thanks for the light, wanker, he thought bitterly as he seized his foe in a clinch and fired off a knee strike to the gut.

The assassin recovered quickly, blocking the knee strike, then rushing forward while Phillip was off-balance, slamming him into the wall. Phillip grunted in pain, momentarily loosening his hold, and the assassin responded with an upwards headbutt against his chin. Phillip felt like he'd been hit in the jaw with a bowling ball; stars exploded across his vision and his head spun. He felt the assassin's hooves clutch his throat. Instinctively, he pushed his forelegs up and out hard, breaking the chokehold and pushing him away, and responded with a vicious kick. His hoof went into his attacker's gut and he heard him double over, wheezing. His vision recovered in time to see the masked pony leaning against the wall.

In a motion that he'd practiced a dozen times, Phillip's right hoof went to a pocket on his vest, retrieving the object within, then snapped downwards. With a clicking noise that was music to his ears, the extendable baton snapped open, extending to its full eighteen-inch length. He raised the baton to prepare a finishing blow, but the unicorn suddenly looked up, his horn brightening. His spell struck Phillip in the chest; Phillip's entire body was momentarily alive with pain, like he was being electrocuted. He screamed in pain and fell to the floor, dropping his baton.

The unicorn moved forward to finish Phillip off but was distracted by movement out of the corner of his eye. Trace Evidence had recovered from the heavy blow and was quickly retrieving his pistol. Deciding to cut and run, the unicorn pushed Phillip to the ground and sprinted for a door marked “Emergency Exit.”

“Come back here!” Trace shouted, sprinting after him. The assassin pushed through the door and out into the night, only to run into Flash and Star.

“Halt!” Flash shouted, raising his foreleg at his target. The barrel of his .38 service revolver, mounted securely atop his foreleg via a loose strap, snapped to the unicorns' forehead and the intruder hesitated for a moment. Flash merely had to push down against the trigger that jutted out in front of the weapon assembly and it would be over.

Suddenly, Star Cluster stumbled, knocking into Flash and bringing them both to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs. The unicorn sprinted past them, reaching into a pocket in his sweatshirt and pulling out a dark red crystal. He tossed it up into the air; it hovered above him and began to spin rapidly. Tendrils of dark red energy flew from the crystal, dancing around the unicorn.

Trace Evidence burst through the door and took aim with his pistol, quickly firing off a shot that missed wildly. Before he could correct his aim, there was a flash of dark red light. When it cleared, the unicorn and the crystal were both gone.

“What was that?” Flash asked as he and Star untangled themselves from each other.

“A teleportation crystal,” Trace grunted, holstering his pistol. “He’s long gone.” He gave the two officers a glare. “What are you two doing on the ground?”

“Sorry, Detective,” Star Cluster said nonchalantly, dusting himself off. “I tripped.”

"He pushed me!" Flash snapped back, glaring at Star from the ground.

Star Cluster glared at Flash, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You insinuating something, boy?" he growled.

Flash gritted his teeth and pulled himself up to his full height, but before a fight could erupt, both of them were pushed away from each other by an aura of golden energy.

"I don't need this shit, and you two don't either," Trace grunted, his horn alight. "The vic's still alive, but hurt. Call an ambulance."

"She's alive?" Flash said, his mouth dropping open. Star Cluster just grunted and started to run back to the cruiser, with Flash following. Trace Evidence huffed out of his nostrils and walked back into the motel. Phillip was picking himself up off the floor, rubbing his chin.

“You okay?” Trace asked him, helping him get back to his hooves.

"I'm fine," Phillip nodded, retrieving his baton.

"Guys! Fucking help me!" Daring shouted from the hotel room. Trace and Phillip both dashed back inside. Daring was still crouched over Shifting Tone, her bloodstained hooves pressing the pillow from the bed against the knife wound in the younger mare's back. Shifting Tone coughed heavily, blood flying from her mouth and nostrils.

"Keep pressure on that," Phillip instructed as Trace used his magic to rip the sheets from the bed and tear them into strips. Phillip snatched up the sheets and began to wrap them tightly around Shifting's torso.

Shifting Tone let out a wail of mixed pain, fear, and despair. "I don't wanna die!" she sobbed.

"You're not going to die," Daring replied, her voice calm even as she continued to press the pillow down on the injury. When Shifting didn't answer except to let out another sob, Daring placed a hoof on her shoulder. "Hey, Shifting, look at me."

The younger mare looked up at Daring, her eyes shining with tears. "You're not gonna die," Daring repeated. "We're gonna get you to a hospital. You're going see Jamie again. You're gonna be fine."

Shifting let out a quiet whimper and nodded. Daring grasped the victim's hoof and squeezed tightly. "I'm right here," she reassured her, her voice soft. "I'm not going anywhere."

Phil finished tying off the makeshift bandages and then unzipped his vest, placing it over Shifting to keep her warm and stave off shock. He took Daring's place at Shifting's side, pressing down directly on the wound.

"Phil, look," Trace said. Phillip looked up to see the detective using his magic to place the dropped switchblade knife in a clear plastic bag. He smiled grimly.

We've got you now, you wanker, he cursed the assassin. We're coming for you.

Case One, Chapter Seven: The Net Tightens

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The sound of Daring’s hoofsteps echoed against the walls of the laboratory as she paced in an endless circle around the tables with their neatly placed equipment. Phillip, Twilight and Doctor Suunkii sat in a row, watching her go around like a wind-up toy on a track.

Suunkii took a long slurp of cold coffee from his mug and sighed. “How is Shifting Tone?" he asked, his concern as genuine as his desire to break the silence.

"She's at the hospital, she'll be okay," Phillip replied. "Cops keeping her under armed guard."

"Then let us hope that we can find the one who attacked her and end the bloodshed here," Suunkii stated.

Phillip just grunted in reply. Daring made no sign that she had heard him. As she walked past the table for the twentieth time, her eyes fell on two objects sitting atop the black countertop. One was a circular black plastic dish, which contained black dirt left on Phillip’s cheek, left behind from the killer’s punch. The other was the switchblade knife, held in a clear plastic bag with a tag to protect it from contamination. Against her wishes, her gaze settled on the weapon.

The switchblade knife was an ugly thing: a glance told her that this thing was designed for one purpose only, and that was to cut and to kill. The five-inch blade was still red to the hilt with Shifting Tone’s blood, the stain having dried to a hideous dark red shade. The handle was black, the metallic shine dulled from lack of care. There was a brand logo imprinted into the handle, the stylized head of a roaring tiger surrounded by flames. She supposed the image was supposed to make the user feel like a badass or something.

She snorted to herself in disdain and went back to pacing. The murderer was no badass. He was a coward.

To her great relief, the door finally opened and Detectives Trace and Red entered. Both of them looked exhausted from a long morning of work. Trace was holding a stack of files in his magic and had a trenchcoat draped over his shoulder.

“I found out how our killer found us,” Trace declared in a grim voice, setting the files down on the table. He reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside was a long, dark red crystal. There was a white line across the center of the crystal; it looked as though the rock had been cut perfectly in half at one point, and then reassembled.

“Two halves of a teleportation crystal,” Trace explained. “It was underneath the bumper of my car. Our killer teleported to our location using this.”

“Can you use their magic off of that?” Daring asked Twilight. “Like what we did with the paper?”

“No,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “The crystal used up all of its enchantment when he teleported to it. There’s no magic in there to use.”

“I wonder how he knew to use Detective Trace Evidence’s car,” Dr. Suunkii mused.

“It’s not exactly a secret that I’m working this case,” Trace shrugged. “I suppose if a pony wanted to find Shifting Tone, the best thing they could do is follow the pony looking for them.”

“We can discuss this later,” Red said with a yawn. “It took us all morning, but we found a list of ponies in this city who bought a Tigertooth Black switchblade recently.” He gave Phillip a grim look. “I assume you have something clever for us to do with this shitload of names that we got for you.”

“Yes,” Phillip replied flatly, ignoring the biting tone of Red Herring’s voice. “We have clues we can use to narrow the list down.”

He walked into the center of the room and turned to face his comrades. “The killer is a unicorn male, approximately three feet, nine inches in height, with a blue aura and green eyes. Right hooved. Trained fighter, physically fit. Will likely have previous criminal history; we can check in the files here. Suunkii, what did you find from the dirt on his hoof?”

“It is potting soil,” Suunkii replied. “I found traces of plant material from several different plants contained within it.”

“Then he does gardening,” Phillip concluded. “Possibly employed at a garden supply, may have a plant-related cutie mark. Probably grew the shrinking violets himself. And he’ll have a bruise on his chin and cracked ribs from last night.”

“All good points,” Trace Evidence commented, accepting a mug of coffee from Suunkii. “But we still have to narrow this list down.” He glanced at the stack of papers and sighed. “That means…”

Twilight gasped, her eyes lighting up like stars. “Research!” she cried.

“Research,” Red and Trace both groaned.

“To the records room!” Twilight declared, already marching out of the lab. The detectives both followed, while Suunkii quietly excused himself.

Before Phillip could follow, Daring reached out a wing and stopped him. “How do we know Trace didn’t put that crystal in his car himself?” she whispered. “To try to throw us off his track?”

“We don’t,” Phillip whispered back. “But we can’t prove that he did, either. Good instincts, though,” he added quietly. “You are learning.”

They exited the lab and walked down a short hallway to a door set all the way at the end. Behind the door was a room about the size of a walk-in closet. Several tall filing cabinets had been stuffed into the room rather haphazardly, many of the drawers stuffed full with criminal records.

“I was just in the middle of reorganizing these,” Twilight was saying, bouncing around the room cheerfully as she gathered up files in her magic. “And after this, I’ll take the opportunity to reorganize them again!” She placed the stack down in front of the group and then pranced off into the aisles again, thinking out loud to herself. “Alphabetical order, subcategorized by race and severity of their crimes, cross-referencing each other by modus operandi and signature…!”

“I’ll get another pot going,” Red offered, scurrying out of the room as fast as possible. Trace, Phillip, and Daring all sighed and set to work.

It took them just under an hour and an entire pot of coffee, but they managed to narrow down the list to only twenty-three unicorns who had bought a switchblade and had a previous criminal history of violence. “Why do so many ponies need switchblade knives anyway?” Red Herring grumbled, laying his forehead on the table.

“Right,” Phillip said, rubbing his eyes. “Now we just have to check on these ponies and see if we can find our wanker.”

“We should bring some officers to back us up,” Trace Evidence stated. “Officers we can trust,” he added in response to a glance from Daring.

“Trust,” Daring snorted as the door shut. “That’s not a word you associate with Ponyville police.”

“Or with thieves,” Red Herring replied, looking up.

Daring snapped her gaze to him, her eyes narrowing. “You got something to say to me?” she growled.

“I can see that brand on your right hoof,” Red replied evenly, standing up to his full height. “Everypony can. And we all know what that mark means.”

“What it meant,” Phillip replied coldly.

Red Herring snorted. “She ratted out her friends for a lighter sentence. You actually think that just because she spent a year in jail, she’s not a thief anymore?”

“Stop it, all of you!” Twilight cried, pushing the arguing ponies away from each other with her magic. “Detective Herring, apologize to her!”

"That fancy certificate doesn't mean you can boss me around, filly," Red Herring snarled at Twilight for a moment, then turned and stormed out of the room. Daring panted through her teeth.

“Are you okay?” Twilight asked, touching Daring’s shoulder.

“Get off!” Daring snapped, shoving her away.

“Okay, cool down, all of you,” Trace Evidence ordered. He looked right at Daring. “For the record, I don’t care about your past. You’re working with him, and he’s working with us. That means you’re working with us. That’s all that matters.” He turned to Phillip. “You do have a point, though. No officers this time. Just us.”

“Fine by me,” Phillip said, gathering up the list of names and addresses. “C’mon, Daring.”

“Good luck,” Twilight called after them as they exited the records room. Red Herring was waiting outside with a sour expression.

“Separate cars and she comes with me,” Trace told him in a tone that preemptively cut off any argument, swinging his trenchcoat over his shoulders as he spoke. Red Herring just grunted and stalked out. The group ascended all the way up to the surface. A brisk wind blew through the streets of Ponyville, and the sun was hidden behind a layer of pale gray clouds that blanketed the sky.

Red Herring made a beeline for a rust-colored Diplomat 600, flinging himself into the driver’s seat. Phillip climbed into the passenger seat as Trace led Daring over to his Hayson Commander.

“I’m sorry about Red,” he said to her as he unlocked the door and opened it up. “He can be...well…”

“An asshole?” Daring grunted, getting into the passenger seat. She eyed him warily out of the corner of her gaze, wondering if she was sitting in a car with a traitor.

“Yeah,” Trace nodded. “But he’s really not that—”

“Don’t,” Daring cut him off. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Trace looked over at her, then nodded, turning the ignition. The engine rattled to life and he followed Red out of the parking lot and into the streets of Ponyville.

By that afternoon, the sun was starting to peek out from the cloud cover, as if timidly checking to see if it was safe to come out. The Diplomat and the Commander trawled across a four-lane road through the dockside district, the wipers occasionally dancing across the windshields to clean off a few errant raindrops.

They reached their destination, a garden supply store set in between two multi-story office buildings, with a metal scaffolding of a half-constructed building across the busy road. A squat shack stood in front of a small parking lot, with the words “Edenian Treasures” written in green over the door. White greenhouses and tents stretched out past the store. The two cars pulled into the mostly-empty lot and parked.

“Who’re we looking for again?” Red Herring grumbled, stretching his tired limbs as he climbed out of his car.

“Twisted Root,” Phillip answered as he disembarked. “Worker here.”

“We’re running low on names,” Trace commented as he led the way up to the door. "Maybe this one will be the one we are after."

The bell over the door jingled as they entered. The slightly dusty store was crowded with shelves loaded with a wide variety of equipment: bags of seeds, gardening tools, small decorative stone statues, and bags of potting soil and compost. Every step they took kicked up soil.

In the very back of the store was a low table with an old-fashioned cash register; a dusty but still running and reliable punch clock was set up on the wall behind the counter, with time sheets placed in slots on either side of it. A young blonde earth pony wearing a green apron was sitting behind the counter, his eyes scanning a magazine of word puzzles. He glanced up at their approach and scrambled to his hooves. “Can I help you?” he asked. The silver nametag on his apron read “Dancing Petals.”

Red Herring and Trace Evidence both walked up to the counter. Daring and Phillip held back, scanning the room. “We’re looking for an employee who works here,” Red Herring said gruffly. “Twisted Root.”

Dancing Petals looked back and forth across all four ponies for a moment before answering. “Oh, yeah. He’s not here today. Must’ve called in sick. Is he in trouble?”

“No, no, we just want to ask him some questions,” Trace said, cutting his partner off. “He a friend of yours?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dancing shrugged. “We hang out sometimes after work, go get a cider or something.”

“Were you here last night?” Trace asked.

Dancing nodded. “Was he?” Trace pressed.

“Nope,” Dancing shook his head. “Don’t know where he was. Have you tried his home?”

“We already did,” Red grunted. “He wasn’t there.”

Dancing shrugged again. “Then I have no idea where he is.”

“All right,” Trace nodded, handing Dancing Petals his card. “Well, let us know if you do see him. We need to speak to him.”

“Will do, officers,” Dancing Petals said with a small wave as the group turned and exited the store. He waited until he heard the bell jingling, then dropped his magazine onto the counter and turned, heading out a back door. Sprinting down the gravel pathway, he ran past several greenhouses to the last one in the row and ducked through the thin doorway.

The white walls of plastic sheeting flapped gently in the wind, their noise adding to the hum of the lamps set from the ceiling. Long tables stretched across the length of the greenhouse. Pots filled with a variety of shades of soil stood in rows atop the tables, many of them bearing plants with strange and vibrant colors.

A pale blue unicorn wearing a green apron stood at the end of the row, studying a flower with five bright purple, teardrop-shaped petals. The unicorn was just over three foot nine, with a short white-blonde mane and tail and well-toned limbs. His cutie mark was a gnarled root and a mortar and pestle. As Dancing Petals approached him, the violet suddenly retracted back into the soil in its pot, as though in fright.

“Twisted,” Dancing called. The unicorn looked up, affixing him with his green eyes. “There were some cops up front asking about you.”

“Asking about me?” Twisted Root repeated, his eyes widening with shock.

“Don’t worry, I told them that you weren’t here,” Dancing replied.

“Good,” Twisted sighed, mopping his brow. “But if they came here once, they’ll probably come back. I need to get out of here.”

“Best get going now,” Dancing suggested, looking around. "I'll cover for you."

Twisted Root nodded and turned, heading for the back door of the greenhouse. He pushed through, already running through his backup plans in his head. He had a hideout near the Everfree Forest, loaded with a variety of his favorite potions: he could hide there until the heat went down and he could contact Silvertongue for instructions.

He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts as he turned the corner and found himself looking up at four ponies forming a solid wall in front of him.

“Boo,” Red Herring deadpanned.

“Word of advice,” Phillip said. “If you’re going to lie about not being at work, don’t put your timesheet in the ‘In’ slot.”

Trace Evidence extracted a set of rattling hoofcuffs from one of his coat pockets. “You’re coming with us,” he declared.

The next moment, all four ponies were sent flying backward by a wave of blue magic. Twisted Root sprinted through them, racing for the parking lot.

“He’s going for a car!” Red Herring shouted, spreading his wings and taking flight, chasing after their suspect.

But instead of leaping into a car, Twisted ran for the road. Leaping into the air, he lit up his horn. His entire body became covered with a blue aura and he propelled himself across the road, over the passing cars. Red Herring chased after him; Daring spread her wings, snatched Phillip underneath the forelegs and carried him across the road, dropping him off on the other side.

“Hey! What about me?!” Trace shouted, trapped on the other side. Grumbling, he tried to make his way across the street one lane at a time, having to pause for traffic.

Landing on the other side, Twisted Root sprinted through a gap in the chain-link fence surrounding the deserted construction site. He spotted a pulley system placed on the exterior of the scaffolding for carrying supplies and sprinted towards it, throwing spells behind him to force his two flying pursuers to back off. Seizing the rope, he used his magic to smoothly pull himself all the way up to the fourth floor before leaping off.

Red Herring swooped up after him but was received by a spell directly to the face. Stunned by the spell, he tumbled out of the air. Daring pulled up short and dived after him, grabbing him just before he struck the ground.

Phillip reached the scaffolding and leaped up, seizing the metal scaffolding and shimmying up it like a monkey. “He okay?” he called to Daring as he pulled himself up to the third floor.

“He’s breathing,” Daring shouted back, crouching over Red’s unconscious form. “But I don’t know if I can wake him up.”

At that moment, Trace ran up, his coat in disarray. “Good,” Daring said. “You can help him.” With a flap of her wings, she flew up to the fourth floor just as Phillip pulled himself over the edge, leaving Trace standing open-mouthed on the ground.

The fourth floor of the part-constructed building was made of wide hallways of plastic sheeting. Buzzing lamps set on the floor provided illumination; construction equipment, sheets of wood and buckets of tools littered the hallways.

Phillip reached into his vest and pulled out his baton, snapping it open with a sharp flick of his wrist. His eyes panned over the scene. “Stay close to me,” he ordered Daring.

Daring and Phil began to stalk forward, every step carefully placed to minimize the sound they made. Their eyes panned back and forth, alert for any movement.

“You hear that?” Daring whispered as they entered a four-way intersection of hallways. “Close your mouth and hold your breath.”

He obeyed. The two ponies remained as still as they could, their ears darting back and forth to scan for any sounds.

Then they heard it above the shuffling of plastic sheeting: the creaking of wood beneath shifting hooves and stifled panting, coming from behind the wooden floor behind a wall to their left.

Like a bird dog leaping onto its doomed prey, Phillip pounced, tearing aside a wall of plastic sheeting. Twisted Root was on the other side, his eyes widening in shock. He immediately tried to fire a stunning spell at Phillip, but he ducked beneath it and responded with a headbutt to the face, knocking Twisted backward. Daring flew forwards and Phillip ducked, allowing her to follow up with a flying kick to Twisted’s head that catapulted him back down the hallway.

Rolling back to his hooves, Twisted turned and ran around a corner, using his magic to tear a section of plastic sheeting from the wall and fling it at Daring. It entangled her like a net, dropping her out of the air. "Motherfucker!" Daring shouted in rage, struggling to disentangle herself. Phillip sprinted after Twisted.

"Fuck off, copper!" Twisted shouted in panic, magically hurling some loose bricks and boards at his pursuer. Somersaulting beneath the first wave of projectiles, Phillip vaulted off a sawhorse to grab a ceiling pipe and swung forward onto a saw table. Twisted hurled another arc of magical energy over his shoulder at him, but Phillip dived off the table into a tuck and roll, then leaped up and tackled the suspect to the floor.

Seizing a loose two-by-four on the ground, Twisted struck Phillip in the ear with it, knocking him aside. Both ponies rolled back to their hooves, each holding their weapon in a guarding position. Phillip growled at Twisted, blood trickling down from his ear. "You're pissing me off," he hissed.

Twisted hesitated for a moment, then let out his gathered courage in a shout of rage and charged Phillip, swinging the two-by-four. Phillip dodged the first two strikes, then sidestepped a downward blow and hit Twisted in the wrist with his baton. Bone snapped, the unicorn howled in agony, and the board clattered to the floor. Phillip shoulder-rammed Twisted, pushing him back. The unicorn stumbled, then saw motion out of the corner of his eye. He tried to bring his guard up, but it was too late.

Daring tackled the unicorn to the ground, entangling him in the plastic sheeting. She and Phillip both pounced, raining down blows on Twisted Root’s struggling form. Within moments, the captured suspect ceased moving, groaning.

Panting, Phillip pulled the sheeting off him. Twisted Root glared up at him, his face and body marked with bruises.

“Who were your partners?” Phillip asked quietly. His voice was pitched low, like the cold wind at the front of a storm. His gray eyes seem to darken, becoming as black as thunderheads. Twisted just glared at him.

With a sudden motion, Phillip brought his baton up and smashed it down onto Twisted left hind knee. The crack of breaking bone mixed with the unicorn’s screech of agony. Daring stepped back in shock, drawing in breath in a gasp.

“Who?” Phillip snarled, glaring at his writhing victim. “You still have three kneecaps left.”

“Fuck you!” Twisted Root snapped back through his teeth.

Phillip raised the baton again but was interrupted by a shout. “Finder! Back away from him, now.”

Red Herring and Trace Evidence appeared from around the corner, both with their sidearms out. Phillip paused for a moment, glaring at them as though infuriated that they dared to interrupt his interrogation, then stepped back with a grunt, folding up his baton and storing it in his pocket. Daring stared silently at him as the detectives approached.

“Great,” Red Herring grunted. “Nice job, Finder. And now we’ve got to get an ambulance for this one.”

“Resisted arrest,” Phillip replied shortly.

Trace placed a set of hoofcuffs on the suspect while Red flew back to the cars to radio for an ambulance. Phillip turned and began to walk away. Daring hesitated for a moment, then caught up to him and fell in line next to him. Neither of them spoke as they descended to the ground via a set of stairs and crossed the street to the lot.

Red Herring was standing at the open door of his Diplomat. He did not look at them as he signed off the radio and replaced the hoofheld microphone. “The kid’s gone,” he grunted. “Must’ve run off while we were busy with his friend.”

“Worry about him later,” Phillip grunted.

“You two stay here. You’ve done more than enough,” Red Herring ordered and flew back across the street to keep an eye on their prisoner. Phillip sat down on the bumper of the Commander with a grunt.

Daring extracted a cigarette from her pack of Blue Camel and stuck it in her mouth. She offered the pack to Phillip. He plucked one out for himself. Extracting her lighter, she lit his first, then hers, puffing heartily.

"Your ear alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Phillip nodded. "Just hurts." He touched the appendage and winced faintly. "Think it stopped bleeding. I'll put some gauze on it later."

“You normally beat up every pony you catch?” she asked, blowing smoke rings out of her mouth.

Phillip closed his eyes and inhaled deeply on his cigarette, then pulled it out and closed his mouth, holding the smoke in his throat for a moment before slowly exhaling. “No,” he replied. “But I needed information from him. That was the fastest way.”

Daring scoffed. “Well, the little fuck deserved it. But I see what Twilight meant when she said she didn’t agree with your methods.”

“Not doing this job to make ponies like me,” Phillip answered, studying the gravel beneath him. He was silent for a few moments, then looked up. “This is what I do for a living, Daring,” he said, speaking slowly, as though he were picking his words very carefully. “If you find it’s not right for you, you can leave. I won’t stop you. Hell, if you want, I’ll give you a glowing reference for whatever job you want.”

Daring laughed. “Somehow, I’m not sure a recommendation from you would be worth much,” she said. Phillip half-smiled, smoke puffing out of his nostrils once in a quiet chuckle.

“And me, leave?” she added. “You kidding? I got to sneak into Silvertongue’s gallery and catch a hired killer piece of shit, and I got paid for it.” She paused. “We are getting paid for this, right?”

“Not much, but yeah,” Phillip nodded. “So you’re staying?”

“Definitely,” Daring grinned. A true smile flickered across Phillip’s face, and he quickly lowered his gaze as if trying to hide it.

Daring took another drag on her cigarette and held it in, mulling over her thoughts as the clouds of sharp, minty air lingered on her tongue. “Just tell me one thing,” she said, turning to face Phillip. “Gentle Guide told me that you were looking for a partner. Why? And why take me on?”

Phillip looked down at the gravel for several moments of silence, then answered without looking up. “Needed somepony I could rely on,” he answered. “Somepony not afraid of breaking the rules to do what was right. Was telling Gentle Guide that about two moons ago, and he suggested you.” He looked up at her. His gray eyes, which only minutes ago had been dark and cold as thunderclouds, were now softer and lighter.

“I know about your case, Daring,” he said. “You turned in the Family because you knew that what they were doing was wrong. That and your skills were useful for me. Guide thought you’d make a good match for me, told me that I should give you a fair go since nopony else might.”

Daring frowned. For a brief moment, the brand seemed to burn against her skin. “And? What do you think?”

Phillip leaned back a bit, drawing a slow, contemplative draw on his cigarette, then letting it out slowly. “I think,” he finally said. “That we make a good team.”

Daring grinned and stuck her hoof out. “So, partners?”

Phillip bumped his hoof against hers. “Partners.”

At that moment, a set of spinning red and blue lights announced the arrival of an ambulance. Daring and Phillip watched as it pulled into the construction yard lot and stopped. Two ponies leaped out of the cab and walked around to the back to retrieve a stretcher.

“Think we should take our leave,” Phillip said, rising and dropping the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it beneath his heel. “There is one other thing we need to do.”

Daring doused her own cigarette as Phillip walked up to the curb and flagged down a passing cab. He waited for Daring to climb in before sliding in himself and giving an address to the griffon cabbie. With a grumble, the cab pulled out from the curb and sped away, back into the city interior.

The two-story light brown cottage was still sitting on the side of the road, but the yellow and black crime scene tape had long been removed. Orange Slice was sitting on a rocking chair on the open porch, staring at the passing cars with a forlorn look on his face.

The cab stopped at the curb and Phillip and Daring dismounted. Phillip paused just long enough to pay the cabbie before walking up the short driveway to the porch. “Mr. Slice?”

Orange Slice blinked and looked at him. His expression did not change in the slightest. “What have you found out?”

Phillip and Daring both walked up the porch and sat down on some old rickety wooden chairs across from Orange Slice. “We know who killed your daughter and why,” Phillip said quietly.

He began to explain the story of the murdered ponies, telling Orange Slice that they had all been killed because of one worker who had stolen from their boss, though he did not tell Orange about Shifting Tone. He continued on about how he and Daring had uncovered the killer’s identity, how the murderer had used the pollen of shrinking violets to sneak into his victim’s homes. And finally, he related the tale of how he and Daring, with the aid of two police detectives, had hunted down the murderer and captured him. Daring occasionally interjected to make a brief comment. Orange Slice listened in silence, slowly rocking back and forth in the chair.

When the story was complete, the elder stallion sat, looking at the floor as he continued to rock in his chair. “So,” he finally said. “You caught him?”

“Yes,” Phillip replied. “And he will face justice. You have my word on that.”

Orange Slice looked up slowly and sighed. “You know, this morning when I woke up, I started making breakfast for the both of us,” he said. “And then I remembered that I won’t be making her breakfast ever again. Because she…” He began to blink quickly.

Phillip hesitated. Daring strode forward and placed a hoof on Orange Slice’s back and began to rub reassuringly. “I’m really sorry about your daughter,” she said. “And we’d love to bring her back for you if we could. But she wouldn’t want you wasting your life away.”

Orange Slice took in a deep breath and nodded. “I know.”

“So, look, you should probably seek some help if you need it,” Daring continued.

“And you can talk to us if you need,” Phillip offered, somewhat hesitatingly.

Orange Slice managed a weak smile. “Yes. Thank you. If nothing else, you have caught the pony who killed her, so thank you for that.”

Phillip nodded. “Now, sorry to sound insensitive, but…”

“Ah, yes, yes, of course,” Orange Slice nodded. He disappeared inside for a brief moment, then came back out onto the porch with a checkbook. He wrote out a check for Phillip, handed it to him, and shook his hoof. “Thank you for the help.”

“Hooroo, and be well,” Phillip said, touching the brim of his hat. He and Daring descended off the porch and back down the road as Orange Slice turned and went back inside his home. The sun was beginning to set, casting muted rays of gold and amber across the slowly scattering clouds.

“So what now?” Daring asked.

“First, back to our house so I can pick something up. Then the bank so we can deposit this,” Phillip said, pocketing the check. “Then,” he added with a half-grin. “Dinner and a show. You ever been to the Apple Pie in Your Eye tavern?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Daring shrugged.

“Think you’ll like it,” Phillip answered. “Let’s get home.”

A grin slowly spread across Daring’s face. Spotting it out of the corner of his eye, Phillip tried to move away from her, his face creasing into an expression of shock. “No, wait, we can—”

“This is faster,” Daring cut him off, and before he could protest further, she seized him under the forelegs and flapped up into the crisp, clear air, making a beeline for Honeybee Bakery Street.

Case One, Chapter Eight: Artworks

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The mental image that Daring had created for the Apple Pie in Your Eye tavern was a small, shifty corner of one of Ponyville’s darker shadows. But the image her eyes received destroyed that projection.

The Apple Pie in Your Eye sat in the northeastern lower-class suburbs of Ponyville, about halfway between the northern farmlands and the barely tamed borders of the Everfree Forest. It was a two-story tall structure painted in vibrant cotton candy pinks, apple reds and leafy greens. A hanging sign over the door depicted the silhouettes of three cheering and laughing ponies—a unicorn, an earth pony and a pegasus—sitting around a table which held a steaming apple pie. Two brightly colored lanterns, one blue and one yellow, were set in the wall next to the wide doors.

“This is a tavern?” she asked as they walked up to the door.

“Yup,” Phillip said, shifting his shoulders to adjust for the weight of the black case that he was carrying on his back. He strode up to the door and opened it wide, nodding for Daring to enter first.

Daring stepped inside and received another lesson in assuming nothing. The first floor of the tavern was all one room, warmly lit by the multi-colored lanterns that hung from the ceiling. Round tables of various sizes were placed around the room, almost all of which had clusters of party balloons tied to them. Just under half of the tables were occupied, the ponies around them talking and laughing over warm meals and steins of cider. Every illuminated face displayed happiness and contentment, the expressions almost alien to Daring. The air smelled of cakes and pies, sugars and apples; the sound of warm, friendly conversation filled their ears as they entered.

“Who runs this place?” Daring asked, looking around. No place like this belonged in Ponyville.

“You’re about to meet her,” Phillip said with a rather odd smile.

“What do—”

“Hi!” a high-pitched voice shouted into Daring’s ear. She leaped into the air and whirled around to find herself facing a small, chubby, bright pink mare with cerulean eyes and hair the color and texture of cotton candy. Her cutie mark was a trio of balloons, colored blue and yellow. The mare had a very wide smile on her face.

“Welcome to the Apple Pie in Your Eye tavern!” the mare chirped, speaking very fast. “I know that doesn’t sound very fun, having apple pie in your eye, especially if it’s hot, because that would kind of hurt, but when I was trying to come up with the name, I needed something that rhymed with ‘pie,’ and ‘rye’ and ‘dye’ and ‘supply’ made no sense at all, so I went with ‘eye’ because I thought that sounded clever!” She smiled widely and giggled. “I’m Pinkie Pie! What’s your name?”

“Uh…” Daring stammered, completely caught off-guard by this strange, bubbly mare. She looked over at Phillip. He was grinning at the encounter, and it was quite clear that he was silently laughing at her. She turned back to Pinkie. “Daring Do,” she said.

“Oh, hey!” Pinkie chirped. “I remember I saw your picture in the newspaper a few days ago! Nice to meet you!"

Daring's biting retort died in her throat at Pinkie's genuine happiness and welcoming smile. "...thanks," she said.

“So you’re working with Phil now?” Pinkie asked.

“Yeah,” Daring replied. “How do you know—?”

“Where’s your hat?” Pinkie suddenly asked.

“My...hat?” Daring asked, touching her head.

“Yeah, your hat!” Pinkie said. “If you’re gonna be a private eye, you need a cool hat! It’s part of the rules!”

“I...didn’t know that there were rules,” Daring said.

“Well, now you do!” Pinkie smiled. “I gotta go. But I hope you have fun while you’re here!”

And before Daring could reply, Pinkie Pie disappeared in a blur of pink. “I…” Daring looked down and suddenly realized that she was holding a plate with a slice of warm peach pie on it; her favorite dessert.

“...thanks?” she said, looking from the plate to Phillip, who had a knowing smile on his face.

“Yeah, she’s always like that,” Phillip said, confirming her unspoken question. “You get used to it. C’mon, let me introduce you to AJ.”

He led her towards a bar in the back of the room. The tall, polished maple bar was equipped with several rows of cushioned stools in front and several shelves stocked with a variety of liquors. A wood stove was placed in the center of the back wall, the flames crackling merrily from behind the iron door.

A tall orange mare wearing an apron and a Stetson, her long blonde mane and tail both tied back with red ribbons,was standing behind the bar. Her cutie mark was a trio of apples, and her limbs were as solidly built as oak trees. As Daring and Phillip approached, the mare looked up from the glass she was cleaning.

“G’day, AJ,” Phil said, sliding onto a stool and setting the case across his back on the floor next to him.

“Howdy, Phil,” the mare greeted them with a Southern-tinged accent. She turned to Daring and paused for a moment, recognition flickering in her eyes.

“Howdy,” the bartender said, nodding to her as her smile faltered a bit. “Name’s Applejack. Welcome to the Apple Pie in Your Eye.” She winced a bit. “The name—”

“Wasn’t your idea, I know,” Daring replied coolly as she set her plate with her dessert down on the bar.

“So you’ve met Pinkie,” Applejack chuckled.

“She really runs this place?” Daring asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, we both do,” Applejack answered. “The deed’s under her name, but we both run it. See, Pinkie wanted to make a place where ponies could come to just be happy for a while. ‘A never-ending party where everypony was invited’ were, as I recall, her exact words.”

Daring glanced around, her eyes scanning the several balloons that hung over the room. “Well, that explains the decor,” she muttered.

Applejack chuckled. “Yeah, Pinkie’s something, all right. So just over a year ago, we bought this old shack that got bombed out in the Crystal War, fixed it up, and turned it into a tavern. Matter of fact, the two of us and all of our friends help with this place.” She nodded over to another table.

Daring turned to see five mares sitting around a table. She recognized Pinkie Pie and, to her small surprise, Twilight Sparkle, both of whom waved at them. She and Phil nodded back. The three other mares included a pure white blue-eyed unicorn with an elaborately styled purple mane and tail and the cutie mark of three blue diamonds, a butter yellow blue-eyed pegasus with long, flowing pink hair and the cutie mark of three pink butterflies, and a blue red-eyed pegasus with rainbow-colored hair and the cutie mark of a cloud with a rainbow-colored lightning bolt.

Applejack turned to the wood oven and opened it up. Donning a pair of oven mitts, she slid the rack out and extracted a covered plate. She placed it down on the table in front of Phil. “There you go,” she said with a small smile.

“Cheers,” Phillip said, uncovering the plate to reveal a grilled apple salad drizzled with cheese and a side of hay fries. “And AJ?” he asked. Applejack paused. “A bottle of the rum, and two glasses.”

“Sure thing,” Applejack nodded with a grin. She walked along the back wall of bottles and selected a tall thin bottle filled with a dark red liquid. She carried it back over to Phil and Daring, then dropped two glasses onto the bar.

Daring examined the label on the bottle. It depicted the silhouette of a kangaroo and the words, “Kanga-Rum: made from Aushaylian sugarcane, straight from Sydneigh.” She gave Phillip a look.

“Not the cleverest name, I know,” Phillip said, filling both glasses half full. “But it’s a little piece of home. And this is the only place nearby that stocks it.” He took his glass and held it up. “Here’s to partners, then.”

Daring took the other glass and clinked it against his. “Cheers,” she said and took a deep gulp from the glass.

A fire instantly spread across her throat, choking off her air supply. She lurched forward, coughing and sputtering, the rum splashing all over the bar. An overpowering sweet aftertaste of molasses clung to her tongue as she tried to get her breathing back under control.

“You’re clearly not an Aushaylian sheila,” Phillip stated, clapping her heartily on the back as she coughed, his own shoulders heaving with suppressed laughter.

Applejack laughed heartily herself as she wiped the bar down. “Hoo, that was funny,” she hooted.

“Assholes,” Daring wheezed, fighting down a smile of her own.

Applejack turned to Phillip, who was digging into his meal. “You might want to eat that quickly, Phil,” she said. “Rara’s on the warpath.”

“Who’s Rara?” Daring asked.

“Phillip Finder!”

“Oh, piss,” Phillip muttered. Daring and Phil both looked up to see a petite, ivory earth pony mare stomping towards them, her blue eyes flashing fire as they focused on Phillip. She had indigo hair with blue highlights, the mane and tail elaborately curled. She was wearing a black dress with a transparent skirt so that Daring could see her cutie mark: five colored music notes around a five-pointed star.

The mare stomped up to Phillip and paused in front of him, glaring. “You missed rehearsal this week,” she said. “Again.”

“First, I had a case. Second, I know the set by heart already,” Phillip replied flatly.

“That’s not an excuse!” the mare said, then turned to Daring. “Oh, hello! Who’re you?” she asked, instantly brightening.

“Daring Do,” Phillip answered. “Meet Coloratura.”

“Please, call me Rara,” the mare said, shaking hooves with Daring. “I’m in charge of the entertainment here at the Apple Pie, like musicians...which includes making sure they come to rehearsal,” she added in a growl, glaring at Phil. He gave her a deadpan stare back.

“So this is what you meant by a show,” Daring said to Phil.

“I used to busk in the park in between work,” Phil stated in between bites of his food. “Tried out here when this place opened. Got hired. Helps pay the bills.”

“In any case, it’s almost time,” Rara said. She glared at Phil a moment more, then her expression softened into a smile. “Let’s give them a show, Phil.”

“Right,” Phil said, taking a final sip of his rum and standing, grabbing the case up off the floor.

“Shine like always, Rara,” Applejack said with a smile. She leaned forward and Rara obliged her with a kiss.

“Enjoy the show!” Rara said to Daring as she and Phillip walked towards a stage to the side of the tavern. The raised platform featured a trio of microphone stands, a drum set, and a grand piano with a bench. The two performers climbed up onto the stage. A few customers noticed their actions and began to applaud and cheer. Rara turned her back to the audience and began to buzz her lips, warming up her voice as Phillip opened up the case and began to unpack the contents: the battered but polished saxophone from home.

“What’ll you have?” Applejack asked Daring, pulling her attention back to her.

“What d’you recommend?” Daring asked.

Applejack smiled. “How does spaghetti and butternut squash with homemade sauce and a glass of chilled Sweet Apple Acres apple cider sound?”

“Sounds great,” Daring said, sampling a hay fry from Phillip’s plate. It was perfectly browned and crunched wonderfully in her mouth.

“All right,” Applejack nodded and turned away for a moment. When she turned back, she had a bottle of an orange-amber liquid, which she poured into a glass and slid over to Daring. “There you go,” she said.

“Thanks,” Daring said. She reached out to accept the glass but suddenly noticed that Applejack wasn’t looking at her eyes. She was looking at her right hoof, which was laying on the countertop. The crude red lines that formed the rough shape of a ring of keys, permanently burned into Daring’s skin, stared at Applejack.

Daring quickly dropped the hoof out of sight. “For shame, AJ,” she said in a false, silky tone, donning the paper-thin mask of a flirtatious smile. “Staring at me like that? What would Rara think? I’m almost old enough to be your mom, after all.”

AJ stared at her in confusion for a moment, then raised a hoof in a conciliatory fashion. “Look, partner, your past is your own business,” she said. “Just don’t start any trouble, and we’ll be alright. Okay?”

Daring glared at her for a moment longer, then sighed. “Fine.” She grabbed the glass of cider and took a long draught from it. The sweet, velvety flavor flowed easily down her throat, leaving a bubbly taste of apples on her tongue, and went a long way towards calming her down.

“Your food’ll be ready soon,” Applejack said, walking away. Daring grunted in reply and closed her eyes, focusing on nothing but the sound of Phillip tuning his saxophone and the remnants of the taste of apples. The music washed comfortingly down on her, settling her twisting stomach.

Never let them see when they get to you.

Rara turned back to the audience and tilted a microphone down so she could speak into it, causing a small squeal of feedback and summoning everypony’s attention to her. “Good evening, ladies and gentleponies! I’m Rara, and I’m pleased to welcome one of our first performers back to the stage. Give a round of applause for Phillip Finder!”

There was a round of applause from the audience as Phillip nodded briefly.

“Tonight, we’ll be performing a special set that we composed ourselves for all of you to enjoy,” Rara continued. “We’ll be starting with a favorite of ours. We call it In A Sentimental Mood. Ready, Phil?”

Phillip nodded and took his place at one of the microphones. Rara walked over to the piano and set herself daintily upon it. A hush descended over the audience as the two musicians prepared themselves.

Rara began to play the piano, summoning a short chiming melody. Phillip raised the reed to his lips and blew into it. A smooth counterpoint flowed out of the saxophone’s bell and over the audience, like a river that carried them gently away into a sea of pleasant thoughts and dreams. The patrons’ conversations continued, but at a quieter tone, so as not to interfere with the music.

Daring closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, swaying in time to the music as the soft murmurs of the saxophone washing out any other thought. Let the world deal with itself for a while: she had the music, spaghetti, cider, and her favorite dessert.

A smile crossed her face. I could get used to this.

The mansion stood on a crested hill to the northwest of the city, just touching the exterior borders of Ponyville. From here, Charlie August Silvertongue could stand at the grand windows and look down upon the buildings below, like a lord staring down upon his serfs. Which was exactly what he was.

He swirled the glass of Amontillado wine that floated beside him in his magic and fastidiously adjusted the front of his silver dressing gown as he studied the lights from the houses below. Beneath him, four hundred thousand ponies rested, lived, worked, loved, fought, played and died.

Taking another delicate sip of the wine, he turned and started to walk away from the window. He was currently standing in a room that was entirely decorated in shades of blue: blue walls, blue tables, blue sitting cushions placed on the floor and against the wall. Expensive paintings in golden frames were hung on the walls, all of them colored in overarching themes of blue and bordered with blue curtains. Passing through a door at the end of the room, Silvertongue now entered a room that was similarly designed, but this one in shades of yellow, and decorated with artwork themed in shades of yellow and brown. He proceeded through a further series of rooms, each with a different color theme: green, orange, white, and purple. Finally, he reached the door at the end of the purple room. He paused for a moment, clearing his throat and adjusting his robe, then passed through the locked door.

This room was painted in black. There were no windows here: the only light came from a crystalline chandelier that hung from the ceiling. This room alone was devoid of many decorations, save for two items. Mounted on the wall opposite the door was a coat of arms, framed by blood red curtains. The coat of arms depicted a silver hoof crushing a venomous green snake even as the serpent’s fangs dug themselves into the pony’s heel. A banner around the bottom of the arms displayed a motto in bold letters: “Nemo me impune lacessit.” Beneath the coat of arms was a tall ebony grandfather clock, the pendulum swinging back and forth with a heavy ticking sound.

The center of the room was taken up by a long black wooden table, with several red sitting cushions around it. Just over a dozen ponies occupied this room, some sitting on the cushions, some standing or leaning against the wall, none of them looking at or speaking to each other. All of them looked up at Silvertongue’s entry.

“Ladies, gentleponies,” Silvertongue greeted them. He looked over at a griffon that was leaning against the wall. This tall black griffon was smoking a meerschaum pipe, the blue smoke filling the room. He wore a lime green headband around his forehead, and three cutlasses hung at his hip. “Roaring, I thought I asked Whitestone to attend herself,” Charlie said in a rather cold tone.

“Cap’n sends her regards,” Roaring grunted, his yellow eyes focused on Silvertongue like a hawk watching a field mouse. “And told me to tell you that she’s not a dog that can be summoned at your will.”

"I respect the captain far too much to suggest that," Silvertongue replied. "But there is something I want her to know." He leaned in close to the griffon and whispered into his ear. The other ponies strained to hear Charlie’s hissed words.

Roaring jerked back from Charlie, his expression melting from confusion to shock and outrage. After several moments of silence, he gritted his teeth and slowly nodded. “Right. I’ll tell her about that,” he muttered, glaring as Charlie trotted past him. "Skit," he muttered to himself.

Charlie walked up to the head of the table and sat down on the largest sitting cushion, beneath the coat of arms. Every one of the guests turned to face him.

“Friends,” Charlie stated in a heavy tone, sipping more of his Amontillado, “I’m afraid I have grave news. We are indeed at war.”

A quiet murmur rose up from amidst the others. “I heard it from Twisted Root,” Charlie continued. “The traitor did not sell the necklace that she stole from me for greed. She gave it away to support the upstarts that she fell in with.”

“This shouldn’t be news to us,” huffed a portly blue earth pony that sat to Charlie’s right. This broad blonde-maned pony was wearing a white suit and tie and was glaring at Charlie with his small green eyes. His cutie mark was of an overflowing sack of bits.

“I’ve always had to deal with ponies trying to steal from me,” this pony sniffed. “But now I’ve been having thieves attacking me from every corner! I’ve lost thousands of bits; more money stolen in a week than I’ve lost in months!”

A few of the other ponies snickered, but Charlie silenced them all with a glance. “Monopoly’s plight is no laughing matter,” he declared. “When he loses money, we all lose money.”

“Seems to me, you lot spend too much time olagonin’ ‘bout stuff and not much time doing anything ‘bout it,” snorted a young unicorn sitting at the end of the table, his voice thick with a Mareish accent. This green unicorn had thick red hair, which included a full beard, and twinkling brown eyes. He was wearing a dark red vest and flipping a golden coin to himself. His cutie mark showed a pair of gold coins, both with four-leaf clovers imprinted on them.

“Coin Toss is quite correct,” Charlie agreed. “The time we did something is now.” He turned to one of the other guests. This middle-aged dark brown pegasus had a ring of silver hair about the back of his head and a salt and pepper beard. He squinted at Charlie with his creased brown eyes through thick glasses. The pony’s cutie mark was a glass filled partly with an amber liquid, but this was not the most remarkable thing about him. It was his uniform: a dark blue suit with a bright golden badge upon his left breast and five golden stars spread across each shoulder.

“Chief Tumbler, I’m told that Twisted Root was taken into custody,” Charlie declared. “I assume the necessary arrangements have been made?”

“Sure,” Chilled Tumbler declared. “I’ve got some officers I can trust on it. It’ll soon turn out that when the officers in charge of booking him didn’t search him properly and didn’t notice that he was carrying a cyanide pill.” He shrugged. “Such a pity.”

“We do have to properly thank our primary mole in the department,” Charlie declared.

"What about the mare?" Roaring growled. "She could still be dangerous."

"She was never involved in my more...profitable activities," Silvertongue waved the idea aside. "She knows nothing that could hurt us. Once she is released from the hospital, I expect that she will be charged with theft, and most likely receive a fairly light sentence. Killing her would be of no use to us."

“There is something else, though,” Chilled Tumbler interrupted. “Finder. When he was a cop, he was annoying, but we could keep him in line. Now that he’s a PI, he’s potentially much more dangerous. And he’s got that new partner of his.”

“Daring Do,” Charlie nodded. “Yes, I know of them. In fact, I met them yesterday at my gallery, where no doubt they were acquiring information.” He smiled in what should have been a comforting manner, but the gesture did not reach his eyes. “I think you need not fear. I do not anticipate either of them being a major threat.”

“Do not underestimate them,” a Gerwhin-accented voice spoke. Everypony turned to face the speaker: a tan unicorn leaning against the wall in the far corner of the room. This pony had walnut hair, a thin mustache, and was wearing a simple but elegant black suit and tie. He was smoking a goldleaf cigarette, which was giving off a strong odor of Saddle Arabian tobacco. His cutie mark was a chess piece, a black king. But the thing that made this pony stand out amidst the other guests was his eyes. They were completely black and held no sign of any emotion, or even any sign of life. To look into this pony’s eyes was like looking into an abyss, except that it stared back.

“You doubt me, Zugzwang?” Charlie said, his voice calm but tinged with ice.

Zugzwang stared back at him, taking a long puff on his cigarette before answering. “Nein,” he replied. “But I am observing that Herr Finder and Fraulein Do are potential liabilities to us. Which also means that they can be advantages.”

“You already have plans for them, don’t you?” Charlie grinned.

Zugzwang nodded and inserted the cigarette back into his mouth before turning away, as though bored.

“Excellent,” Charlie declared, clapping his hooves together and turning back to face the others. “For now, we should confront the problem of these would-be usurpers.” He leaned forwards, glancing about at his guests and lowering his voice to a stage whisper, prompting them to lean in as well.

“Let them be reminded: Ponyville is our kingdom,” he declared. “We rule these streets. We own this city. And nopony is taking that away from us.”

His assembled court all nodded their agreement. Charlie August Silvertongue smiled and took a long sip of his Amontillado.

It was good to be the king.

Case Two, Prologue: Night Run

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The taste of autumn was in the night air, cool and crisp on the tongues of the ponies that walked through the rough, half-paved streets that were lit by the unevenly spaced flickering street lamps and the twinkling stars far above. At this hour of the night, a walk through the smelly eastern slums of Ponyville was almost as dangerous as playing with an angry manticore cub. Every shadowed alley potentially held death; every rustle or foreign hoofstep might be the last thing that one heard.

But there were treasures here that made the risk well worth it to those who knew how to navigate the dark labyrinths.

A tall blue-gray earth pony walked down the sidewalk of a wide street, the echoes of his hoofsteps mixing with the fluttering of trash blown about in the wind. His brown mane and tail danced in the breezes as he walked, his dark blue eyes panning from side to side. In his mouth, the stallion clutched a black briefcase. As he walked, his loose dark red rain jacket bounced up and down; beneath it, he could feel the weight of the .45 Colt in the pocket slapping against his side.

A pony with a wild gray mane and beard staggered out of an alleyway, mumbling pleas and half-hearted threats in a voice that reeked of cheap alcohol. The stallion with the briefcase shrugged him off and left him lying against the brick wall, mumbling to himself.

He continued down the street until he reached an intersection. The street to his left was lit up like a Hearth's Warming tree. Flashing neon lights violently dispelled the darkness of night; billboards displayed young mares of every color and race smirking down invitingly at the few ponies that passed beneath. Laughter and catcalls sounded from the street. A zebra mare adorned with several golden bands on her forelegs and neck and a pale blue thestral mare with pink eyes both winked at the stallion as he passed by. Ignoring them, the stallion with the briefcase continued another block, then paused before a small liquor store.

The one-story building was nondescript; the white paint on the walls was peeling and faded, and the red neon sign over the glass door that advertised “Liquor” flickered on and off randomly. The stallion with the suitcase walked up to the door and pushed through. A bell jingled over his head as he entered. The interior of the store was well-cared for, the tile floor clean and swept, and the shelves were neatly organized, displaying a rainbow assortment of spirits for selection. The clerk on duty, a young unicorn with a blonde beard, was sweeping the floors as the stallion entered.

“Hi, can I help you?” the bearded stallion asked, looking up at his entry.

The jacketed pony set the briefcase down on the ground. “I’m looking for a rare drink,” he declared in a flat tone. “Something to give a little tingle.”

The bearded unicorn nodded and walked over behind the counter. He reached underneath the countertop and pressed a small button. With a faint click, an outline of a trapdoor appeared in the floor next to the counter. Taking up the suitcase, the earth pony walked up and lifted up the door, revealing a set of shadowed stairs. He descended down the creaking stairs. The bearded unicorn closed the door behind him, plunging him into darkness. The only light for him came from the bottom of the stairs, faintly illuminating the final steps.

The visitor descended carefully down the stairs and reached the bottom. He walked down a short hallway lit by a line of bare lightbulbs on the ceiling to a door. A sleepy griffon stood next to the door, twirling a pearl-handled revolver around his claw. The visitor walked up to the griffon, who glanced him over, then stood aside and opened the door. The earth pony walked through and entered a large room that was alive with light and noise. Crystalline chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating every corner of the underground chamber. Ponies were crowded around several tables scattered across the room, chatting noisily and occasionally cheering or letting out groans of disappointment. The sound of clattering chips and clinking coins mixed with the overlapping voices. Each of the tables was manned by a pony wearing a red vest, who called out for bets and relayed information. A well-equipped bar sat in one corner of the underground casino, manned by a thestral in a red vest; several more griffons stood around the edge of the room, their claws on their weapons as they scanned for any troublemakers or cheaters.

The stallion with the briefcase walked down the center aisle of the casino, his eyes wandering over the gamblers. His gaze held for a few seconds on a light pink unicorn with ink black hair adorned with scarlet highlights, grinning cockily as she pushed a large pile of chips over to the dealer. His mind wandered for a moment, but then he shook himself back to earth: there would be time for such pursuits later. For now, business.

One of the casino employees, a tall green unicorn with a black mustache and a grim expression, was waiting for him in the center of the room. The earth pony walked up to him and held out the briefcase. The unicorn glared at him for a moment, then grabbed the briefcase in an aura of lime green magic and tugged it towards him. He opened up the briefcase to reveal its contents: a collection of files stuffed into manila folders. With a grunt, the unicorn brushed the folders aside to reveal a small switch set into the briefcase. He pushed the switch, and the false bottom moved aside to reveal the true contents: several plastic bags of white powder.

The unicorn considered the packages for a few moments, then pulled them out of the briefcase and set them into the satchel he wore around one shoulder. He then extracted a small pouch that jingled as it moved from the satchel. He opened up the pouch and spilled the contents into the secret compartment: mounds of golden bits. The courier resisted the instinct to count his pay: the casino employees knew full well what would happen if they shortchanged their suppliers.

The unicorn handed the briefcase back to the courier and trotted off. Clicking the compartment shut, the earth pony turned and walked out of the casino. As he passed by the poker table, he heard a chorus of shocked cries and groans rise up, mixing with the laughter of the mare he had spotted earlier as she scooped up her winnings. The courier paused for a moment, then glanced at his watch. Ah, too bad: such things would have to wait.

Trotting out the door and up the dimly lit hallway, he pressed a button on the wall at the bottom of the stairs. A few moments later, the trapdoor at the top of the stairs opened. He climbed up the stairs and up into the liquor store. Nodding good night to the proprietor, he exited out the door and into the night.

Turning up his collar against the frigid air, the courier turned and started up the street, passing by the red-light district with its bright lights and wild sounds and into the quieter, narrower streets of the slums. He shook the briefcase a bit and smiled at the music of the jingling bits inside. He would’ve liked to stay at the casino a bit, perhaps make the acquaintance of the lucky lady, but his boss wouldn't have appreciated it if he’d lost all of his cut gambling. Maybe he’d come back, and they—

The screeching of tires arrested his attention. He turned around to see a black four-door speeding around a corner and headed up the street towards him. The passenger side window rolled down. In the darkness, he could not see inside the car, but he did see something sliding out the window: a black and brown tube of wood and metal, pointed directly, accusingly at him.

He recognized what the object was too late. Fire and brimstone burst from the gun barrel with a staccato mechanical rattling, thunderous cracks screaming through the night air. Every bullet found its mark, tearing right through the red rain jacket and into the pony’s chest, carving tunnels into his flesh as easily as a hot knife going through butter. He fell back onto the sidewalk, his briefcase clattering beside him. He was dead before he hit the ground; his dark red blood slowly began to spread across the stones.

The car screeched away from the curb and disappeared into the night as the last echoes of the brass cartridges striking the sidewalk faded away. Then, once again, the night was quiet.

Case Two, Chapter One: Down By the Riverside

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Phillip drew his right arm back and snapped it forward. The flat carved stick that he was holding flew from his hoof, spinning through the crisp morning air with a faint whistling sound. It banked in midair, skimming right over the top of the old bare-branched cherry tree and returning to Phillip’s waiting hoof.

"So that's a boomerang," Daring commented, watching the practice with mild amusement.

"My mother taught me how to make them and throw them," Phillip said, tossing the boomerang out again. "It's my favorite long-range weapon."

“Makes a neat toy,” Daring scoffed, puffing on her after-breakfast cigarette.

“It’s better than a gun,” Phillip answered. “Silent. Infinitely reusable. Stuns or disarms without killing. Cheap.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it myself,” Daring said, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “So is business usually this slow? It’s been a couple weeks since we had that case with Twisted Root and Scribbled Note.”

“Patience,” Phillip answered, throwing the boomerang out again. It swooped low to the unmowed grass before banking back up like a bird of prey snatching up a field mouse and returning to Phillip’s waiting hoof. “This city is never quiet for long.”

“I hate waiting,” Daring grumbled, dousing her cigarette on the railing. She turned and walked back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Walking over to the coffee machine, she grabbed a mug and filled it up with the warm black liquid. She added two packs of sugar, then took a long gulp of the coffee. Wandering into the sitting room, she looked around for something to occupy her time with. The table with the chemical equipment sat in the corner, the tubes and vials of chemicals scattered about the tabletop; Daring had to make a concerted effort to not stare at the two eyeballs floating in the pickle jar of formaldehyde, the current victims of Phil’s experiments. She scanned the rest of the room. The blues and jazz records didn’t interest her. The newspaper lay on the table, its articles already perused and its crossword puzzle completed. She wandered over to the bookshelves and began to look through the titles for something to occupy her time with.

To her surprise and pleasure, Phillip’s library included the full collection of Joules Verse. She selected her favorite story, Around the World in 70 Days, and settled herself down on the sofa to begin reading.

As soon as she opened the book, however, there was a knock at the door. She groaned. “Of course. Right when I sit down to relax,” she grumbled as Phillip reentered the house. He walked down the hallway and opened the front door.

“Hello, Phillip!” a familiar mare’s voice said.

“G’day, you two,” Phillip answered. Daring’s ears perked up at the sound of three sets of hoofsteps walking up the hallway. Phillip reappeared a moment later, followed by two ponies. The first was Detective Trace Evidence, his jacket hung loosely about his form, looking mildly annoyed with himself. The second was Twilight Sparkle, who bounced into the room excitedly.

“Hello, Daring!” Twilight said with a wave.

“Hey,” Daring nodded back. Trace nodded to her as he settled down on one of the chairs.

“What brings you two here?” Phillip asked.

“Twilight insisted on bringing you in,” Trace grunted in a flat tone of voice. “We fished a body out of the Maresippi. It’s been in there for quite a while. Single gunshot wound to the back of the head—”

“Oh, are you still doing research into the effects of decomposition on the vitreous humor?” Twilight suddenly interrupted, walking over to the chemistry table. She bent over the open notebook on the table, studying Phil’s notes.

“Yes,” Phillip answered her before turning back to Trace. “You were saying?”

“GSW to the back of the head, shaved, and the cutie marks cut off,” Trace continued. “And that’s without mentioning all the damage the water did to it. We have no ID on him.”

Daring’s breakfast lurched in her stomach at the thought. Already she was mentally cursing her wish for something to happen.

“Can you come take a look?” Twilight asked. “I think this would be worth your time, and...I know you two haven’t had a case in a while.” She gave Phil a slightly shy smile. He blinked, apparently not knowing how to respond.

Phillip looked over at Daring. She looked back at him for a moment, then sighed and shrugged. “Right,” Phil nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Cool,” Trace said, standing up. “The car’s waiting.” He started to trot back up the hallway.

Daring gulped down the rest of her coffee and dropped the mug onto the table as she followed Phillip and Twilight down the hallway and out the front door. The golden-brown Hayson Commodore was waiting on the curb out front. Trace was climbing into the driver’s seat, with Twilight waiting next to one of the back doors.

Daring reached out with a wing and stopped Phillip. “Have you ever thought about the fact that Trace might be a mole for the mobs?” she hissed into his ear. “He was there when Scribbled was attacked.”

“I know,” Phillip whispered back. “But if he is, the worst thing we can do is tip him off. Keep calm.”

“What’s wrong?” Twilight called from the car.

“Nothing,” Phillip answered, walking down the short pathway. He slid into the passenger seat next to Trace, while Daring and Twilight both hopped into the backseat. Trace turned the ignition and the engine growled in response, rumbling back to life.

“So, Phillip,” Twilight asked as Trace pulled into the street and started making the journey south. “I was reading in an article about the potential for using the life cycles of insects to determine time of death…”

Daring groaned. Should’ve added some bourbon to that coffee.

It really shouldn’t have surprised them, but it was always a small amazement to Phillip and Daring how crowds always seemed to gather around any scenes of death and tragedy. It was as if the citizens of Ponyville had their ears finely tuned for the sound of police sirens, and were always seeking out entertainment.

When the Commodore pulled up to the pier, they saw that a small crowd of ponies, griffons, and thestrals was standing on the other side of the CRIME SCENE tape that flapped in the breeze. Two police officers stood sentry on the other side, denying entrance to the pier. A pair of ponies stood on the end of the wooden structure that jutted out into the dark gray waters of the Maresippi river; the waters seethed and foamed as the winds blew them up against the concrete walls that separated land and river as if trying to bash them down.

Trace pulled up to the curb and halted his vehicle. He, Phillip, Daring, and Twilight all exited, walking up the sidewalk to the tape. “Let us through, please,” Trace called, pushing through the crowd. Reporters began to shout questions at them.

“Detective Evidence, does the PPD have any leads on this?” one mare shouted.

“Can you comment on the rash of shootings in the Everfree District?” another asked.

“Detective Finder, what do you say to those who call you a vigilante?”

“Is that Daring Do? The thief?” another reporter asked. “Daring, what’s it like to finally be on the right side of the law?”

A great murmur rose up amongst the witnesses, every gaze seeming to focus on Daring. A hissing noise, like a nest of snakes, grew among the crowd, louder with every second. The flash of a camera blinded her for a moment, and she stumbled.

Phillip paused and lowered his head next to Daring’s. “You okay?” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” Daring hissed, raising her head to a proud level and staring straight ahead. Never let them see when they get to you, she repeated to herself.

Phillip pushed through the crowd, shouldering ponies aside. Daring stuck close behind him, ignoring the stares and questions that were aimed at her.

One of the police officers, a dark green pegasus mare, lifted up the tape to allow them to pass. They walked down the pier, the boards creaking beneath their hoofsteps and down to the end.

Detective Red Herring was standing at the end of the pier, his hair dancing in the wind. The other pony was a thin unicorn mare, her coat bleached white like bones that had been laying out in the sun. The unusual sheen of her moonstone coat and the distinct curly style of her blonde mane, held in place by a hairband seemingly hewn from emerald, pegged her as a Crystal Pony. She was wearing a white lab coat, and her cutie mark was a set of bones and a pony’s skull set on a brown background. She was crouching down on the pier, her back turned to the visitors.

Red Herring looked up at their approach and scowled. “Oh, joy. And just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better,” he groaned.

“Real ripper to see you, too,” Phillip grunted.

“Could you two stop fighting for ten minutes?” Twilight said in obvious exasperation. “We are investigating a murder.”

Red growled at her. “Sweet Mother, you are annoying.”

“Enough of this shit,” Trace declared, raising a hoof. “They’re here now, we might as well let them help.”

Red grunted and walked some distance back up the pier, fuming to himself. Trace sighed and walked over to talk to him.

Phillip turned to the mare in the lab coat. “Daring, meet Doctor Vitae Mortis.”

Doctor Mortis looked up, lowering her glasses to give her a broad, welcoming smile, emerald eyes shining in excitement. “Nice to meet you, Miss Do,” she said in a voice that carried a faint tinge of a rural Crystalline accent. She raised a hoof to shake, then noticed the glove over her limb. "Oops!" she giggled, opting to salute instead.

Daring’s attention, however, was arrested by the object that she had been examining. The bloated thing that reeked of rot and sea water barely looked like a body anymore: the coat had turned an ugly soapy white color, and the skin had been stripped away at some sections, revealing the bone. The bald head was mostly intact, save for the eyeballs, which had been eaten away long ago, revealing the jagged, empty holes that stared endlessly at the world. The lipless mouth hung ghoulishly open; the teeth were all missing. The skin where the cutie marks should have been was a pale pink color, the upper layer of the skin having been cut away. Horribly, most of the hind legs were gone as well, everything from the mid-gaskin down ripped away.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Doctor Mortis said cheerfully, noticing her attention. “The number of factors that go into how a body decomposes underwater—temperature, season, salt and oxygen levels. This time of year, with the water oxygenation at this level means that there are a lot of shrimp-like creatures called lyssianasid amphipods. Those little darlings like to burrow inside the body and eat the internal organs and tissue first. They literally eat the victim from the inside out.”

“Fascinating,” Daring deadpanned. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to puke now.” Indeed, she staggered over to the edge of the pier and leaned over the edge, heaving. Twilight started to walk over to try to help.

“Best to leave her alone,” Phil said to Twilight. “She’ll be apples in a bit. I threw up the first time I saw a dead body, too.” He crouched down over the corpse. “Dr. Mortis?”

“This is an exciting challenge,” Dr. Mortis burbled. “Notice these bloody gums? Whoever killed our vic yanked their teeth out before dumping them in the river, and shaved off their hair and tail, not to mention cutting off their cutie marks. And they dumped them here in the river! They really didn’t want us to identify this one!”

“And what do you have?” Phillip asked with a bite of impatience in his voice.

“Well, given the state of him, or her, I’m not going to learn much until the autopsy,” Dr. Mortis admitted. “There is one definitive feature, though.” Her horn lit up with a pale green aura and she gently tilted the corpse’s head to the side. A hole, roughly shaped like a jagged, four-pointed star, was torn into the body’s left temple. The skin around it was burnt black and red.

“GSW, point blank range,” Phillip observed. His eyes panned over the rest of the remnants. “Oi. Look here.” He pointed to a trio of deep red cuts across the body’s right side, sliding across their belly.

“Those show signs of healing,” Twilight observed. “They were made while the vic was still alive. And are those burn marks?”

“Looks like it,” Phillip agreed. “He was cut with a hot knife repeatedly.”

“Tortured, too!” Doctor Mortis declared with unhidden intrigue. “This just keeps getting better. Oh, and look!” She gently turned the body over to reveal the back, which was stained with a deep purple with white splotches.

“Lividity on the back,” she noted. “Seems our friend here was laying on their back for a while before somepony decided to drop them in the drink.”

“When would you say that would be?” Phillip asked.

Doctor Mortis tapped her chin in thought. “At an estimate...sometime last night.”

Daring, having recovered from her retching fit, stumbled back over to the group. “What happened to the legs?” she asked in a tone that clearly stated that she was afraid of the answer.

“Looks like they were cut away from decomposition underwater,” Doctor Mortis suggested.

Phillip looked over to where Trace and Red were standing, both of them in serious discussion. “Where was this body found?”

“It was floating in the water next to the pier,” Trace replied. “Before you ask, Red already requested that Sergeant Prowl get a tide and current chart from the Port Authority.”

Phillip nodded. “You two are on the ball today,” he said dryly.

“...Thanks,” Trace said slowly. Red just grunted.

“I think that somepony tied some weights to the vic’s hind legs and submerged them,” Phillip continued, turning back to the mares. “The legs rotted and were pulled off by the current, and the body floated to the surface.”

“Makes sense,” Doctor Mortis nodded. Daring, on the other hoof, was concentrating on not throwing up again at the image of a pony’s detached legs sunk in the water.

There was a whistle from above. Everypony looked up to see a pony flapping down towards them. She was a dark gray thestral mare with bright yellow eyes and a long, wavy white-gold mane. Her cutie mark was a pair of yellow eyes, glaring out at the world. Three golden chevrons were prominently displayed on the sleeves of her uniform, which bore a silver name tag that declared that her name was Prowl.

The thestral landed in front of the detectives and saluted. “Sirs,” she reported. “As requested, the charts for the tides and currents in this section of the river for the last week.” She reached into the messenger bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a stack of papers, handing them to the detectives.

Daring studied the sergeant. She had a tattoo on her left arm, half-hidden by her sleeve: a red cross with wings, and the words “Angels in Flak Jackets.” There was also the thin golden band of a necklace around her neck, tucked beneath her shirt; it looked like a wedding necklace.

“Air Force, Twelfth SAR Group, Sergeant?” Phillip asked, his eyes on the tattoo.

Prowl turned to him and nodded. “Yes, sir. ‘So Others May Live.’”

“Don’t call me sir. Your group was at North Wind’s Last Stand,” Phillip added, his tone flat.

Prowl frowned, her eyes becoming distant for a moment. “Yes, we were,” she muttered. “Did you serve?”

“No,” Phillip admitted. “But I admire those who did. Brave of you to join up.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said, puffing out her chest a bit.

“You may return to your duties, Sergeant,” Red Herring declared, already focused on the papers.

“Sir,” Prowl saluted and took off, flapping off into the distance.

Red spread the sheets and tables out onto the pier, and he, Phillip and Twilight bent over them. Taking out a map of the Maresippi River, Twilight conjured a glowing purple pin and used it to mark their position, then began to run through the timetables and calculations, muttering to herself.

“Based on these…” she said, conjuring up more pins and placing them on separate points along the bank of the river west of their position. “The body was most likely dumped at one of these places.”

“Daring, let’s go,” Phillip called.

Daring took a quick glance at the map, memorizing the positions of all the pins, then grabbed Phillip under his forelegs and took off, flapping towards the first pinned location. Red Herring took off after them.

“I’ll just...wait here,” Trace Evidence muttered, left standing on the pier.

The first possible dump site they searched was an expanse of grass on the northern bank, discarded garbage of all varieties scattered amidst the overgrown blades. After searching the bank for a few minutes, Phillip shook his head. “Nothing here,” he reported to Daring and Red, who were hovering above him. “Move on.”

Daring picked him up and carried him across the river to the next possible site. This one was thoroughly examined and eventually rejected, as was the third and fourth possibilities.

On the fifth place, they finally found something of interest. A set of hoofprints led up and down a sandy rise, from a street to a ridge of mud on the north bank of a bend in the Maresippi.

“It rained two nights ago. These tracks are fresh,” Phillip stated as Daring dropped him next to the trail. Taking out his magnifying glass, he began to walk back and forth along the trail. “Tracks going down are deeper,” he reported. “They were carrying something heavy on the way down and dropped it off.”

“Look here,” Red Herring said, hovering at the bank of the river, where a low concrete wall separated land from the river. “There’s a couple of deep impressions here, and a lot of hoofprints. And hey: this looks like a piece of old rope.” He plucked a plastic bag out of his pocket and used a pair of tweezers to lift the small, rotten bundle of fibers into the bag. “I think our killer put the body and whatever weight they were using on the ground here before dumping them.” He gave Phillip a very superior sneer, obviously expecting him to be impressed.

“Most likely,” Phillip said flatly, studying a particularly clear hoofprint with interest. Herring’s sneer vanished and contorted into a humiliated scowl; the switch was so comical that Daring had to fight hard to prevent a chorus of snickers from escaping her mouth.

Phillip carefully measured the tracks and the distance between them. “They carried the body down by hoof, so most likely not a unicorn,” he stated. “They’re tall, at least four feet, and wide. Heavily built.” He walked up to the road and looked around. “Nothing else here...” He turned and squinted at the south bank, which also featured a small ridge of grassy, sandy land.

“Daring, go check over there. I’m gonna go walkabout here, see if there’s anything else dodgy here.”

“Right,” Daring nodded, flying over to the south bank. The waters beneath her wings churned and foamed, and she found herself morbidly wondering how many dead bodies lay beneath the dark blue-black surface. The image of a pair of rotten legs floating in the currents, tied to a cinderblock that lay on the riverbed, flashed into her mind. Shuddering, she glided forward through the salty air and hovered over the south bank.

Here, the bank sloped down towards the water, with a flat stretch of sand along the edge. A well-worn pathway led up towards the road, through a gap in between the two safety barriers that prevented cars from skidding into the river. She hovered above the stretch, studying the ground beneath her.

Something caught her attention: a pile of what looked like ashes laying on the ground, next to several old, soggy scraps of paper. She scooped some of the ashes up with a wing and tucked them into a hoofkerchief that she plucked out of her pocket, then flew back to Phillip, who was walking up and down the road on the north bank.

“I found something over there,” she declared, holding out the hoofkerchief with the evidence inside.

Phillip took the cloth from her and examined the ash. He studied its texture with the tip of his hoof and held it up to his nose, sniffing deeply. “Cigar ash,” he concluded. “Crystal Crown brand, I think.” He frowned at Daring. “Did you just take this and bring it back to me?”

“Yeah,” Daring said slowly.

“Without checking the rest of the scene?” Phillip asked.

Daring bristled, then deflated a little. “Yeah,” she admitted.

Phillip was silent for a moment, then his expression softened a bit. “You meant well bringing it over here. But next time, let me see the entire scene for myself. You don’t want to contaminate evidence. ‘Kay?”

“Okay,” Daring nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Red Herring glaring at her.

“It’s just this, so no worries,” Phillip reassured her. “Take me over there and I’ll have a gander.”

Hiding her pleasure at the praise, Daring took Phillip underneath the forelegs and flapped up into the air. She carried him over the river and carefully placed him down on the ground next to the street. He didn’t move for a moment, his eyes panning over the ground. He started to make his way down to the bank, stepping carefully.

He paused next to the pile of ashes that Daring had spotted. Taking out a pair of tweezers, he picked up one of the rolls of old, soggy paper and studied it beneath his magnifying glass. “Yup. Crystal Crown.”

“You can tell cigar brands by smelling them?” Daring asked.

“Smell, texture, color, taste,” Phillip answered. “I spent eight months doing a study on hundreds of different types of tobacco. Useful for identification. Bloody amazing that no one thought of it before.”

Daring raised an eyebrow at Phillip, tilting her head to the side. Phillip gave her a befuddled look. “What?”

“You really need to get laid,” Daring snickered.

Phillip didn’t reply verbally, but his ears turned scarlet. Turning back to the ground, he started sweeping the ground for more clues.

“What’s this here?” Daring asked, pointing. She had spotted two small circular holes in the ground, about a foot and a half away from each other. The one closest to the river bank was straight down, while the other appeared to have been left behind by something that was stuck into the ground at an angle.

Phillip studied the holes for a few moments, then said, “Fishing pole.”

Daring imagined a fishing pole stuck into the ground, leaning on a split stick for support as it jutted out into the river, and nodded in agreement.

“Tracks here,” Phillip muttered, pointing. Daring looked down and noticed a trail leading up and down the path that was made up of two different tracks: a pair of cat-like paws, and a pair of bird-like claws with four talons.

“A griffon,” she concluded as Phillip began to measure the tracks. “And look at this.” She reached into a patch of tangled weeds and plucked out a long dark brown feather.

“Good onya,” Phillip nodded, taking the feather for himself. He studied the clue beneath his magnifying glass. “Hmm. Dust here. Suunkii might be able to make something of this.”

“Make something of what?” Red Herring asked as he flew over to them.

Phillip held up the feather. “You might have a witness.”

Case Two, Chapter Two: Chasing Leads

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Doctor Suunkii placed the feather on the microscopic slide and slowly slide it beneath the microscope, pressing his eyes to the scope. “Let us see what this feather can tell us about our friend,” he declared, adjusting the focus.

“You know this is a long shot,” Daring told Phillip from her position atop one of the laboratory’s tables. She flicked her tail and scattered a stack of papers across the table.

“Careful!” Twilight Sparkle squawked, looking up from her collection of test tubes.

“A lead is worth following,” Phillip said, sitting and watching Doctor Suunkii work.

“Hmm,” Suunkii muttered. “Phillip Finder, please bring me the book of geological samples.”

Phillip got up and walked over to one of the bookshelves, selecting a large spiral-bound notebook. He carried this back over to Suunkii and gave it to him.

“I remember working on this together,” the zebra said quietly, placing it on the table and flipping through it. The pages contained photographs of soil and dust samples, along with extensive notes and maps. “I had bemoaned the fact that there was nothing to compare soil samples against one another, and you suggested that we work together to create this.”

“A single page took a week,” Phillip stated with a small nod.

“It sounds wonderful!” Twilight said enthusiastically. Daring’s reply was to swish her tail across the table again, further scattering Twilight’s notes and causing her to cry out like she was in pain.

Looking for something to distract her attention, Daring cast her gaze across the laboratory. Her eyes fell on a plastic bag that was sitting on one of the tables in the corner, next to the radio. Inside the bag was a dark red crystal, smoothly cut and polished, with a line across the middle. She walked over to the bag and picked it up, studying the teleportation crystal inside. For a moment, Shifting Tone's cry of fear and pain echoed in her head, and she shuddered; the image of the masked killer with the bloodstained knife flashed before her eyes.

“Daring? Are you okay?”

Daring Do shook her head and brought herself back to reality. Twilight was standing next to her, half-reaching her hoof towards her; Phillip was watching her, concern on his face; Suunkii had his eyes glued to the microscope.

“I’m fine,” Daring grunted. She looked down at the crystal. “I was just thinking about…”

Phillip nodded. “She's alive now because of you, Daring,” he said softly.

Daring took a shaky breath and glared at the damn crystal. “How does this thing work anyway?” she asked.

“Well, a unicorn applies the first part of the teleportation spell to the crystal, causing it to split into two halves,” Twilight explained. “Both of them carry half of the spell. When the user activates one of the crystal halves with the second half of the spell, it sends out a wave of magical energy that pulls it, and anything nearby, towards the other half of the crystal—kind of like pulling two magnets towards each other.”

“And you said it’s one-time use only?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Twilight nodded. “Once the enchantment is used, it dispels all of the magic energy stored inside it.”

“So could a pony use the other half of the crystal to track its location?” Daring asked.

Twilight had to think about it for a moment. “No,” she finally said. “The spell is very potent. If you fired a spell at either of the crystals, it either would have no effect or trigger the teleportation.”

Daring tossed the evidence bag to herself. “Because I’m wondering how Twisted Root figured out when to use this to teleport in.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Phillip added with a nod and a quiet grunt. “Pity we can’t ask him about it.”

“Awful funny how the officers searching him missed that suicide pill,” Daring scowled. “And it’s still fishy as to how this got on Trace’s car.”

“Yes, I’m wondering about that, too,” Trace Evidence said, entering the laboratory. He gave Daring a deadpan stare.

“You probably think that I planted it there myself,” he said flatly.

Daring half-started, then glared back at Trace. “Maybe,” she replied. Twilight looked nervously back and forth between the two verbal combatants. Suunkii did not look up from his microscope. Phillip watched silently, his expression inscrutable.

“Nice idea,” Trace replied, neither his face or expression changing in the slightest. “I’d suspect myself, too. Except for a couple of things. One, if I was involved, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave behind any evidence or tell you how I did it. Two, I wouldn’t have let you two leave that room alive. And three, I didn’t do it.”

He turned away from Daring and towards Phillip. “I just talked with Captain Cold Case. She's not happy about it, but she says that this body’s all yours. She needs Red and I working on the shootings in the Everfree District.”

“Read about those,” Phillip answered.

“And Red wanted me to tell you, we definitely do not need your help with that,” Trace deadpanned, exiting the lab.

“Tell him ‘fuck you, too!’” Daring shouted after him.

“Daring,” Phillip flatly admonished her, returning to his place at Suunkii’s side.

Daring huffed and pulled herself back up onto the table, flicking her tail as she watched Phillip and Suunkii working. Twilight quickly gathered up her notes and put them at the other end of the table, away from the danger. “I read about those shootings, too,” she said to Phillip. “It said that some of the victims were members of the Nightmare Moon Disciples.”

“Right,” Phillip confirmed.

“The who?” Twilight asked, looking up.

“The Nightmare Moon Disciples,” Suunkii explained. “They are an old establishment in the Everfree District of the city, from before the Crystal War. They have grown stronger during the reconstruction years from drug sales, and they are known for a penchant for violence. It is theorized that they are connected to the mob.”

“The fact that they associate themselves with an evil goddess from pre-Equestrian folklore should tell you everything you need to know about them,” Daring snorted.

“It seems that somepony has decided to fight back against them,” Suunkii continued, not once looking up.

“If they were any more suicidal, they’d wake up a sleeping dragon,” Daring commented.

“Perhaps,” Suunkii muttered. “Ah, that is sufficient.” He scribbled down several notes on a sheet of paper, tore it off, and handed it to Phillip. “The traces from this feather are from these locations,” he reported. “It is possible that your witness frequents these areas.”

“Thanks, Suun,” Phillip answered, taking the list. “C’mon, Daring, we’ve got work to do.”

“And maybe you can buy lunch while we’re out,” Daring said, following him out of the lab.

“Why do I buy lunch?” Phillip complained.

“Because I’m the lady,” Daring smirked, bumping her flank against his and causing him to flinch in surprise.

“Sheila, you ain’t a lady,” Phillip grunted in reply. Daring snickered as they climbed up the stairs to the surface.

“Well, if you think of anything, let us know,” Phillip said for the umpteenth time in the past two hours. The griffon he’d been talking to shrugged and turned back to the crates that he was helping carry from the bright green delivery van that was idling on the curb. Phillip turned and walked back to Daring, who was leaning against the fence across the dusty, ash-covered street.

“Another no?” Daring asked, biting down on her carrot dog and licking mustard from her lips.

Phillip grunted an affirmation. “This really our only option?” Daring asked.

“It’s the lead we’ve got,” Phillip said. “This griffon might’ve seen the vic being dumped and they might know something.”

“There were two too many ‘mights’ in that sentence,” Daring glared.

“I’ve worked with less,” Phillip answered, looking down at the map he’d marked with possible locations that their potential witness might frequent. “Let’s keep looking.”

Daring finished off her carrot dog and followed Phillip up the street, weaving through the maze of streets in the southern docksides. This part of Ponyville was one of the oldest sections of the city, made during the advent of steam technology to take advantage of the fledgling shipping industry. Still today, the cracked paved roads were barely wide enough to allow cars to travel down them. They spread out away from the river like small tributaries, paved by ponies that were trying to claim whatever land they could as close to the life-giving water as possible. Most of the red brick and glass buildings had been storehouses and cheap taverns in their previous lives. Now the ones that hadn’t been torn down and turned into vacant lots were apartments, shops, and modest restaurants. These purlieus were also notable as containing the largest concentration of griffons in the city; many immigrant families from the Griffon kingdoms to the east of Equestria had been drawn by the promise of work generations ago, and their families had grown up here.

Their next stop was a nearby construction site. A section of land the size of a city block had been cordoned off with a chain-link fence, which touted signs warning that this was a hard hat zone. A partly formed skeleton of wooden scaffolding stretched up from the ground, with a collection of ponies and griffons climbing about it like a jungle gym. A dump truck grumbled out of the construction site, the gravel crunching beneath its massive tires as it turned up the road and passed the detectives.

“Gravel dust on our witness’ feather,” Phillip stated, looking around. “Likely came from here.”

“There’s a place to ask for information,” Daring said, pointing at a small bar across the street. A sign over the door read The Gold Griffon’s Head.

Phillip looked at the flashing red neon advertisement for Manticore Red in the window and gave Daring a sidelong glance. “Or maybe you’re just thirsty.”

“Can you blame me?” Daring asked in a falsely innocent tone. Phillip sighed and led the way across the street into the bar.

The dimly lit interior of the Griffon’s Head smelled of cheap liquor and dirt. Old fashioned oil lamps dangled from the ceiling, casting the faces of the ponies and griffons inside in weird, flickering shadows. Several of the customers looked up at the two strangers as they entered.

With a confident grin, Daring walked up right to the bar. The bartender was a tall black griffon with gray feathers and dull brown eyes marked with heavy crow’s feet. He wore a white vest with a black bowtie.

“Buon Giorno. What can I do you for?” he asked in a gravelly voice tinged with a Crystalline accent as Daring and Phillip approached his bar.

“Well, normally I charge twenty bits,” Daring grinned, leaning against the bar. “But for you, I’ll make it ten.”

Phillip stared at Daring in wide-eyed disbelief, then facehoofed with a long groan. The bartender blinked at her in confusion, then threw back his head and let out a wheezing laugh. Several of the customers joined in the laughter.

“Ahh, that’s a hoot,” the bartender sighed, wiping a tear from his eye.

Daring’s grin broadened. “What’s your name, bud?”

“Bottgilia, formerly of the Crystal Empire,” the griffon replied, glancing over them both. “No need to give either of your names.”

Daring frowned a bit and quickly dropped her right hoof out of sight. “Don’t worry about it, amica,” Bottgilia declared. “You did your time. Lotta the ponies and griffons I see here were in the same straits you were, once. You’re not gonna get any crap from anyone here.”

“Good to hear,” Daring said, settling back into a grin. “So, how about a shot of Manticore Rare and some info?”

“One I can provide,” the bartender replied, already grabbing a bottle of Daring’s favorite drink and a shot glass. “The other, it depends.”

“We’re looking for a griffon who may frequent this area,” Phillip said. “Dark brown feathers, heavyset, about four feet tall, minor limp in his hind right leg. Smokes Crystal Crown cigars. Goes fishing on the river near Pier Twelve.”

“You’re talking about Mavri,” Bottgilia said. “He’s a homeless fellow who sells fish to the local markets, hangs out around here from time to time.” He looked up at the door. “Matter of fact, that’s him now.”

Phillip and Daring both looked up to see a tall, rounded griffon, just over four feet tall, striding through the door. He had dark brown feathers and his coat was a golden-brown, the color of wheat. He grunted in pain quietly every time he stepped with his right hind leg, his tail flicking from side to side as his chocolate brown eyes panned over the room. He was wearing a gray fishing vest; Daring could see the packet of Crystal Crown in the top left breast pocket.

Mavri stepped into the bar and his eyes focused on the two strangers. He stopped for a moment and his eyes flicked up to Bottgilia. The bartender nodded softly.

Phillip approached him. “Mavri. I’m Phillip Finder, private detective. This is my partner, Daring Do.”

“Hey,” Daring greeted him, easily knocking back the shot of bourbon.

Mavri took a half-step backward. “What’s this about?”

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Phillip said, aware that several of the bar’s patrons were watching them discreetly, tense in their seats. “We just want to know if you were fishing at the river near Pier Twelve last night.”

Mavri’s eyes darted everywhere except Phillip’s face. “I might’ve been,” he admitted.

Daring walked up to him and offered him a glass of bourbon. “Hey, buddy, we just want you to tell us what you saw,” she assured him. “We’re not with the mob.”

Mavri looked around, then took the glass and walked over to a booth. Phillip and Daring both followed.

“I was out fishing, minding my own business,” Mavri began to narrate, sipping his drink. “It was twilight, when the sun’s gone down and the stars are coming up, and you can still see clearly. The salmon weren’t biting, and I was just sitting back, puffing on my third cigar.

“Then I saw a car pulling up to the opposite bank. That caught my attention: you don’t see ponies out there by the river that late at night. Not unless they have...specific business.”

He sipped at the bourbon, his eyes far away. “I knew I should’ve just taken off, but for some reason, I...I stayed. I wanted to see.

“As I watched, a pony got out of the car and pulled something out of the back. It was this huge, heavy shape: I thought it was a bag at first, but then I saw that it was a body.” He shuddered and his grip on the glass wavered, causing some of his drink to slop onto the table.

“They walked down to the edge of the river and set the body on the riverbank, then walked back up to the trunk and brought down some rope and a cinderblock. I kept as still as I could, just watching silently; I don’t think they saw me.”

Mavri paused and took a long drink. Phillip hesitated, then gently laid a hoof on his shoulder. The griffon stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and sucked in a breath.

“They tied the cinderblock to the body’s hind legs and dumped them into the river,” he continued. “Then they got back into the car and drove off. I gathered my stuff and got out of there as fast as I could.”

“Did you get a good look at the pony?” Phillip asked.

Mavri shook his head. “They were wearing a floppy hat and a dark rain jacket. I didn’t see their face or cutie mark.” He paused in thought. “I think that they had blonde hair, but I could be wrong.”

“What about the car?” Phillip pressed.

Mavri thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, yeah, the car. It was a Bigmouth Special Seven, a pale yellow-white color. I even remember the license plate.”

“You sure you saw it clearly?” Daring asked.

Mavri gave her a deadpan look and pointed to his eyes. “I may be getting long in the beak, but I can still see a mouse running through the grass in pre-dawn. Y’see that poster over there?”

He pointed at a poster hanging up on the wall on the other side of the bar, an advertisement for an upcoming performance by the Cardinals at a nearby concert hall. Neither Daring nor Phillip could read the lettering at the bottom.

“‘Tickets going on sale seventh of the Harvest Moon,’” Mavri read. “‘For advance tickets, phone 378-3399. No refunds.’”

Daring blinked, quickly walked over to the poster, then walked back. “He’s right,” she reported.

Mavri allowed himself a smug smirk. “You believe me now?”

“Aces,” Phillip nodded. “The number?”

Mavri took a napkin from the table and scribbled down the plate number: “Z0I WHX.” He handed this to Phillip. “Thanks, mate," Phil said.

Mavri blinked, his face falling slightly into the expression of one who just realized that he was doing something that he was going to regret.

“Mavri, you’re not going to get any trouble from this,” Phillip said quietly.

“You sure about that?” the griffon whispered tensely, taking a long drag of his bourbon.

“Trust us,” Daring said. “We never heard this from you.”

Phillip reached into his vest and pulled out a business card. “You think you’re in trouble or anything, give us a bell. We’ll be there to help.”

Mavri pondered for a moment, then took the card. “Thank you.”

Phillip extended a hoof. Mavri shook it, then Daring’s hoof. “Nice meeting you,” Daring said.

“Yeah, you too,” Mavri nodded, sitting down and signaling for another drink.

Tipping Bottgilia for her drink, Daring started to lead Phillip out of the bar when she heard a familiar voice. “Daring?” Turning, she saw a bluish-gray thestral with the cutie mark of a signpost sitting at one of the smaller round tables, smiling up at her.

“Officer Guide,” she greeted him.

“Gentle,” her former corrections officer corrected her, standing up and holding out his hoof to shake. “How have you been?”

“Can’t complain,” Daring replied, shaking his hoof.

Gentle smiled at Phillip, who nodded in response. “I’m glad that you two are getting along.”

“Glad you sent her to me,” Phillip said. “She’s a hell of a partner.”

“You flatter me,” Daring smirked at him. To her great pleasure, and slight confusion, she saw his ears turning red again.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got work to do,” Gentle Guide said, reaching into his coat pocket. “But if you ever need anything, Daring, you can give me a call.” He handed her a card with his phone number and address printed on it.

Daring took it, stared at it for a second, then pocketed it. “Thanks,” she said.

“Nice seeing you both again!” Gentle Guide called after them as they exited the bar and walked back onto the sidewalk.

“Our next stop should be the DMV,” Phillip grunted, shrugging his shoulders. “We can run the plate—Daring, wai—!”

But it was too late. Daring had seized her partner beneath the forelegs and taken off into the air with a laugh. “What do you have against taking the trolley?” Phillip protested, wriggling in her grip as she flew high above the rooftops.

“Oh, relax. You act like I’m going to drop you,” Daring scoffed.

“Knowing you, you just might,” Phillip grunted.

“Don’t tempt me,” Daring smirked, soaring northwest over the city.

The DMV was a small, single-story brick building in the town center, stuck on the end of a dead-end road. The parking lot was packed with vehicles of every make and color. The sight caused a feeling of dread to sink into both detective’s stomachs as they pushed through the door.

The DMV waiting lobby was filled with ponies, griffons, and donkeys, many of them grumbling at the wait. A line of sleepy-looking ponies stood on the other side of a long counter, dealing with one customer at a time. Classical music murmured from the speakers set up in the ceiling.

“Next!” a hassled-looking red-maned unicorn mare called as a balding burro stalked away from her, grinding his teeth. An elderly looking stallion laboriously climbed out of his seat and tottered over to her.

Daring and Phillip exchanged glances, then silently plucked a ticket from the dispenser and sat down on the hard, creaking benches to wait.

Fifty minutes later, they were still waiting. Every customer that was sent away was replaced by an incoming visitor. The constant grumbling sound, mixed with the static-punctuated music, provided a mind-numbing soundtrack. Daring had fallen asleep and was leaning against Phillip, her head on his shoulder as she snored. Phillip sat still as a statue, staring stoically ahead even as her breath tickled his cheek.

“Next!” the red-maned mare shouted, dismissing a gangly, pimpled pegasus. Phillip nudged Daring awake and they approached the counter.

“I need to identify a license plate,” Phillip declared to her, showing her his private detective license. “Z0I WHX.”

The mare frowned at him for a moment, then declared, “I’ll be right back.” She turned and walked through a door in the back of the building, returning a few moments later with a large red-bound book. She slapped it down onto the table and started rifling through pages of lined papers covered in cramped, barely legible blue ink.

“There,” she finally declared, flipping the book around to face them and pointing at a line. Phillip and Daring both read the indicated information and their faces creased in confusion.

The plate Z0I WHX was registered not to a pale yellow Bigmouth Special Seven, but rather to a blue Tumbleweed White Specter belonging to a wealthy bachelor living on the western outskirts of the city.

“You think he got the plate wrong?” Daring asked in an undertone.

“Possibly,” Phillip muttered.

Daring looked at the napkin that Mavri had written the numbers on and tilted her head. “Wait a minute,” she declared, reaching around and spinning the napkin around so that it was upside-down. The numbers now read “XHM I0Z.”

Phillip immediately grabbed the book, turned to the section tagged “X” and started rifling through it. “There,” he declared after a minute, pointing. XHM I0Z was registered to a white Bigmouth Special Seven, owned by a Gold Bar, who lived in the Everfree District.

“Good onya,” Phillip praised Daring, handing the book back to the state employee and exiting. “Time to pay this bloke a visit. And can we please take the trolley this time?”

“Hmm,” Daring mused for a moment, then grinned. “Nah.” And before Phillip could try to run, she seized him beneath the forelegs and flapped up into the sky, his cry of protest echoing off the buildings.

Case Two, Chapter Three: Gossip

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The address, 67 Whitewash Road, was a two-story building in the Everfree District, almost straight northwest of the city center. The house stood on its own block, with a long sidewalk and driveway leading to the doorway and garage. The house was almost as big as a mansion, the walls painted a burnished gold that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun.The windows were drawn, blocked off by blue curtains.

As Phillip and Daring approached, they saw that the garage door was open. A yellow-white Bigmouth Special Seven was parked inside, the license plate reading XHM I0Z. A white unicorn with a white-blonde mane was washing the car with a garden house, humming to himself. He had a cutie mark of a bucket filled with soap and was wearing a perfectly smooth black vest.

“We found our car,” Daring said as they walked past on the other side of the street. “Now what do we do?”

“Now we find out what we can,” Phillip said.

“We’re just gonna go in there and question this Gold Bar guy about this?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Phillip answered. “And while we do that, we look around for more information.”

“Okay,” Daring said. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything and everything,” Phillip told her. “The smallest detail might be the one that tells us the truth.” He turned to her. “Just keep quiet and let me do the talking. You observe everything.”

Daring frowned a bit, but nodded in assent. Phillip led the way across the street. The unicorn washing the car looked up at their approach. “Can I help you?” he asked in a high-pitched voice, looking down his nose at them both.

“We’re looking for Gold Bar,” Phillip said, showing his private detective license. “He’s involved in a police case.”

The unicorn studied Phil’s license for a moment, then grunted. “I’ll see if he’s willing to see you. Please come with me,” he said. Turning on his heels, he walked towards the house, ascending up a set of stairs to the front door. Phillip and Daring followed, both of them noticing the distinctive bulge shifting beneath the servant’s vest.

The servant led them into a sitting room. A set of bay windows framed by blue curtains opened up towards the sidewalk, allowing whoever was inside to watch the ponies walking by outside. A coffee table sat in front of a pair of cushy sofas, the tabletop covered in a white doily. A brick fireplace was placed against the wall next to the window, currently clean and empty. A grandfather clock stood next to the fireplace, ticking merrily away. A bookshelf was mounted on the wall, carrying a collection of novels.

“Please wait here,” the servant said. “I shall see if Mr. Bar is willing to see you.” He turned and exited the room. There was the sound of creaking stairsteps from out of view.

“So now what?” Daring asked.

Phillip pointed at his eyes and ears. “We look and listen and learn.”

Daring panned her eyes over the room. Her trained instincts as a thief led her to note the locks on the window were all secured and well-oiled, and that the glass had been replaced. She squinted at the brand: magic-reinforced double-laminate bulletproof glass. She whistled beneath her breath. “Having these put in must’ve cost more than the house.”

Phillip had his ear cocked and was sniffing at the air. Daring heard and smelt it as well: a mare’s voice from down the hallway, singing an aria, accompanied by the smell of cooking stew. So, there was at least one other servant in the house.

Phillip drew a hoof across the novels on the bookshelf. Most of them were historical fiction stories, all of them with dreary, uninteresting titles that gave away little information, such as Faust’s Knights or The Name of the Tulip. “Rarely read,” he muttered, drawing away a hoof and studying the layer of dust on it.

There was the sound of a throat clearing. Both ponies turned to see the unicorn servant standing in the doorway, still glaring at them down his nose. “Mr. Bar will see you in his office,” he stated. “Please follow me.” He turned and walked up the hallway, without waiting for either of his guests to fall in behind. Phillip and Daring followed him up a set of wooden stairs to the second floor and down a carpeted hallway to a door. He knocked sharply at the door and then pushed it open, standing aside to allow the detectives entry.

They entered a large office and immediately had to squint and shield their eyes as they both received a faceful of sunlight streaming in through the windows set in the back wall, spilling through the cracks in the blue drapery. The office had a large bookshelf on the left wall, a pair of glass doors shielding a collection of what looked like financial texts. Opposite was a small table with an expensive-looking coffee set placed atop it, the pot in the center steaming gently. In front of them was a set of three chairs in front of a grand oak desk, behind which sat a short, rotund, middle-aged unicorn stallion with a pale green coat and a long mane and beard of silvery hair. He was wearing a gray suit with a gold-striped tie, secured with a pin that matched his cutie mark: a stack of three gold bars embossed on a silver shield. He blinked up at his visitors through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. The desk itself had several papers spread across it and a telephone sitting to the left of Phillip and Daring’s perspective. On the other side of the table was a snuff box, a little turquoise-shell box with a winged harp logo embossed on it.

“Yes, can I help you?” the stallion asked.

“Gold Bar, I’m Phillip Finder. This is my partner, Daring Do,” Phillip greeted him, settling into one of the chairs. “We’re private detectives. We just want to ask a few questions.”

Gold Bar removed his glasses, revealing his yellow-green eyes, and leaned forward. “Please, ask away.”

“Can you account for your movements for the past twenty-four hours?” Phillip asked, flipping open his notebook.

“I do not leave the house except on rare occasion,” Gold Bar replied. “I have not left this house in the past three days. All three of my servants will account for that.”

“What exactly do you do?” Daring asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

“I am a financial consultant,” Gold Bar replied. “I give information on stocks and bonds and which businesses are wisest to invest in.”

“Your car has been tied to a police case,” Phillip stated.

Gold Bar’s bushy eyebrows raised. “Is that so? What case?”

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Phillip answered. “A witness spotted the car last night.”

Gold Bar brought his hooves up to his chin and pondered for a moment. “Most odd. Perhaps one of my servants took it.”

“We’ll need the names of all three of your servants.”

“Yes, I see,” Gold Bar replied. “You have met Soap Sud. I also have my cook, Steamed Carrot, who is currently downstairs. My third servant is Silver Polish, but he is currently out on business, purchasing groceries.”

Phillip made a quick note of the names. “Are they trustworthy?”

Gold Bar frowned. “To be perfectly honest, Soap Sud has a checkered past. He was sent to prison a few years ago for attacking another pony in a bar altercation, and I have had to discipline him a few times for being belligerent. Steamed and Silver have never given me reason to doubt them.”

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded. “One other thing. Do you own a dark rain jacket and a floppy hat?”

“No,” Gold Bar replied.

“We’re going to have to talk to your servants,” Phil said.

“Certainly, if it will help your investigation,” Gold Bar nodded. “The servants live in the basement. Now, if you would excuse me, I must return to work.” He looked back down at the papers on the desk, lifting up one to his face to examine and grasping a pen in his right hoof.

Phillip and Daring both stood up and exited the room. Descending down the stairs to the first floor, they walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The long, narrow room was filled with the aromas of cooking vegetables and broth. Every surface was brightly polished and spotless. Pots and pans were hung up on the wall beneath rows of cabinets. A large pot filled with a bubbling stew stood atop a burning stove. A chubby blue pegasus mare with her long red mane done up in a tight bun was stirring the pot, singing an aria. She was wearing a white apron and her cutie mark was a steaming pot filled with vegetables.

As the guests approached, the mare turned around, lifting a spoonful of soup out of the pot. “Oh, we have guests! Here, try this,” she declared, stuffing the spoon into Phillip’s open mouth. Phillip instinctively swallowed, then licked his lips. “Well?” the mare asked.

“Aces,” Phillip said, nodding appreciatively.

The mare grinned. “I’ve been experimenting with some new recipes, adjusting the spices and flavors. You think I overdid it with the oregano?”

“No, it works great,” Phillip said. “But it is a bit too salty. Add a few potatoes, that’ll help.”

“Hmm,” the mare said, taking a spoonful for herself and smacking her lips. “I think you have a point.” She paused, then grinned broadly. “Oh, where are my manners? Hi! I’m Steamed Carrot. Who’re you?”

“We’re food critics, apparently,” Daring said, smirking at Phillip. He blinked back at her, then his face momentarily creased in shame as he suddenly realized his lapse in concentration. She snickered silently.

“I’m Phillip Finder, and this is Daring Do,” he told Steamed. “We’re private detectives.”

“Oh! Did I do something?” Carrot asked, her face falling.

“Depends. Where were you last night?” Phillip asked.

“I was here all night,” Steamed replied, turning down the stew to simmer and gathering several potatoes from one of the cabinets, setting them down onto a cutting board. “I got struck with inspiration after dinner and spent most of the night cooking up a new ratatouille recipe.”

“Rat patootie?” Daring asked, her face twisting in confusion and revulsion.

“Ratatouille,” Steamed replied. “It’s a stew made from eggplants, bell peppers, tomatoes, onions, zucchini, and garlic. I’ve still got some in the fridge if you want to try it!”

“Can anyone account for your alibi?” Phillip asked. Daring noticed his eyes sliding towards the refrigerator as he spoke and had to fight down a giggle.

“Oh, Mr. Bar, Soap Sud, and Silver Polish can!” Steamed Carrot chirped, chopping up potatoes and dropping them into the pot. “They all were my taste testers.”

“Do you or anypony else here own a dark rain jacket or a floppy hat?” Phillip asked.

“I think Soap Sud has a dark jacket and a floppy hat,” Steamed replied. “Why?”

“Just checking up on a lead,” Phillip answered, his eyes flickering towards the fridge once again.

“C’mon, partner,” Daring said, smirking and quivering with suppressed laughter. “We should go check out the evidence.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded, returning himself to seriousness as they exited the kitchen.

“Nice meeting you!” Steamed Carrot called after them as they exited.

The pair walked out of the kitchen and quickly spotted a set of stairs headed down. Descending into the basement, they walked into a wide sitting room. Several couches were placed around a table, which was littered with a collection of playing cards and a pair of empty cider bottles. A radio sat on top of a mini-fridge on the wall. Three doors were lined up along a short hallway up ahead.

Phillip walked up to the first door and knocked. When there was no reply, he tried the doorknob. The door opened up to reveal a small but comfortable bedroom. The blue sheets on the bed were neatly folded, and a spy novel sat on top of the sheets. On top of the dresser stood a small safe, which was open. Inside was a box of .38 bullets and an empty shoulder holster.

To the left of the door stood a coat stand. Perched atop it was a dark red rain jacket and a black hat with a wide, floppy brim. Phillip and Daring both exchanged a glance, then Phillip reached forward and pulled the hat down, turning it over to examine the interior.

“Ahem.”

Both of them turned around to see Soap Sud standing in front of them, looking very unamused. “May I ask what the hell you are doing in my room?” he growled.

“Whoa! If your mom were here, she’d put a bar of soap in your mouth for that, Suds,” Daring snarked. Soap glared daggers at her.

“Did you go out at all last night?” Phillip asked, quickly shouldering Daring behind him.

“I do not see why I should answer that,” Soap stated.

“Because as of now, you’re our best suspect for a murder,” Phillip declared.

Soap sneered at them. “You will find that difficult to prove. Steamed Carrot, Silver Polish, and Mr. Bar can all attest for my presence here all of yesterday. And I think it’s long past time for you two to leave.” His horn lit up with a blue aura, tugging his coat breast aside a bit in an understated but firm threat.

This threat did not go unheeded. Replacing the hat on the rack, Phillip led Daring up out of the basement and out of the house. They exited back out onto the street and started to walk away.

“So now what do we do?” Daring asked.

“There are other ways of getting info,” Phillip declared. “Could check with the neighbors.”

“Yoo-hoo! Detectives!” a female voice sang out. Both of them turned and looked across the road to see a pearl white unicorn with an elaborately curled purple mane and tail waving at them.

“I recognize you from the Apple Pie,” Daring said as they walked over. “You’re one of AJ’s friends.”

The mare smiled brightly and nodded. “My name is Rarity. I saw you coming out of Gold Bar’s home. Is he in any trouble?”

“Not at liberty to say,” Phillip replied.

Rarity looked around, her eyes traveling up towards a silver metal pole that stood on the street corner. Daring glanced up at the pole. One of the two surveillance crystals that was mounted upon it seemed to be staring down at her with its one solid blue eye. She quickly looked back down.

“Let us discuss this inside, away from prying eyes,” Rarity declared. “I believe I may have some information that you would find useful.”

She turned and led the detectives into a purple home shaped roughly like a carousel. Inside was a fashion store, with a wide variety of clothing neatly organized across the display room, some of the fanciest outfits adorning the ponyquins that stood sentinel like guards. Displayed on the wall was a pair of photographs. One showed Rarity standing in front of a store on the streets of Canterlot with a tall, thin, cerulean unicorn mare with orange hair and eyes, wearing a fancy dress. The other picture showed Rarity in Manehattan with a creamy white earth pony mare, her blue hair arranged in a short bobcut.

“Welcome to the Carousel Boutique!” Rarity sang. “All your fashion needs met in one convenient location. Now, to business.” She turned to her two guests. “Have you heard of these recent shootings in the area?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” Phillip answered. “Targeted against members of the Nightmare Moon Disciples.”

“Well, they started about two weeks ago,” Rarity continued. Daring noticed that she kept glancing at her as she talked. “And there’s an interesting coincidence I noticed. Gold Bar left his home that day on a business trip.”

“That’s really that unusual?” Daring asked, shifting as Rarity continued to stare at the top of her head.

“Indeed,” Rarity continued. “I’ve lived with Gold Bar as a neighbor ever since I established this business three years ago. It’s a rare thing indeed to see him leave the house more than once a month…” Her voice trailed off. “Darling, I’m sorry, but your coiffure is really very distracting. It doesn’t work for you at all!”

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” Daring grumbled, subconsciously running a hoof through her mane.

“At least allow me to find you a proper hat,” Rarity declared, turning to a row of hats on the wall and gathering up several of them in her magic. “One should always make themselves look presentable.”

“You were saying about him going out,” Phillip said as Rarity placed a white sun hat on Daring’s head, then immediately discarded it.

“Yes, I was,” Rarity stated, continuing her attempts to find a hat for Daring. “I saw him leaving that morning. He didn’t come back until late that afternoon, which was highly unusual; he never stays out later than he needs to. There is one other thing; when he left he had his mane parted to the left and was wearing his tie in an oriental knot. When he came back, however, his mane was slightly disarrayed and I could swear that his tie was now in a Windsor knot.”

“So?” Daring asked, scowling as Rarity placed a ridiculously oversized hat loaded with an absurd number of fake flowers on her head. “He could’ve just messed up his mane in the wind or something.”

“And you could only see him from across the road, correct?” Phillip asked, watching the ever-changing display of hats with a look of wry amusement.

Rarity paused to think, causing the too-large fedora she was trying on Daring to slip down over Daring’s eyes. “I suppose that is true,” she murmured. “However, it was also odd that he did not respond to me in the slightest when I waved hello. He’s usually so polite.” She considered the fedora for a moment, then shook her head and removed it from Daring’s head. “However, soon after that day, the shootings began. Violence is not an uncommon thing in this district, but now, it’s an almost daily occurrence.” She shuddered. “I hate to think that it would occur here.”

Phillip was silent for a few moments, while Daring continued to suffer the modeling in silence. “What can you tell us about the servants?”

“I do not know them well,” Rarity confessed. “But I have had the opportunity to observe some of them. Soap Sud is quite vulgar, but he seems loyal to Mr. Bar. Steamed Carrot is quite cheery and pleasant to talk to; she’s always good for local gossip. Silver Polish, on the other hoof, is quite taciturn.” She paused for a moment, holding two flapper hats over Daring’s head. “All of them frequently go out for chores—almost daily, in fact—sometimes at odd hours. Soap, in particular, frequents the local taverns, and I have heard that he has quite the reputation amongst…” She paused and cleared her throat in obvious embarrassment. “The local ladies.”

“What does Silver Polish look like?” Phillip asked, watching Gold Bar’s home out the window.

“He has a golden coat with a silvery-blue mane and blue eyes,” Rarity reported, tapping her chin in thought as she studied Daring. “His cutie mark is a silver platter with a cloth.” She sighed. “Darling, you really are a tough case.”

“Well, excuse me for not using conditioner and being all frou-frou—” Daring started to snap, but something caught her eyes. Sitting on the bottom of the shelves of hats was a pale green pith helmet. Daring pounced on it and placed it upon her head. Her ears slid into the holes and the hat perched atop her head like a bird settling into a nest.

“Oh, that,” Rarity said. “I got that in a deal along with several other hats. Honestly, I forgot I had it."

“I like it,” Daring said enthusiastically, examining herself in the mirror. She tilted the hat back to expose more of her face, then forward so that the brow hid her eyes. "I always loved reading about adventurers as a kid, like Hayana Pone. I liked exploring the neighborhood and pretending I was in a jungle or something, searching for treasures. This...this is just like Hayana's hat."

“It suits you,” Phillip nodded, half-smiling.

Rarity tilted her head to the side a bit, then smiled and applauded enthusiastically. "C'est magnifique, darling! It adds such an air of adventure and mystery to your look, and it goes with your coat and shirt so well! I do believe it's perfect!"

“Sweet,” Daring said, handing Rarity some bits. Rarity walked off to total the sale. “So what’s the plan now?”

“We watch this house,” Phillip said, staring at Gold Bar’s home through the window. “We have one dead body and a rash of violence. Somepony in that house is involved.”

Daring tilted her new hat down over her face. “Then we’d better get some coffee. Could be in for a long haul.”

Case Two, Chapter Four: Streets Run Red

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They stood up on the roof of a home opposite Gold Bar’s house, having made their way up to their observation post out of sight after pretending to leave the Carousel Boutique. Phillip sat in silence, watching the street below with an unblinking gaze.

“You have any idea what all this is about?” Daring murmured next to him, sprawled across the roof with her hat over her eyes, apparently half-asleep.

“A few ideas,” Phillip stated. “But not enough evidence to decide.”

Daring lifted her head a little. “You think this is really is connected to those shootings?”

“There’s no evidence of that yet,” Phillip replied, not taking his gaze from the street. “Worst thing you can do on a case is make a theory before you know all the facts. You end up ignoring evidence that doesn’t fit your theory and could end up accusing the wrong pony.”

Daring nodded. “I don’t feel sorry for those drug-dealing thugs,” she stated. “If you ask me, they’re getting what they deserve.”

“Inclined to agree,” Phillip admitted. “But there’s a reason we have a justice system. Sooner or later, if these shootings keep up, a civilian’s going to get killed. They need to be stopped.”

“Eh, I guess you’re right,” Daring grumbled. “Being on the right side of the law kind of sucks, you know?”

Phillip grunted in reply. They sat in silence for a minute longer, watching the street below.

“Red one,” Daring muttered. “Yellow one...brown one...another red one…”

“What are you doing?” Phillip asked.

“I’m counting the cars that go by,” Daring replied. “Green one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored,” Daring grumbled.

“Well, stop.”

“Why? Yellow one.”

“It’s distracting.”

“Fine,” Daring said. “So, the weather’s nice for the Moon of Grain.”

Phillip blinked and stared at her.

“What? I’m trying to make small talk,” she said.

Phillip opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Uh...yeah. It is nice.”

Daring cocked her head, then snickered. “You kind of stink at this.”

“Not much for social interaction,” Phillip stated, turning his eyes back to the road.

“Well, too bad for you. You’re stuck here with me,” Daring said. “Hey, tell me a secret about yourself.”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you a secret of mine.”

Phillip didn’t answer. Seizing the opportunity, Daring dove in. “When I was six, I snuck into the Ponyville Zoo to look at the animals after the place had closed. I accidentally locked myself in an anaconda exhibit; spent the whole night crouched in the corner, staring at a thirty-foot long snake that could’ve swallowed me whole. The zookeeper gave me a very stern talking-to when he let me out that morning.” She chuckled. “Your turn.”

Phillip was silent for several seconds, then grunted quietly and spoke. “Played baseball in college. Shortstop. Once blew the game when I dropped a pop fly, let a double run in. Some yobbo in the audience insulted my mother and I lost concentration.”

“Bet your teammates loved you for that,” Daring said.

“They forgave me after I helped with a triple out two weeks later,” Phillip stated.

Daring whistled. “Nice.”

“So what made you want to sneak into an anaconda cage?” Phillip asked.

Daring shrugged. “I wanted to see it up close. It kind of didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be able to get out.”

“Right, because—” Phillip stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Down there,” he whispered.

Daring looked down at the street below. A unicorn stallion was walking up the sidewalk. He had a golden coat and a short silver mane with blue highlights. He wore a black vest and bow tie and had the cutie mark of a silver platter with a cloth. He trotted down the street in a hurry, not looking around at anything. He was carrying a suitcase in a pale blue aura.

“That’s our boy,” Daring whispered. “So what’s the plan?”

“I—” Phillip started to say, but was interrupted as Soap Sud burst out of the door and marched up to Silver. The two stallions began a hissed conversation, Soap’s face creased in anger. Silver looked shocked, then frowned and shook his head, protesting. After a while, Soap snapped something inaudible to Silver and marched back inside the house. Silver started to walk back down the sidewalk, his brow furrowed under the weight of thought.

“Let’s follow him,” Phillip declared. He sprinted across the rooftop and leaped across to the next house, tucking and rolling as he landed. Daring flapped her wings and lazily flew across to join him. She smirked and tickled his nose with her primary feathers.

“It’s not a race,” Phillip grumbled, his eyes on Silver Polish. The servant did not look around as he continued down the street, turning around a corner away from them.

Phillip vaulted over the edge of the roof and slid down a drainpipe to the ground. Adjusting his vest, he began to walk across the sidewalk, staying in Silver’s blind spot and discreetly hiding whatever cover was available. Daring stayed above them, flying from rooftop to rooftop, keeping low to stay out of sight.

Silver paused at a four-way crosswalk, watching the parade of cars in silence. Phillip continued to walk down the sidewalk, glancing down at his watch as though in disinterest. The lights changed, allowing Silver to cross the street. His path intersected with Phillip’s, but both stallions ignored each other. Continuing to move straight forward, Phillip crossed to the side opposite and kept walking on.

But after walking another block, he quickly turned and ran into an alleyway, ducking out of sight. He then took off his vest and turned it inside-out, revealing a sky blue interior. He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of a pocket in his vest and put them on, then took off his hat and his gray shirt and tucked them both inside his vest, out of sight. His disguise complete, he stepped out of the alley and quickly glanced around. He spotted Daring on the roof of a department store opposite, her eyes staring ahead like an eagle scouting out a field mouse for dinner. Glancing up, he spotted Silver turning a corner up ahead. He began to walk after him, adopting a long stride different than his normal step. Dodging around a red four-door, he crossed to the sidewalk opposite and continued to follow behind.

Up above them, Daring continued to fly from rooftop to rooftop, watching their target from afar. The wind beneath her wings served to soothe her mind and keep her focused. She kept an eye on Silver Polish, who seemed to be unaware of anything around him, instead staring straight ahead. Like most ponies, he didn’t bother to look up, making it highly unlikely that he would see her. She could see Phillip walking up the street, using the reflections in the store windows to keep an eye on his prey.

As she watched, another stallion started walking up the sidewalk towards Silver Polish. This unicorn had a pale blue coat and a tangled mane of light yellow hair. He was wearing a brown blazer and was carrying a black suitcase beside him in a pale yellow aura.

The two unicorns walked towards each other, barely acknowledging each other, just as two strangers would. They passed by one another, not even making eye contact for a moment.

What happened next was so quick and smooth, she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been watching closely. As both stallions passed each other, they grabbed each other’s suitcases while releasing the holds on their own. They walked past without slowing for a moment, the drop completed perfectly.

Daring looked down towards Phillip, who was currently pretending to look through the front windows of a clothing store. He glanced up towards her, then nodded and pointed at his eyes. He’d seen the exchange, too. He tapped his chest and nodded towards Silver, indicating that he would follow him. She was to follow the other unicorn. Nodding her understanding, she flapped her wings and crossed over to the next rooftop, keeping the blue unicorn in sight as he passed around a corner. Her target paused at a crosswalk, checking both ways for vehicles before crossing over to the other side.

As he started walking up the sidewalk again, a car pulled up: a red four-door. Daring’s eyes instinctively turned upon the vehicle, watching as it approached the blue unicorn. Something prickled in the back of her mind; she recognized the vehicle somehow.

A moment later, it clicked: she had seen that very same car pass by Gold Bar’s house twice. And she’d seen it following Silver.

Just as this thought was crossing her mind, the passenger-side window rolled down and a figure leaned out, their face shrouded by the upturned collars of their trenchcoat. A long, black object slithered out of the window. The blue unicorn turned towards the car, his eyes widening in shock, holding up the briefcase as if he were trying to use it as a shield.

But this defensive move was for naught. With a great metallic chattering that rattled through the sky, the gun roared to life, spitting out hot lead at its target. The bullets tore through the briefcase and through the unicorn’s body. He jerked violently with every impact, blood spraying out onto the wall behind him and all over his vest. The unicorn slumped back against the ground, his eyes staring at nothing. With a peal of tires and a screech of an engine, the car tore away from the scene, leaving behind the screaming witnesses.

Daring stared at the dead pony, laying in a still warm and wet puddle of his own blood, her mind grinding to a halt out of shock.

“Daring!” Phillip shouted. Snapped out of her stunned state, she looked down to see Phillip sprinting up the road, easily swinging his vest off his shoulders and turning it back to its normal side, placing his hat upon his head.

“Get after them, they’re getting away!” Phillip barked, leaping at a drainpipe. He began to climb up the drainpipe as easily as a gecko slithering up the wall. Shaking her head to refocus, Daring quickly spotted the red four-door speeding around a corner, briefly mounting the curb. Spreading her wings, she lifted off and flew after the car.

The pony in the trenchcoat leaned out of the window and aimed his rifle up at her. A burst of automatic fire sent a wave of hot lead towards her, forcing her to bank to the side to dodge it. Beneath her, Phillip raced across the rooftops, vaulting and leaping over obstacles, kicking off walls to gain height and momentum to overcome higher walls.

There was a wailing of a siren and a black and white police cruiser appeared around the corner, red and blue lights spinning as it chased after the suspect’s car. The passenger, a yellow earth pony with a black and yellow striped mane, leaned out of the cruiser’s window and opened fire with his revolver. His bullets ricocheted off the red car’s frame as it sped around a right turn, allowing the gunpony to open fire on the cruiser. The earth pony ducked back inside for cover, sparks ringing off the cruiser’s chassis and cracks spreading across the reinforced windshield. Wheels screeched and ponies dived out of the way as the police car cut across the curb to chase after the suspects. Daring banked around to continue her pursuit, while Phillip leaped off the rooftop and slid down a streetlamp to cross the street.

The pony in the trenchcoat ducked back inside the car to reload their weapon, then leaned back out and opened fire again, aiming for the cruiser’s tires. The front headlights shattered, then, with a loud bang like a cannon shot, the front left tire blew out, causing the pursuing vehicle to skid as the driver fought for control. The getaway car began to pull away.

“No, you don’t,” Daring growled. Spotting a brick sitting on the sidewalk next to a partly-constructed wall, she swooped down and snatched it up in her hoof, then sped towards the red four-door. Her wings screamed in protest as she pushed herself as hard as she could, and then pushed harder; the dust in the air stung at her eyes, making them water and forcing her to squint. Adjusting her trajectory to intersect with the gunpony's path, she caught up to the vehicle and alighted onto the roof with a loud thump.

The wind ripped at her, trying to tear her off, roaring in her ears. Miraculously, her hat had stayed on her head. She crawled over to the front of the car and leaned down. The wind almost pressed her against the windshield, and she got a very good look at the two ponies inside—a pegasus mare and a dark red unicorn stallion—both of them staring at her in shock.

“Afternoon, ma’am!” Daring chirped, raising the brick that she still clutched in her hoof. “Wipe your windshield?” She smashed the brick down onto the windshield, spraying both ponies with shards of glass and causing them to flinch. “Whoops!” Daring said.

The unicorn snarled and raised his rifle, aiming at Daring’s face. She flung the brick at his face as she lifted herself up out of sight. Her makeshift weapon impacted against the gunpony’s eye, blackening it and causing his burst of gunfire to completely miss.

With a flap of her wings, Daring swung around so that she was next to the driver’s side. Noticing that the driver’s side window was down, she pulled herself up and leaned in through the window. “Excuse me, I wanna drive,” she said, seizing the wheel and jerking it hard to the side. With a squeal of protest, the car swerved to one side and pitched towards a street lamp. Daring leaped off the car, tucking her wings to her sides and covering her head with her forelegs. She struck the ground hard, the impact against the sidewalk knocking the wind out of her and rattling her brain in her skull, and rolled to a stop. With a great crash, the car struck the lamppost and came to an abrupt halt, smoke spewing from the warped hood. The unicorn in the trenchcoat, who hadn't been wearing his seat belt, was hurled through the broken windshield and crashed down onto the sidewalk, where he lay unmoving.

Stunned by the impact, Daring slowly sat up, her head spinning and her vision blurred, as though she were watching the world through a funhouse mirror. As she watched, the driver tumbled out of the wrecked car and turned towards her, her red eyes blazing with fury. Reaching into the car, the pegasus mare seized a sawn-off shotgun from inside the door and aimed it at Daring’s face. The cha-chk of the pump action racking a round into the chamber echoed in Daring’s pounding head and everything seemed to go in slow motion. She tried to force herself to stand, to move, but her limbs were moving too slowly, as if she were underwater, while she could see her killer’s hoof already squeezing the trigger…

Suddenly, there was a loud whirring sound and something flew across the sky, striking the side of the shotgun and knocking it askew. The gun barked loudly, sending a spray of buckshot into the air, away from Daring. The boomerang arced through the air, returning to Phillip’s hoof as he sprinted up towards the car, snapping his baton open as he ran.

Seizing her chance while the driver was stunned by the sudden turn of events, Daring rushed her, using her wings to propel herself forward and ram her shoulder into the mare’s gut, slamming her into the wrecked car as Phillip struck her across the jaw with his baton. The pegasus mare grunted once, then slid to the ground, unconscious.

Phillip glanced up at the unicorn in the trenchcoat, ensuring that he was not a threat, then replaced his boomerang and his baton in his pockets. “You okay?” he asked Daring, panting. Sweat dripped from his mane and tail.

“A little woozy, but I’m good,” Daring said, shaking her head to try to refocus. “Thanks for the help.”

Phillip looked as though he were struggling to decide what to say, then simply muttered, “No worries.” He walked over to the unconscious unicorn and bent down to check his pulse.

With a wail of sirens, the police cruiser with the blown tire and cracked windshield caught up to them, pausing next to the wreckage. The doors opened and the two officers stepped out. The driver was Sergeant Prowl. Her partner, the chubby yellow earth pony, looked at Phillip with an expression of awe. His cutie mark was a bumblebee.

“You’re him,” he said. “I-I mean, you’re Detective Finder. Hi!” He turned to Daring. “Oh, and Daring Do! Hi!”

“Bumblebee, save the fanboying and call an ambulance,” Prowl declared, walking up to Daring. “Thanks for the assist, but what were you doing here?”

“We were following the pony that they shot,” Daring replied, and quickly filled in the officers on the story. Prowl and Bumblebee both listened with rapt attention. When she was finished, Bumblebee let out an admiring whistle.

“Hot damn, you’ve been busy,” he said.

“There’s something else,” Phillip said coldly. He was holding the rifle that the unicorn had killed Silver’s messenger with. Daring studied it. While most weapons, especially guns, were ugly in her eyes, this one was particularly hideous. It was long, with a metal stock and a large box-like magazine, the entire thing colored an unnatural shade of gray-brown that was repulsive to her eyes. Fastened to the barrel just beyond the front sights was a set of bipod legs, and a handle was attached to the barrel above the faux wooden forearm. Every angle on the weapon was sharp and angular, making it clear to all who observed it that this thing did not belong in nature.

Prowl’s eyes narrowed as they focused on the gun. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked quietly.

“It’s a BAR,” Phillip confirmed.

“A...bar?” Bumblebee asked, obviously confused.

“A Blackhorn Automatic Rifle,” Phillip replied. “It was developed during the Crystal War...by Sombra. For his soldiers.”

“This is a problem,” Prowl muttered. “This is a military-grade weapon. How did some street punks get their hooves on one?"

“If we can track the manufacturing numbers, we might find out where they got it,” Bumblebee declared. “And we’re definitely charging them with possession of an illegal weapon.”

Daring turned to Bumblebee and gave him a look. “You do know that they just shot a pony?”

“Um…” Bumblebee stammered, his mouth hanging open. “Well, it does help to be thorough,” he said.

“No, doesn’t look like there are any manufacturing numbers on this,” Phillip stated, turning the weapon over and over in his hooves. "Odd...no sign that the serial numbers were destroyed. It's like the gun was made without them."

“Good idea, though, Bee,” Prowl nodded.

With a whoop of sirens, an ambulance pulled up to the scene. Phillip placed the weapon back on the ground and walked over to Daring. “I lost track of Silver when the shooting started. I’m going back to the vic, checking the scene.”

“Okay,” Daring nodded.

Phillip paused. “You sure you’re good to come?” he asked.

Daring took a shaky breath. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “Come on, let’s go.” She grabbed Phillip under the forelegs and with a great flap of her wings, lifted up into the air above the rooftops, carrying her passenger with her. She then paused, slowly turning in a circle.

“You don’t know where it is, do you?” Phillip asked, wriggling in her grasp as he tried to get comfortable.

She huffed through her nostrils in reply. “That way,” Phillip pointed. Daring flew in the indicated direction at a slower pace than before, her body still sore and her heart still thudding against her ribs.

They floated down to the site of the shooting, which was already well-attended by a group of curious citizens, eager to get a glimpse of the latest display of violence on the streets. A pair of officers were doing their best to hold the crowd back while two other figures crouched over the dead body.

One of the officers, Star Cluster, looked up as they approached and glowered. “Hey, detective, the snoops are back,” he called over his shoulder.

One of the figures stooped over the corpse lifted his head up, his shoulders heaving as he sighed, then turned around. “I suppose this was inevitable,” Red Herring grunted, glaring at Phillip.

“Nice to see you, too,” Daring glared back at him.

Officer Flash Sentry, who was standing on the other side of the group, glanced over at his shoulder at Phillip and Daring, then looked away.

The other figure crouched next to the body stood up and dusted themselves off. “Well, since you are here, you might as well do something useful,” Trace Evidence declared, nodding for Star Cluster to let them pass. The officer obeyed, scowling as he did so.

Phillip checked the messenger’s black briefcase, which was still laying next to the body. He bent down and unbuckled the briefcase. Inside was a rolled-up newspaper and several envelopes.

“Well, that doesn’t seem worth killing somepony over,” Red commented.

Ignoring him, Phillip shuffled the papers around until he spotted a loose string set into the briefcase’s interior. He tugged on the string and the false wall peeled away. Tucked inside was a packet of white powder wrapped tightly in plastic sheeting, about the size of a brick.

“That is,” Phillip commented, taking the brick out of the case.

Red Herring let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Phillip and Daring briefly filled in the detectives on their story, telling them how their investigation had led them to Gold Bar (though they kept vague about their source), how they’d watched Silver Polish passing off the briefcase to this messenger, then pursued and disabled the gunponies.

“And it’s just our luck that this would all come closed circle on us,” Red Herring grumbled.

“Red,” Trace said firmly. “So the servants in Gold Bar’s house are trafficking in drugs, and they’re involved in our mystery victim’s death.”

“Question is whether or not Gold Bar is involved,” Phillip stated. “We should go back and check the house.”

“With a warrant,” Trace Evidence cut in.

Phillip blinked at him. “You have enough evidence for probable cause—”

“Your word doesn’t carry as much weight as you think it does,” Red Herring snapped. “You think we want to get our asses chewed out in court over this? We’re getting a warrant, and you and your partner will damn well wait until we come back with it.” He turned and glared at Daring. “And you keep her on a short leash. Tempting as it would be to just let her go back to her old instincts and sneak in there—”

“That is fucking it!” Daring shouted, stomping towards the pegasus, who spread his wings in a display of aggression. Trace and Phillip quickly got between the two combatants and pushed them away from each other.

“Enough! Enough!” Trace shouted. “Red, take Cluster with you. Wake up Judge Gavel. Maybe he’ll actually be sober enough to make a legible signature.”

Red scowled at Daring and Phil, then turned tail and stormed off towards his car, grunting at Star Cluster to follow him as they passed. Growling, Daring turned and walked away, turning into an alleyway. She sat down, breathing heavily, her shoulders and forelegs still tense and trembling. Phillip walked up towards her, pausing behind her. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out a hoof towards her shoulders.

“Unless you’ve got a bottle of Manticore Rare in that vest, fuck off,” Daring snarled.

Phillip retracted his hoof, but still walked over and sat down next to her. He didn’t look at her, but out of the corner of his gaze, he observed a small amount of the tension leaving her shoulders. Her heavy breathing gradually slowed and quieted as she calmed down.

“Buy you a bottle after this is all over,” Phillip told her.

She half-smiled and let out a small snicker out of her nostrils. “You promise?”

“Promise.”

Daring slowly stood up and stretched her limbs. “Well, then, we’d better wrap this up in a hurry,” she declared. “C’mon, partner.” She began to walk up the street, her gait missing its usual bounce but carrying none of the weight of Red Herring’s insult. Phillip followed, a small smile flickering across his face for a moment.

Trace Evidence ignored them as they walked past, continuing to study the body. Officer Sentry looked up and watched them. Sensing his gaze, Phillip paused and looked at Flash. The younger pony opened his mouth, paused, then closed it and looked away, his eyes narrowing slightly. Phillip hovered for a moment, then continued to follow Daring back to Gold Bar’s house.

Phillip and Daring sat on the sidewalk across from Gold Bar’s house, silently staring at the building. Every window in the building was dark, and there was no sound or movement from within. Even more worrying, the Bigmouth Special was gone from the garage.

“Look, we know no one’s there. I’m going in,” Daring declared, starting forward.

Phillip reached out and held her back without looking around. “Much as I’d like to let you, Trace and Red have a point. You go in there, you’d be breaking and entering, and anything we found in there would be suspect. We wait until they come back with the warrant.”

Daring huffed and sat back down next to him. “Like I said; being on the right side of the law sucks.”

“Yup,” Phillip agreed.

They sat in silence for several minutes more, observing the empty house and the cars and pedestrians passing by. Finally, a police cruiser and a familiar rust-colored Diplomat 600 pulled up. Trace Evidence and Flash Sentry climbed out of the cruiser, while Red Herring and Star Cluster exited the Diplomat. Red Herring was clutching a piece of paper.

“Had good luck with Gavel,” he declared to Trace. “He was actually sober enough to make a legible signature this time. Let’s get to work.”

The two police detectives marched up to the door, the officers, and the private detectives right behind them. Herring knocked at the door. “Police, open up!” he barked.

Barely pausing, he then kicked the door in and proceeded inside, allowing the others entry. No one responded to this intrusion.

Inside the sitting room, all of the old books had been tossed onto the floor, scattered about the carpet. Carved into the wall behind the shelf where they had been sitting was a large hole, now empty. Phillip quickly swiped his hoof across the interior. It came back with a faint white powder clinging to it. “So that’s where they stored it,” he muttered.

Daring walked into the kitchen. The pot of stew was still sitting on the stove, now long cold. She glanced into the fridge and smirked. “Hey, Phil, they left the ratatouille!” she called.

“Focus,” Phillip called back as he and Red climbed upstairs, trying to ignore his mouth watering.

Trace and Daring descended into the basement. All of the servants’ rooms were empty. Pausing in Soap Sud’s room, Daring observed that the safe was open, and the holster and box of ammunition were gone, as was the hat off the coat rack. The other three rooms showed signs of their occupants having left in a hurry, with empty hangers and half-open dressers.

Upstairs, Gold Bar’s office was abandoned as well. There were papers scattered about the desk, a number of them half-completed forms, and an expensive pen was laying atop the mess. “They left in a hurry,” Phillip muttered, studying the abandoned papers and the overturned chair behind the desk. There were bloodstains on the floor next to the chair.

“Doesn't look like Gold Bar went with them willingly,” Red Herring muttered. “Seems like the help was running this whole thing without his knowledge, and when they knew we were onto them, they grabbed him as a hostage.”

Phillip did not answer, instead proceeding to Gold Bar’s room to check for more evidence. Red went back downstairs to talk to Star and Flash, who were waiting outside the door.

“They took the car,” he declared. “It’s a yellow-white Bigmouth Special, XHM 10Z. You two spread out and start taking witness statements.”

“But, sir—” Flash started to protest.

“Witness statements. Now,” Red snapped, turning back inside for a moment. “Trace, I’m going to call forensics from a payphone. Maybe they can get something out of this.” He bounded out the door and down the street, searching for a payphone.

“C’mon, kid,” Star Cluster declared, flicking his tail across Flash’s face as he walked away. Flash reluctantly followed behind, trailing behind with the weight of an abused puppy.

“There’s a store down here,” Star declared in a cheerful tone. “I know the owner. They’ll give us something to go on.” He started down the sidewalk, with Flash falling in behind.

The two reached an open market a couple blocks down, a small affair with a colored assortment of fruits and vegetables arranged on wooden shelves beneath a red and white striped awning. A fat blue earth pony with a dark green mane and purple eyes stood behind the shelves. His cutie mark was a bunch of brightly colored berries—blueberries, strawberries, blackberries—spilling out of a cornucopia. He looked up as the officers approached and his eyes widened. “Oh, hell,” he muttered.

“Heya, Blue Berry,” Star smiled broadly, taking a couple of blueberries from the shelves and popping them into his mouth. “How’re the kids?”

“I already paid you for this month,” Blue protested, looking to Flash for help. Flash hesitated for a moment, but stepped back when his partner shot him a warning glare.

“Well, I need something else,” Star declared, leaning on the shelves. “You see a car passing by recently? A yellow-white Special, XHM 10Z?”

“No,” Blue replied, turning away to head back inside.

Star reached out and seized Blue by the shoulder, tugging him back to face him. “Well, maybe you should think about it a little harder, right, buddy?” he sneered through an animalistic smile, squeezing the earth pony’s arm and making him yelp in pain.

“Leave him alone!” Flash shouted, shoving Star back.

Star Cluster stumbled a bit, looking more taken aback than anything else, then scoffed and shook his head at Flash. “You’re kidding me, kid,” he said, stepping forward.

Flash took two steps back, suddenly aware of how much bigger his partner was than him, and how cold and angry his eyes were. He drew his nightstick from his belt and clutched it tightly in his right hoof, holding it out in front of him like a shield. Blue Berry quickly ducked inside his store.

Star Cluster snorted again, then in a sudden blur of motion, lunged forward and grabbed Flash’s arm, pulling him in close and driving his right hoof into Flash’s gut. All the breath exploded out of Flash and he doubled over, heaving. Star Cluster punched Flash across the jaw, knocking him to the sidewalk and sending his nightstick skittering away. Star followed up with several vicious kicks, which Flash desperately tried to protect himself against, covering himself up into a ball. Star paused in his assault, then stomped on Flash’s wing. Flash howled in pain, rolling over on the ground and whimpering.

Star Cluster sighed and crouched down. “Look, I get it, kid,” he said. “You’re young, fresh out of the academy, and you’re still swallowing that idealistic bullshit that they crammed down your throat while you were there. You don’t get how things work here. Well, I’m showing you; think of me as your teacher. Lesson number one: in this city, we make the evidence. We decide who’s guilty and who isn’t. We decide which cases get solved and which go cold.”

He stood up. “Lesson number two: listen to your superiors. We’re here to help you and keep you on the right path. We’ll do the work; all you gotta do is keep your mouth shut and do what we tell you. Got that?”

Flash glared up at him, his left eye already swollen shut. Star sighed and gave Flash one last kick for good measure, causing him to curl up into a ball again.

“You look like shit, kid,” Star declared, walking away. “Go home and get some rest, think about what I said.” Star Cluster strolled back up the street towards Gold Bar’s house, leaving his partner laying in a heap on the sidewalk.

Case Two, Chapter Five: Thunder Rumbles

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Phillip walked into the laboratory, the shadows beneath his eyes betraying his tiredness. “Doctor, Twilight,” he greeted the two ponies within. “What do we know?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Twilight declared in a testy tone, not looking up from the samples of magical energy that she was currently studying. The little swirling clouds of colored energy floated within their glass containers, some of them glowing faintly as they contentedly lay at the bottom of the tubes, some of them angrily attempting to escape their small prisons. Twilight lifted up one of the tubes, containing a sleepy little cloud of yellow magic, and studied the label on it, selecting a photograph from the collection of pictures neatly organized in front of her and matching it to the sample.

“We are currently studying the evidence taken from Gold Bar’s home,” Doctor Suunkii reported, not looking up from the long line of evidence bags spread across the table in front of him. “We have hopes of potentially discovering what has happened within that home and where our suspects have gone.”

Daring casually strolled in, munching on a carrot. “What’s up, doc?” she asked Doctor Suunkii.

“No food in the laboratory,” the zebra admonished her without looking up. Twilight zapped the carrot with her magic, turning it into ashes.

“Hey!” Daring protested. Twilight just smirked at her.

“What is up is that we are currently going over everything again, in an attempt to find some clue as to our suspect’s movements,” Suunkii stated. “However, as of this moment, we do not have any leads.”

“So we don’t know where they are, where they got the drugs from, or how to find them,” Daring summed up.

“That is correct,” Doctor Suunkii declared, standing up and rubbing his eyes.

“Well, that’s fucking great,” Daring grunted.

There was a knock at the door and Flash Sentry walked inside. Twilight looked up at his entrance and gasped in shock. Flash’s eye was swollen shut, his wing hung limply against his side, and he walked with a noticeable limp.

“What happened to you?” Twilight cried.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Flash grunted, wincing as he spoke and clutching his side. “Doctor Mortis wanted me to get—”

“Here, let me help,” Twilight said, stepping forward. Her horn lit up with a purple glow and trails of magic began to spiral through the air, twisting across Flash’s body. The pegasus instinctively stepped back, his eyes widening in shock at what he interpreted as a possible attack.

“What’re you doing?” he shouted.

“Please, just hold still. It’ll make the healing spells easier,” Twilight told him.

Flash remained still, though his apprehension was made clear by the tenseness in his shoulders and the rapid breathing through his nostrils. Twilight’s magic swirled around him, targeting any injuries. She closed her eyes in concentration, focusing on the waves of energy that traveled back and forth between her and her patient. Within a few moments, the bruises around Flash’s eye and on his face began to fade, his wing repaired itself, and he was able to stand up straighter.

“Uh...thanks,” Flash said when the spell faded away, touching his face in surprise.

“You’re welcome,” Twilight said, panting slightly from the effort of her spell. “Traditional healing spells are only powerful enough to heal small injuries such as minor scrapes and cuts, but that’s because the casters don’t know how to maintain it long enough to heal anything more complex. I discovered that if you use Apollion’s Principle of Circular Energy Flows, you can direct some of the expended energy back into the spell…” Her voice trailed to a stop as she slowly realized that everypony was staring at her. She blushed and chuckled nervously. “Uh, the point is, it works.”

“As I was saying,” Flash said, turning back to Phillip and Daring. “Doctor Mortis sent me. She wants to see you.”

“Right,” Phillip said, following Flash out of the laboratory, with Daring following. Flash led them down the hallway towards the morgue.

“You sure you’re okay?” Phillip asked Flash as they walked.

“I’m fine,” Flash grunted, not looking around.

Daring glanced at Phillip, then spoke to Flash. “Hey, Sentry. You remember the night that Shifting Tone was attacked?”

Flash faltered in his steps for a moment, then paused and turned around. “Yes. Why?” he asked.

“You have any ideas how that assassin found us?” Daring asked.

Flash shook his head, but his brow furrowed in an expression of displeasure. “They must’ve been following us somehow,” he said.

Daring glanced at Phillip, whose expression gave nothing away. She turned back to Flash. “What do you remember?”

Flash frowned in thought. “We pulled into that motel, like you told us to, Phil,” he narrated. “I called in to dispatch, since we’re always supposed to keep the dispatch informed of where we are and what we’re doing, and we got out. Detective Evidence told us to go around to the back to cover the exit, so that’s what we did. After a few minutes, the assassin—Twisted Root—came out of the back door. I pulled out my gun and told him to stop, but Star…” His mouth twisted in an expression of bitterness. “He pushed me...tripped...I don’t know. Then Root pulled out that crystal and zapped it and disappeared.”

He blinked, then shook his head slowly. “Maybe I should’ve gone in with you…”

“It’s not your fault,” Phillip stated.

Daring frowned at Phillip for a moment, then turned back to Sentry, stepping in close. “So how do we know you’re not the one that led the assassin there?” she accused.

Flash leaned back, his eyes widening in shock at the sudden invasion of his personal space, then glowered at Daring. “You’re accusing me?! Of working for the mob?!”

“If you’re innocent, why are you so upset?” Daring accused.

“Fuck you!” Flash spat, stepping around her and storming up the hallway. Daring started to go after him, but Phillip stopped her with an outstretched hoof and an icy glare.

“You wait here,” he ordered her in a tone that left no room for argument. Daring glowered at him but took a nervous half-step backward. Phillip turned and followed Sentry as he turned a corner.

“Flash,” Phillip called. When the pegasus didn’t stop, Phillip raised his voice slightly. “Officer Sentry.”

Flash paused, glaring at him over his shoulder. “Come to insult me, too?” he snapped.

“I believe you,” Phillip said.

Flash blinked, his face changing from anger and frustration to confusion in an instant. “You do?” he asked.

“Yes,” Phillip continued, stepping forward. “I’ve met a lot of good liars. You’re not one of them. You’re too honest.”

Flash blinked, his eyes darting back and forth between the floor and Phillip. “Thanks,” he said, somewhat hesitatingly.

“I’m sorry about Daring,” Phillip apologized. “She’s not happy about what happened.”

“I’m not either,” Flash said bitterly. “Doesn’t mean she needs to make it worse for me.”

“She’s inexperienced,” Phillip stated. “You understand that we have to consider every possibility, but that doesn’t make what she did right. I’ll have a talk with her.”

“I know you have to check,” Flash admitted, shuffling his hooves.

Phillip stepped forward again, lowering his head slightly to look the smaller pony in the eyes. “You didn’t tell anypony anything about where you were going or what you were doing that night?”

“No one,” Flash shook his head.

“What about Star?” Phillip asked.

Flash thought for a moment but shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“You see him say or do anything dodgy that night?”

Flash shook his head. “I don’t remember him doing anything weird...besides shoving me,” he added bitterly.

“You see him around Trace Evidence’s car?”

“No, why?” Flash asked.

“Just checking,” Phillip replied. “You’d best be getting back to work.”

“Right,” Flash nodded, his shoulders slumping perceptibly as he turned and started back up the hallway towards the stairs that would take him up out of the basement.

“Flash,” Phillip called after him. Flash paused again, turning back.

“Word of advice,” Phillip said. “No one can fight your battles for you. Doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help if you need it, though. Even if it’s for one bogan.”

Flash seemed to ponder that for a moment, then nodded his thanks and turned to leave. Phillip turned around and walked back to where Daring was standing.

“The hell was that?” he growled at her.

“That was me interrogating a suspect,” Daring replied, glaring at him. “Least I didn’t break his kneecap.”

“No, that was you bloody fucking it up,” Phillip replied.

“You mad I hurt the kid’s feelings?” Daring asked.

“If he’d been a suspect, you’d’ve ruined any chance of him talking to us again,” Phillip replied. “You do not accuse anypony of anything based off of no evidence like you just did, and you don’t make them shut down by getting in their face when they're angry. I will teach you how to interrogate suspects. Until you get a grasp of it, you leave it to me. Clear?”

Daring glared at him for a few seconds of stony silence, then grunted and turned around. “Whatever. Let’s just see what the doc wants.”

She and Phillip walked the rest of the way down the hall to the door labeled Mortuary and entered without knocking. The room within was a large, cold, stark metal room. The counters were made of polished steel, as was the trio of examination tables set in the middle of the room. One of these tables was occupied, the object sprawled atop it covered by a white sheet. Along the back wall were several vault doors, arranged in neat rows and columns. Behind each steel door was a freezer. Daring didn’t want to think about how many freezers had a preserved corpse inside. The clashing scents of rot, decay and cleaning fluid hung heavy in the air, assaulting the visitors’ noses as they entered.

Doctor Mortis was washing her hooves at a sink in the opposite corner, her apron stained with fluids that Daring didn’t want to be identified. She looked up as they entered and smiled. “Oh, there you are,” she chirped. “I’ve been talking to our new friend here. He’s not very chatty, but he’s been telling me some interesting stories.”

She walked over to the covered table and lit up her horn with a milky white aura, lifting the sheet aside. The bloated, rotten corpse from the Maresippi lay beneath, turned upright so that its empty eyeholes and gaping toothless mouth were in full view. Doctor Mortis had cut the torso open with a Y-shaped incision, exposing the rotten internal organs, all of which she’d already carefully cut out, examined and placed back inside. Daring took one look and rapidly backpedaled, pressing up against the door to stay as far away from the body as possible.

“You have an ID?” Phillip asked, stepping up to the body and bending over it.

“Nope,” Doctor Mortis replied. “Like I said, whoever killed him really didn’t want us to identify them. But they didn’t count on me. Now, I haven’t learned much, but I am pretty sure of a few things. One, this is definitely a male unicorn, about...forty, forty-five years old, sedentary lifestyle. I extracted silver hair follicles from their scalp. They’ve been living off of bread and water for about two weeks or so, and they’ve been repeatedly tortured during that time: hot knives, needles in the hooves…”

“Wait,” Phillip said, raising a hoof. “Did you notice irritation in the lungs, mouth or nose?”

Doctor Mortis blinked. “Yes. I’d hazard that they were a long-term snuff taker.”

“Right or left hooved?” Phillip asked.

“Left hooved, based on the muscular and bone development there,” Doctor Mortis replied, a small grin crossing her face. “What’re you onto, Finder?”

“I’ve got an ID,” Phillip stated. “This is Gold Bar.”

Daring blinked. “But we met Gold Bar.”

“That was an imposter,” Phillip replied. “The real Gold Bar was kidnapped two weeks ago, when the shootings started, and replaced by a copy. He was held somewhere and tortured for information, then killed and dumped in the river when he wasn’t of use anymore.”

“How are you sure that he’s an imposter?” Daring asked.

“You saw the same things I did,” Phillip replied. “The snuff box on the desk, but our fake didn’t have any irritation in the mouth and nose; never taken snuff in their life. Then the phone on his right side, but he used his pen with his right hoof. A right-hooved pony would be more likely to put their phone on their left side so they could write while talking.”

Daring nodded. “So who replaced him and why?”

“Gold Bar’s heading up distribution of drugs in the Everfree District and somepony wants in on the drug supply,” Phillip said. “I’d bet anything that the imposter’s working with the shooters, getting info on the ring's members so they can take them out.”

Daring frowned. "But why just focus on the dealers? Why not take out the suppliers too?"

"Can't do that without giving themselves away," Phillip concluded. "A street-level dealer gets shot in the street, just another day. An upper-level supplier gets shot, that's a declaration of open war. The dealers' deaths are probably warning shots."

"Okay, I think I see what you're saying," Daring shrugged. "And when the servants figured out that their boss had been replaced by a fake, they took him and ran,” Daring concluded. “They’re probably gonna kill him.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded.

“And we still don’t know where they’re going, or where they’re getting their drugs from,” Daring pointed out.

“If we find one, we might find the other,” Phillip stated.

“If I were you, I’d check with Detective Night Waltz,” Doctor Mortis suggested. “He’s the one doing most of the Vice work here. He might have some idea.”

“Thanks, doc,” Phillip replied. “C’mon, Daring.” They exited the morgue and walked back up the hallway to the stairs. Instead of exiting on the ground floor, they continued upwards to the second floor, where the detectives’ offices were located. Phillip pushed through a door and they found themselves in a large open room, littered with cubicles. Ponies walked through the maze, rushing back and forth with papers, shouting to one another over the makeshift walls, muttering to one another as they hovered near the water cooler or the coffee machine. A light rain that fell from the overcast sky pattered against the windows.

“Where’s Detective Night Waltz?” Phillip called to a passing mare.

“Second on the right, then fifth cubicle on the left,” the mare said without looking up from the stacks of files that her muzzle was buried in.

Phillip and Daring walked to the right and entered the second hallway, then walked down to the fifth pair of cubicles. The cubicle on the right was occupied by an earth pony stallion with a dark purple coat the color of the sky at dusk. His hair and mustache were both a starlight silvery blue. He was wearing a watery yellow suit with a white shirt and a yellow and purple striped tie, tightly knotted, and had a black fedora perched atop his head, tilted down over his eyes. His cutie mark was a trio of shooting stars, yellow, blue and white. He was currently leaning back in his chair with his hind legs up on his desk, which was strewn with papers and files. A half-empty paper cup with stone-cold coffee sat atop a filing cabinet behind him.

“Waltz,” Phillip said as he and Daring entered. Night Waltz replied with a loud snore.

Daring sighed and leaned in until she was an inch away from his ear. “WAKE UP!” she bellowed. Waltz awakened with a snort and tumbled backward off his chair and onto the floor. He knocked into the filing cabinet, causing the cup of cold coffee to spill all over him.

“Aw, geez!” Night Waltz groaned, standing up and trying to dry himself off. “This is a six hundred-bit suit!”

“Worry about your dry cleaning later,” Phillip stated. “Need your help.”

Night Waltz nodded, setting his hat on the cabinet. “What do you need?”

“Does the name Gold Bar, 67 Whitewash Street, mean anything to you?” Phillip asked.

Night Waltz pondered that for a moment, then turned and opened one of the drawers and began rifling through the files within. After a few seconds, he whipped out a file and opened it up.

“I thought this might come up with the shootings,” he said, showing them a photograph of an auto shop. The one-story brick warehouse had five garage doors set into its front. Set over the door on the far left was a neon sign that read, “Grease Monkey’s Auto Repair.”

“We’ve had this place under surveillance for a long time,” Night Waltz explained. “We suspected them of using their repairponies for running drugs out to places all over the city, including Gold Bar’s place; he’s had a repairpony out there a lot of times. ‘Course, he could just really love that car of his, but still, kind of suspicious. We think that they’re getting drugs from Whitestone’s gang.”

“Whitestone?” Daring asked.

“Griffon,” Waltz replied. “Real nasty piece of work. She and her partner, Roaring, are suspected of piracy up in the Griffon seas, but they’ve always managed to dodge extradition. Now she’s in charge of most of the smuggling and contraband in this city.”

"And you don't search the place why?" Daring asked.

"We've never gotten enough evidence for a warrant," Night Waltz replied. "Ultimately, all we have are rumors and coincidences, not probable cause."

Phillip picked up the photograph of the auto shop and studied it for a moment. “Suppose you found some?”

By the time the duo reached Grease Monkey’s auto shop, the rain was threatening to burst into a full-blown thunderstorm, the rainfall and icy winds increasing by the moment as distant flashes of light flickered through the darkening sky and grumbles of thunder rippling through the heavy air.

Climbing down from the rattling trolley that had carried them down the street, they paused to study their target. The neon sign was flickering on and off, fighting a losing battle to stay lit. All of the sliding sheet metal doors were shut, as if to try to keep the approaching storm out. Faint lights shone through the small windows, allowing them to see flickers of movement inside. An old but still pristine Gray Ghost sat outside the shop, with a sign displaying a list of prices set in the windshield.

“What’s the plan?” Daring asked, turning her coat collar up against the rain.

“No warrants to worry about this time. Best option to making them talk is to find the drugs and anything else they might be hiding,” Phillip replied. “That means we’re gonna have to go in and find it.”

“You’re not planning on just going in through the front door and asking, ‘Hey, where do you keep your drugs,’ are you?” Daring asked with a small half-smile.

“How would you do it?” Phillip asked.

Daring thought for a moment. “First, we’re gonna need to know how many ponies are in there. Then, we’re gonna need a way inside.”

“Ripper. Let’s go,” Phillip nodded. They walked down the street a block, then circled around to approach from behind, studying the rear of the shop. The back wall of the warehouse was a solid brick, with one rear door set into the wall. A couple of old but well-maintained cars were parked in the lot behind the shop. Daring and Phil stole to the door and pressed their backs up against the wall.

Daring plucked a small hoof mirror out of her pocket and started to lift it up, then noticed that Phillip had plucked a compact mirror out of his pocket as well. She stared at the small makeup mirror in her partner’s hoof, noticing the bright green emerald coloring, and snickered quietly.

“I liked the color,” Phillip muttered, his ears turning red.

Both of them held up their mirrors to the window, allowing them to see inside without exposing their heads. The interior of the warehouse was well-lit by the lamps hanging from the ceiling and from the fading sunlight that filtered through the clouds piercing a skylight. There were five hydraulic lifts spread across the oil-stained concrete floor, two of which were currently occupied by trucks. Toolboxes, equipment, stacks of tires, engines, and car parts were scattered about everywhere. A door to what looked like an office was across from their position. There were five mechanics inside the shop: two earth ponies, a unicorn, and two griffons, all of them wearing grease-stained coveralls. They were gathered around one of the trucks, chatting to one another.

Phillip thought in silence for several seconds. “We need to get inside to search.”

“Or one of us does,” Daring said as she snapped her mirror shut. She glanced up and noticed a fuse box set into the wall above them. Grinning, she gave Phil a light punch on the shoulder. “I’ve sacked harder places. Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” Phillip asked.

“Hey, didn’t I say not to worry?” Daring said. She reached into an inner pocket in her coat and handed Phillip a small bundle of cherry bombs. “I’m gonna cut the lights in there. When the lights go out, wait ten seconds, then light these and toss them in front of the shop. That should keep their attention long enough for me to sneak in without trouble. I’ll take a quick look around and get out. That office over there looks pretty juicy.”

Phillip nodded and stood, quickly scurrying around out of sight. Daring turned to the lock on the back door. She smirked at the cheap, three-tumbler contraption. At least give me a challenge, boys, she thought, plucking the set of picks from the secret compartment in her wallet. She didn’t even need the magic-cancelling gem for this.

It took her a mere eleven seconds to defeat the lock with a soft click. She then reached into another pocket and pulled out a case for a set of contact lenses and opened it. Inside lay a pair of what looked like normal contact lenses, except for the fact that they seemed to glow faintly green if viewed from the right angle. She plucked the lenses out and carefully placed both of them in her eyes. She waited a few seconds more to give Phillip time to get into position, then opened up the fuse box, revealing a trio of fuses slot into the wall. She lightly tapped one of the fuses then quickly pulled back, expecting a shock. Fortunately, there was no shock. She grasped the fuses and yanked them all out, pocketing them. Inside the auto shop, the lights went out, plunging the warehouse into darkness.

“Hey! What happened to the lights?” she heard a voice call, muffled through the door.

Daring held her hoof on the door, waiting in the rain. A few seconds later, there was a series of sharp popping sounds from the front of the store, followed by shouts of confusion. That was her cue. She opened the door a crack, paused to listen for any signs that she’d been discovered, then opened the door just enough to allow her to slip inside, quickly and silently closing it behind her. Immediately, she ducked behind a stack of tires, pausing to observe and listen. She peeked over the top of the tires.

The enchantment in the contact lenses had not worn off; even in the barely adequate light filtering through the skylight, her vision was almost as clear as day. Whatever enchanter the Family had gotten the magical lenses from, they were very, very good. She could see the mechanics, staggering in confusion at the sudden darkness. The tall gray unicorn lit up his horn with a silvery glow but failed to fully banish the darkness. One of the griffons was walking towards the front door, apparently to check on the noise; the other griffon was glaring around the room, his yellow-brown eyes shining faintly in the dark. The eyes turned towards her hiding place like a pair of spotlights and she ducked back behind the tires.

There was the sound of a door opening and the volume of the rain outside increased. “Who’s out there?” the gray griffon called, stepping outside. Daring began to shuffle towards the office door, slithering from cover to cover. The griffon stepped fully outside to search while the others remained where they were, obviously unsure what was happening or how to react. A shock of lightning flickered across the sky, momentarily illuminating the room, and a rumble of thunder shuddered through the building.

“Gears, check the fuses,” the unicorn grunted. A blue earth pony wearing an oil-stained pair of overalls walked over to the back door, walking right towards Daring. She pressed her back up against a toolbox and closed her breath, holding her breath and remaining as still as she could. Gears passed next to her, so close that she could smell the grease stains on his clothes and his oily, overdone cologne. Gears walked right past her, completely unaware of her presence.

Daring glanced up to make sure that nopony was looking towards her, then quickly darted to the office door. She jiggled the doorknob and let out a soft sigh of relief upon finding that it was unlocked. She checked one more time to make sure that nopony was looking towards her, then carefully pushed the door open, moving slowly to avoid the hinges squeaking, and darted inside, shutting it behind her.

She found herself in a small, sparse office. There was a desk with two metal chairs in front of it and one chair behind it. Papers were spread across the surface of the desk. Behind the desk was a set of metal shelves with several cardboard boxes placed upon them. A single bare bulb was placed in the ceiling above her; there were no photographs or pictures on the walls. The place wasn't as impressive as a grandiose ancient temple with a forbidden treasure tucked away inside, but it would make a suitable setting anyway.

“Right,” Daring whispered to herself. “If I were running drugs out of this place, I’d put them somewhere where a customer wouldn’t find them.” She started to scan the room, sweeping over the bottom area of the walls and observing any details; the crumbling paint on the brickwork, the trash can next to the desk, the tacky orange carpeting. The middle section held nothing of interest, save for the desk and a trio of old cardboard boxes, all of them labeled “Records.” The top section of the room had only more boxes on the top shelf. The walls appeared solid, and the ceiling was made of wooden boards.

Daring walked over to the desk and opened up the drawers on the left side, starting with the bottom one. Unfortunately, there was nothing inside any except some scattered pens, pencils, staplers and tape dispensers. She turned to the boxes, but then the trash can caught her eye.

She bent down and looked into the large metal bin. Inside the can was a plastic bag filled with various garbage—banana peels, apple cores, candy wrappers, half-empty soda cans and beer bottles. The entire thing gave off a repugnant odor that made her nose scrunch. Yet, the sight of the trash inside made something in the back of her mind tingle.

Then she realized: this office looked barely used; the dust on the shelves and the floor attested to that. This clearly wasn’t a place where anypony sat and ate their lunch. So what was all this smelly food waste doing in there?

“Boys, we got a problem!” she heard a voice call through the door.

“Shit,” Daring muttered. Taking in a breath and holding it, she began to dig through the trash, searching for anything of interest. Unfortunately, the most interesting thing she found was a half-eaten carrot dog, still covered in relish and mustard. However, at the bottom of the bag, she felt something metallic. She tried to grasp it, only to realize that it wasn’t in the bag, it was underneath it. Pulling the trash bag out of the can, she looked inside to see something laying at the bottom of the can: a small silver key. Not as impressive as a gold idol, but just as valuable to her at the moment.

If they went through the trouble of hiding it, it must be important, Daring thought, snatching up the key and pocketing it. She turned back to the office door and crept towards it. Pausing on the side opposite the handle, she reached across and pulled the door open a crack, pressing her eye to the gap formed between the door and the frame.

Gears had come back inside and was standing in front of the back door, his face tight and his jaw gritted. “Somepony’s here!” he was saying to the others. “The fuses are all gone!”

The unicorn grunted, his eyes narrowing. He plucked a key out from his coveralls and inserted it into a toolbox next to him, unlocking and opening one of the lower drawers. From this, he extracted a pair of pistols. He handed one to the earth pony, who quickly checked the magazine, then racked the slide. The mechanical cha-click mixed with a deep rumbling of thunder from overhead. The lanky yellow-eyed griffon walked over to another toolbox and pulled out a pair of sawn-off double-barrelled shotguns. He tossed one to Gears, who quickly checked to make sure that it was loaded, then snapped it shut. The gray griffon came back inside, took in the situation at a glance, then reached into a trash can next to the door and extracted a revolver.

The unicorn held up his own pistol and racked the slide. Two beams of light blossomed from his horn, both of which flew to one of the exits. The doors were immediately coated in a silvery shield of energy, preventing anypony from leaving.

“Find them,” the unicorn growled. The armed mechanics spread out to search, their weapons held up and ready to fire.

Daring licked her lips and swallowed. This just keeps getting better.

Case Two, Chapter Six: The Trail

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The lanky golden griffon stalked towards the office where Daring was hiding. The barrels of his weapon were like a pair of holes into oblivion; a single twitch of his claw would send a hail of fire and brimstone towards her.

Daring flapped her wings and flew up towards the ceiling, pressing herself up against the corner. Supporting herself by pressing her two right hooves against the doorframe, she tucked her tail in so that it wouldn’t dangle beneath her and potentially give her away. She tucked her wings in close, but kept them partly open and ready to fly. She exhaled softly through her mouth and forced her heartbeat to slow.

The griffon forced the door open with a shoulder and entered, his beak clenched tightly. He swept his weapon across the room, his faintly glowing yellow-orange eyes narrowed as he searched. He stepped into the room fully, stepping around to check behind the desk. Daring briefly considered pouncing on his back and trying to knock him out, but quickly dropped the idea, realizing the noise would give her away.

Knowing she might not get another chance, Daring carefully peeked around to check outside the door. The way was clear. With quick, silent movements, she darted around the door while the griffon’s back was turned, pressing her back up against the wall outside. She then immediately jumped behind a spare engine block. She paused, listening for any sign that she’d been discovered, then slowly peeked around.

The five mechanics were spread out across the auto shop. The unicorn was sweeping his horn across the room, illuminating every dark corner in search of their intruder. The gray griffon was still in front of the front door, while Gears was walking down the hallway towards her position. The shield charms over the doors continued to glow faintly. A flicker of lightning danced across the sky through the skylight, prompting Daring to glance up.

The skylight. There was a way out. She couldn’t just smash through the glass; she’d either bounce right off or get cut to shreds. But if she could break one of the panes, she could fly out...provided she didn’t get spotted and shot.

The lanky griffon exited the office, closing the door behind him. “Nothing in there,” he reported to Gears. Daring ducked behind the engine block and held her breath as the two gunponies passed by. Neither of them checked her hiding place, to her immense relief. She snuck around behind them and hid behind a toolbox. Spotting a socket wrench on top of the toolbox, she reached up and took it. Having a weapon in hoof made her feel a little bit better; the sensation of the cold, hard metal was a comfort to her. And she could use this to break the window.

The other earth pony, a fat white stallion with a greasy brown handlebar mustache and the cutie mark of a wheel, slowly approached her position, his silver-plated pistol raised and ready. She could smell the cheap cologne in his hair, hear his slow, heavy breathing. Daring waited until he was close, then jumped out. Simultaneously, she grabbed the pistol in her free hoof while swinging her elbow into the earth pony’s throat. He gagged, his breathing interrupted, and instinctively let go of the pistol. Taking the gun away, Daring quickly struck him across the jaw with the wrench, then again on the temple, whipping her body back and forth with each strike. The earth pony fell to the ground with a thud.

“What was that?” one of the other mechanics shouted. Daring quickly dropped to the ground and rolled underneath one of the trucks. She heard rapid hoofsteps approaching.

“It’s Wheels!” she heard a voice call. “Somepony busted him over the head. Shit, I think he’s dead!”

Daring slithered out from beneath the truck and moved to another hiding place, breathing heavily. Had she killed him? She hadn’t meant to; she’d only wanted to knock him out. Biting down on her lip, she forced herself to shut the door on the bubbling flood of guilt and self-loathing that was rushing up from within. She couldn’t afford to feel sorry for Wheels...for him right now. He would’ve killed her without hesitation had she given him the chance. She tried to block out the sounds of the mechanics trying to wake up their comrade, ignored the concern in their voices.

She glanced down at the pistol in her hoof. It was a large-caliber pistol. The weapon was heavy and cold, the grip too large for her hoof. The scent of gun oil wafting from the barrel made her stomach churn. She slid the gun beneath a toolbox. If nothing else, it would be one less thing shooting at her.

Daring looked up towards the skylight. This might be her only chance to escape. She flapped her wings and flew silently up towards the skylight, gaining speed as she flew. She gripped the socket wrench in both hooves. With a grunt, she thrusted the long end of the socket wrench at the pane, aiming at the edge. It shattered with a tremendous crash; rain and shards of glass tumbled down on her.

“Up there!” a voice shouted beneath her, but she was already flying out the window and into the rainy sky, out of sight. The cool wind on her face and the rain soaking into her coat was rejuvenating and relieving, and she breathed in the stormy air deeply. She swooped down low to the ground and flew away from the auto shop, searching for Phillip.

A sudden rush of wind from behind her was all the warning she got. Something crashed into her from behind, driving her to the ground. She felt her ribs crunching as the wind exploded out of her; the impact of her skull against the concrete made her head spin. She turned around to see the narrowed yellow-orange eyes of the lanky griffon glaring at her; then something crashed against her jaw and everything went black.

She came to less than a minute later, groaning in pain; her head felt like it had swollen to twice its size. She realized that she was being dragged across a cold concrete floor. The air was cold and smelled of oil and grease.

“Wake up,” a voice commanded.

Shaking herself back to consciousness, Daring opened her eyes and looked around. She was back inside the auto shop, sitting up against one of the trucks, her front hooves bound behind her. The two griffons, the unicorn, and Gears were all standing around her; Wheels was nowhere in sight.

The unicorn leaned in and began to roughly pat her down. She flinched in pain as he roughly brushed up against her damaged ribs. He found the fuses she’d stolen and pulled them out of her pocket.

“Gears, go put those back in,” he said, tossing them to his lackey.

“Okay, Grease,” Gears replied, catching the fuses and walking towards the back door. Daring heard the door open and shut.

The unicorn glared down at Daring. She looked up at him. “Grease Monkey, I presume,” she declared.

“Who sent you?” Grease Monkey snarled.

Daring remained silent.

“We should just kill her,” the gray griffon snapped. “Dump her in the grease tank with the other one.”

“No,” Grease Monkey replied. “We need her alive; we can use her.”

“Sure can,” the lanky griffon said, hungrily licking his beak as he stared at her. Daring spat at him. Her gesture of defiance earned her a swift kick to the gut that left her doubled over, gasping and coughing.

“What the hell is taking so long with the lights?” the gray griffon asked, looking up towards the still-dark lights.

“You’re right,” Grease Monkey muttered. He turned to yell out the door. “Gears! The hell is taking so long?”

There was no answer from outside. Grease Monkey growled and nodded to the griffon. “Go check.” The griffon grunted and walked towards the back door, spinning his revolver around his claw. Daring heard the door open and shut once more.

“Look,” Grease Monkey said, crouching down to look Daring in the eye. “We know you know that we brought your friend here. Why else would you be here, sneaking around?”

Daring remained quiet, refusing to break eye contact. The more he talked, the more she learned. While her captors' focus was on her, she began to wiggle her wrists back and forth, trying to loosen the ropes. She had to fight down a smirk when she felt the bonds loosening already; obviously, none of her captors had been Colt Scouts.

“You know we’re not letting you out of here alive,” Grease said. “But you can avoid a lot of pain if you just tell us what you know.”

“You’re going to kill me either way,” Daring stated. “That doesn’t give me much motivation to talk.”

Grease looked over at the lanky golden griffon, who sneered at Daring. “See, Ryse here, he has a very persuasive way with ponies who don’t talk.”

“Especially pretty little mares like yourself,” Ryse grinned, licking his beak again. Daring glared back at him, forcing herself to breathe slowly through her nostrils even as her innards squirmed and her heart pattered against her ribs, causing her aching head to throb. She continued to work at the ropes.

“You sure we can’t just settle this over a cider?” she asked.

“We’re long past tha—” Grease started to say.

Suddenly, there was the bark of a gun from outside. Both Grease and Ryse looked up in surprise. “The hell—?” Grease said.

The ropes came loose and Daring seized her chance. She lashed out with a kick, striking Grease Monkey in the face. His nose exploded in a shower of crimson and he reeled away with a howl of pain.

Ryse dived at her, but she quickly rolled out of the way and pushed herself back to her hooves. Immediately, she bucked backward and struck Grease Monkey on the head, knocking him out and taking one more foe out of the fight.

Ryse charged at her again and she flew up into the air to avoid his attack. He looped upwards and tackled her and the two engaged in midair combat, grappling and scrabbling against each other in an attempt to gain a better position. His claws and beak flashed at her, threatening to tear the flesh from her bones; she grunted in pain as one of his talons cut across her cheek, drawing blood.

Daring deflected a swipe at her face and punched Ryse in the gut, winding him and giving her an opportunity to disengage and gain some distance. But Ryse twisted around in midair and lashed out with his hind leg, kicking her in the gut. She tumbled out of the sky and crashed into the ground, her breath exploding from her and her ribs burning with pain. She quickly rolled out of the way as Ryse swooped down, his claws missing her by inches. The griffon turned and glared at her, breathing heavily as he prepared to launch himself at her again.

Suddenly, there was a sharp whistling sound and something cracked against Ryse’s forehead, sending him reeling backward. Immediately, Daring tackled Ryse to the ground and punched him across the jaw. His eyes rolled and closed as he slumped beneath her. Daring looked up just in time to see the boomerang spinning back to Phillip’s waiting hoof. He walked up to her, dripping wet from the rain.

“You okay?” he asked Daring.

“Yeah,” Daring said, shaking her spinning, throbbing head as she got up off Ryse’s body. She started to stagger off.

“Where are you going?” Phillip asked, rushing up to her side to try to support her.

“I need to see Wheels,” Daring replied, leaning against him as she walked. “The guy I hit. I need to see if he’s dead or not.”

“I saw them taking you inside,” Phillip said. “Was calling the police from a payphone when I saw one of the wankers coming out. Knocked him out, locked him in the trunk of one of the cars. Did the same to the other wanker that came out—he got a shot off, though—then came inside looking for you.”

Daring glanced up at her partner, then gave a small smile. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” Phil said.

They turned a corner around a truck and saw Wheels still laying where he’d been left, his head lying in a puddle of blood and a bruise on his throat. Daring was relieved when she saw his chest rising and falling slowly. She walked over to him and bent down to check his pulse. “You lucky bastard,” she sighed in relief as she felt a slow but steady pulse against her hoof.

There was the sound of a siren approaching, then squealing brakes from outside. The door opened and hoofsteps hurried inside.

“Over here,” Phil shouted. “Call an ambulance, we’ve got wounded.”

Sergeant Prowl and Officer Bumblebee appeared around the corner, their guns drawn. Detectives Trace Evidence and Red Herring were right behind them.

Red’s eyes went from Phillip and Daring to the unconscious pony on the ground to the shattered skylight. “This ought to be good,” he grunted.

“We were searching for leads into where Gold Bar got his drugs,” Phillip explained, crouching down to help Prowl carefully bandage Wheels’ head. “This place came up. We went in to take a look. Suspects were uncooperative.”

Red snorted. “Uncooperative. Right.”

“One here, two over there, two in car trunks out back,” Phillip reported.

Bumblebee blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say they were in car trunks?”

“Yes,” Phillip replied.

Bumblebee stared at him for a moment, then dissolved into snickering.

“You’d better have found something,” Sergeant Prowl commented as she finished bandaging the wounded pony. “You do realize that you two technically committed breaking and entering and assault.”

“What, the guns aren’t enough?” Daring snorted.

“Point, but we’ll need more than that,” Trace pointed out. “Officers, take the suspects into custody.”

“Yes, sir!” Bumblebee declared, pulling a set of enchanted hoofcuffs from his belt. Prowl followed him around the corner.

“I did find this,” Daring stated, pulling out the key that she’d found in the trash can out of her pocket.

Trace squinted at it. “That looks like a car key.”

“Wouldn’t go to one of their cars,” Phillip stated. “Too much trouble to hide it and take it out again.”

“Maybe the car out front?” Red suggested.

“That’s an idea,” Phillip nodded. The four ponies began to walk towards the front door.

“You got here faster than I thought,” Phillip commented.

“We were on our way here already,” Trace replied. “We’ve been double-checking all of Gold Bar’s business contacts and this shop came up on our list. It turns out that one of the employees, Ryse, has an outstanding warrant in the Griffon Kingdoms for assault, so we were coming down with Prowl and Bumblebee on backup.”

“It might surprise you to know, but while you’re out playing hero, we don’t sit around with our hooves up our asses,” Red grunted as he pushed the front door open and exited into the rain.

“When we heard that you’d called for help over the radio, Prowl put on her sirens and we hurried here,” Trace stated. They walked over to the Gray Ghost, which still sat dutifully out in front of the store, headlights staring at them.

Daring walked up to the door and tried the key against the lock. It slid in easily and she unlocked the door. Climbing behind the seat, she inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. Instead of the engine turning over, there was a click as the hood unlocked.

Trace and Red opened up the hood and stared at the contents. The engine had been removed and the ignition circuit rerouted to the lock on the hood. Inside the compartment were several bricks of white and brown powder, tightly wrapped in plastic.

Trace whistled admiringly. “Well, that’s going to make the resale value skyrocket.”

“There’s something else,” Daring said, exiting the car. “We need to look in the grease trap.”

They walked around to the back of the shop, to a large plastic bin that sat out in the parking lot. As they approached, Trace lifted up the top of the bin and they all peered inside.

The bin was filled almost to the brim with a reeking brownish-black sludge, a mixture of discarded oils and greases. Something was floating beneath the surface, a darker shadow against the dark shadows within. Trace used his magic to reach inside and grab the object, dragging it to the surface.

Daring knew what it was, but the sight still made her stomach churn. The body of the fake Gold Bar floated in the bin, grease clinging to their skin. His face was barely recognizable beneath the streams of oil and the layers of blood and bruises.

“Well, I’d say that’s probable cause for a search,” Trace commented, tossing one of the bags of drugs to himself as he replaced the lid. They turned and walked back inside the auto shop. Bumblebee had replaced the fuses and the lights were on. The two officers were watching over the hoofcuffed prisoners, who sat sullenly in a group on the floor, glaring at their captors. The enchantments on the hoofcuffs suppressed the magic of the captives and subjected them to a mild lassitude, preventing them from attacking or flying or running away.

Trace walked up to Grease Monkey and dropped the package of drugs on the floor in front of him. Grease Monkey glared at the package, then up at him.

“You’re in deeper shit than the dead body out in the grease trap there, buddy,” Red Herring growled at him.

“We know that you were supplying drugs to Gold Bar,” Trace Evidence declared coldly. “We know that Soap Sud, Steamed Carrot, and Silver Polish brought the fake one here and you killed him for them.” He crouched down in front of the unicorn. “So do yourself a favor and start talking.”

Grease Monkey glared defiantly back at the detectives, but uncertainty and fear glimmered in his eyes. “This is an illegal search,” he protested. “You can’t—”

“See, here’s the thing,” Trace interrupted. “The Equestrian Charter does say the police can’t search your property without probable cause, but it doesn’t say anything about civilians like these two.” He nodded to Phillip and Daring. “So, as far as we’re concerned, they found these items in a completely innocent manner.”

“Maybe we should all just step out for some coffee, leave them with these two,” Red Herring suggested. “We’ve already called the ambulance.”

The four mechanics looked over at Phillip, who glared back at them, his eyes as dark and cold as the storm clouds above them. He reached into his vest and pulled out his baton, snapping it open with a flick of his wrist and a sharp clicking. All four captives swallowed as one.

“Okay, look, we don’t know where they were going,” Grease Monkey cut in. “They came in here with the phony dude, said they needed someplace to keep under cover for a bit and for us to swap out their car for them; that’s something we sometimes do for our, er, ‘customers.’ They beat the phony for info, then killed him and dumped him in the grease trap. We swapped the tires and plate and repainted it blue and they drove off.”

“What plate did you give them?” Trace asked.

Grease Monkey shrugged. “Dunno. Just grabbed one from the pile and slapped it on there.”

“You said it was colored blue?” Trace confirmed. Grease grunted and gave a barely perceptible nod.

“There’s a pair of surveillance crystals on the corner down the street,” Red Herring noted. “We might be able to get something off of that.”

“We also need to put out an APB on Silver Polish, Soap Suds, and Steamed Carrot,” Prowl stated.

Ryse snickered at the mention of the names. “Something funny?” Prowl asked.

“The bitch isn’t with them,” Ryse sneered. “She had no idea what was happening, but they panicked and decided to bring her along so she wouldn’t talk.” He nodded towards the office. “After they were done with the fake, they took her into that office there for a quick bounce. You should’ve heard her screaming—”

Ryse’s description was cut off by Phillip’s baton striking him across the temple. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. The other mechanics quickly shuffled away from Phillip.

“Wanker,” Phillip snarled.

“Was that really necessary?” Prowl asked Phillip, raising an eyebrow.

Phillip and Daring looked at each other, then back at Prowl. “Yes,” they said simultaneously.

Bumblebee snickered but quickly fell silent when his partner gave him a glare. The wail of a siren outside alerted everypony to the arrival of the ambulance.

“We can handle things here,” Sergeant Prowl reported. “You need to head back to the precinct and head to Dispatch for that surveillance feed.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Trace nodded, turning to go. Red, Phillip, and Daring followed him out of the store as an ambulance and a paddy wagon pulled up. Trace’s two-door Commander was waiting on the curb next to Prowl and Bumblebee’s cruiser. Daring and Phil went in first, slithering into the backseat, then Trace slipped behind the wheel as Red jumped into the shotgun seat. The Commander grumbled to life and pulled away from the curb, headed down the street.

As they reached a corner, Daring glanced up at the silver pole on the sidewalk. The two telescope-like objects sat atop the pole, the pupilless, emotionless blue eyes staring eternally down at the pedestrians and passing cars. She instinctively turned her head away as they passed by.

“You okay?” Phillip asked in an undertone.

“I hate those things,” Daring muttered. “I hate the idea that somepony’s watching us.”

“They were put in a couple years ago,” Phillip stated. “They’re useful. Crime went down afterward. Lots of ponies feel safer because of them.”

Daring turned and glared at him. “I was safe in prison,” she said. “I was given food, a roof over my head, and medical care, all free of charge. I was watched by armed guards every day, wherever I went. It didn’t change the fact that it was still a prison.”

“We still need it,” Phillip stated. “We have to find the killers, and we have to save Steamed Carrot.”

Daring frowned and turned to look out the window. “Still gives me the creeps every time I walk by one of those things.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Phillip replied.

“Believe me, I don’t,” Daring muttered as they passed through a four-way. The rest of the trip to the precinct passed in silence.

The rain had not relented in the slightest by the time they pulled into the lot of the police department. Shielding their heads against the wind and rain, they hurried inside, pushing into the lobby. A low murmur of overlapping voices greeted them as they entered, shaking the rain from their manes and tails. A zebra mare with a wailing foal was talking to the hassled desk sergeant, who was shaking his head in obvious exasperation and exhaustion; several other civilians sat on the old, uncomfortable benches, staring out the windows at the pouring rain or looking down at their hooves.

Trace Evidence led the way through the back door and down the hallway to a door marked “Dispatch.” He pushed the door open and allowed the others to enter.

The main feature of the Dispatch room was three long lines of tables and benches, each of which had several telephones and radio sets placed atop them. Uniformed ponies sat at the workstations, fielding emergency calls, triaging situations and coordinating police units in the field. A large street map of Ponyville was laid up on the front wall, coated in several blinking colored dots, some of which were moving around the map. In the back of the room was a raised area with a team of ponies standing atop it. The walls around the dais had several crystals laid into it, which were projecting moving images that the ponies were watching; Daring realized that they were live feeds from the surveillance crystals around the city. Several overlapping voices and the sound of crackling radios and ringing telephones combined to create a constant background noise that drilled into the ponies’ ears:

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“Any available units, 10-33 at First Equestrian Bank, respond code three…”

“Copy, Pawn Four-Two, sending a paddy wagon to your location…”

“Ma’am, I need you to stay calm. Are you sure that there’s somepony out there?”

“Flagging possible sighting of two suspects at Dusty’s Deli, any units for 10-16…”

“Breaker!” Trace called out, his voice rising above the chaotic noise. “Need to talk to you.”

A unicorn standing at the back of the room looked up from a thick notebook. He was a pudgy stallion with a white coat and a messy brown mane and full beard. His watery blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. He was wearing a white suit with a green tie, and his cutie mark was a radio hoofset.

“What’s up, Trace?” the stallion asked, putting the notebook down and approaching.

“Phil, Daring, meet Roger Breaker, our head Dispatcher,” Trace nodded.

“G’day,” Phillip nodded.

“Howdy,” Breaker greeted him. “What brings you down to the ponies behind the curtain?”

“Need you to access the feed from a surveillance crystal,” Phillip stated.

Breaker nodded. “Sure, which one?”

“Corner of Pear and O’Wiley,” Trace replied. “We need the feed from the past day.”

“I can get that for you in two shakes of a ponytail,” Breaker nodded, turning back to the raised area with the crystals.

Daring was watching the map on the front wall. “Hey, what are all these dots?” she asked.

“The red ones are surveillance crystals,” Breaker explained. “The blue ones are cruisers, and the yellow ones are unmarked vehicles. We mark all the police vehicles with a tracking spell so we can keep track of where everyone is. That way, if somepony gets in trouble and needs backup, we can get to them quickly.”

“Not to mention spy on your officers,” Daring muttered.

Either Breaker didn’t hear her or he chose to ignore her because he instead turned to the crystals on the wall and started looking them over. “Pear and O’Wiley, Pear and O’Wiley...oh, there you are!” He tapped a blue crystal and the image it was projecting enlarged, revealing the rainy street corner in front of Grease Monkey’s Auto Shop. Breaker tapped the crystal again and the image paused, then he slightly turned the crystal to the left. The projected feed began to rewind, cars and ponies rushing backward in fast motion. Stepping up to watch, Daring spotted Trace’s Commander driving past, followed by the ambulance, then the Commander and Prowl’s cruiser again.

Eventually, the rain relented and night fell, then day came again, the streets washed in the reddish-orange lights of sunset. A blue car traveled past.

“Hold it,” Phil said, pointing. “That car there.”

Breaker paused the image, giving them a clear view of the repainted Bigmouth Special Seven. Aside from the new layer of blue paint, the tires had been replaced with whitewalls and red hub covers, the front bumper had been swapped out for a rustier one, and the license plates were now rustier plates that read “ER0023.” The silhouettes of two ponies could be seen through the windshield, but the image was too far away to get any detail.

“You sure that’s the one?” Red asked.

“Hood ornament’s the same,” Phil said, pointing towards the tiny silver sparrow on the hood. “Same scratches on the windshield, same dent on the left mirror.”

“Track that car,” Trace instructed Breaker. Breaker allowed the image to play forward at normal speed. The disguised car turned right at the intersection and disappeared from view. Breaker expertly tapped an adjoining crystal, switching to another projected image and scanning through it.

“Got it, corner of O’Wiley and Banner,” he reported, spotting the car again traveling down the long end of a T intersection. He continued to track the car as it traveled out of the Dockside district and into the suburbs surrounding the Industrial District in the southwest of Ponyville. Unfortunately, he lost it at South Steam Street. He checked a few more crystal feeds but failed to find it.

“Sorry, guys,” Breaker reported. He turned to the map of Ponyville and circled a wide area in the southwest with his hoof. “They’ll be around there somewhere, looks like.”

“That’s as good as you can get?” Red asked.

Breaker shrugged. “If it were up to me, I’d have these crystals on every street corner. But City Hall wouldn’t approve the funds. Yeah, this is the best that I can do.”

“Then it’ll have to be enough,” Phillip stated. “Thanks, Roger. Let’s give it a burl, mates.”

“Great. Because wandering around in the rain is exactly what I wanted to do today,” Daring muttered as she reluctantly followed the stallions out of the Dispatch room.

Case Two, Chapter Seven: Stormfront

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The flickers of lightning that crossed the dark sky were becoming more frequent, the accompanying crashes of thunder growing louder by the minute. The rain assaulted the four ponies as they walked down the sidewalk of South Steam Street.

Daring shivered and pulled her shirt collars up in a futile attempt to ward off the cold as she flew above the sidewalk. “Hey, Trace, isn’t there a spell or something you can use to find and follow the tracks?” she called to the unicorn below her.

“My tracking spell isn’t powerful enough,” Trace Evidence replied. “The tracks we’re looking for would be too faded. Not to mention I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from all of the other tire tracks on this street. We’re gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

Daring looked across the street. Phillip was walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side, while Red was slowly following in the Commander, the car’s headlights piercing through the rain and the dark. “Least one of us gets to stay dry,” she muttered.

The honking of an approaching car caused everypony to look up. A cruiser was trundling down the street towards them, its headlights and door-mounted searchlight momentarily blinding. A familiar earth pony leaned out of the passenger window.

“Hey!” Bumblebee called cheerfully. “What’re you guys doing out here?”

“Searching for a suspect car,” Trace replied. “You?”

“After we cleared up at the auto shop, we went back on random patrol,” Bumblebee replied. “Prowl, think we can help them out?”

“We could use a few extra pairs of eyes,” Trace nodded.

“No problem,” Prowl called from inside the cruiser. Flashing her hazard lights, she backed the cruiser into a driveway and turned around to follow the group up the street. She panned the searchlight over any parked cars on the sides of the road that they passed, allowing the ponies on hoof to examine them more closely.

As they walked down the street, Daring noticed that the ponies in the stores and houses surrounding them were quickly darting out of sight. Pedestrians averted their gazes, refusing to make eye contact; doors were shut in their wake and curtains pulled tightly shut. A burro sitting on the sidewalk glanced up at them, then scrambled to his hooves and ran around the corner.

She glanced down at Trace Evidence, who kept his eyes in front of him, his head on a swivel. Her skin suddenly began to crawl and her stomach twisted; she felt like she was covered in a stinking toxic ooze that she’d gotten from being near these officers, the stench driving other ponies away from her. Once again, she was an outcast; once again, other ponies were pushing her aside without even knowing her. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. It’s not fucking fair.

“Ow!” she yelped, clutching her hoof as the brand began to burn against her flesh. She looked down at the red mark, at the crude, skeletal lines that formed the image of a ring of keys. The mark of the Family, forever reminding her of her place. She felt her eyes burn with tears, whether from pain or anger she didn’t know or care.

“What is it?” Trace asked, looking up.

Daring turned away so he wouldn’t see her tears and bit her lip to contain the pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Phillip had paused and was looking across the street at her, his face creased in concern. She shook her head and forced herself to focus, thinking only of Steamed Carrot, alone and hurt and scared. It didn’t matter who her allies were; their goals were the same. Find and save her.

“I’m fine,” she grunted, turning around. “Let’s just find these assholes and get Carrot.”

There was a sharp whistle from across the street. Red had paused in the road and was pointing out the window at a lot in front of an abandoned strip mall. Some of the cars in the lot were covered by tarps to protect them from the rain. “Go check some of those over there,” he called to Phillip.

Phillip walked over to the tarp-covered cars and began to lift up the tarps, studying the license plates. When he reached the third one, he threw the tarp completely off, revealing a Special Seven covered in fresh blue paint, streaks of gold visible on the hood, and the license plate ER0023.

“Found it,” he called.

Red and Prowl both parked their vehicles and the others quickly gathered around it. The car was empty, with no sign of the occupants.

“They’ve got to be around here somewhere,” Bumblebee offered, looking around as if he might spot them through the walls of the surrounding buildings.

“They could be miles away by now,” Red pointed out. “They might’ve switched cars or something.”

“Trace, you can use that tracking spell,” Daring suggested. “Follow their hoofprints.”

“I told you, my spell isn’t powerful enough,” Trace repeated. “The trail would be too faded for—”

Daring interrupted him by suddenly grabbing his shoulders like a vise and glaring right into his eyes. “There is a pony’s life at stake,” she growled. “And the more time we waste running around in the rain, the less likely she’s getting out of this alive. Now stop giving me this ‘I can’t do it’ shit and do something!”

Trace stared at her, his mouth opening and closing several times as he struggled to think of something to say.

“Do, quit acting so hysterical—” Red started to protest.

“Oh, shut up!” Daring snapped at him. Red reeled backward a half-step, his eyes glowing in shock and anger, but said nothing.

Trace looked at Phillip, as if expecting him to do something. Phillip just looked back at him and quietly said, “You can do it.”

Trace hovered in uncertainty for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, it’s worth a shot,” he muttered. “All of you step back.”

Everypony moved back several paces, forming a wide circle around Trace and the vehicle. Trace took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing magic to his horn. The car became bathed in a golden glow as Trace’s magic coated it, searching for the faint traces of latent magic left behind by a pony’s hoofprints. Trace gritted his teeth and poured more of his energy into the spell, searching for some sliver of energy left behind. Sweat began to trickle down his brow and he grunted in pain beneath the physical exertion, but he still poured himself into the spell.

And then, his efforts were rewarded. Glowing golden hoofprints appeared on the ground around the car, revealing two separate trails. One trail branched from the driver’s seat and headed away from the car; the other exited the passenger side, walked around to the trunk, then followed the other pony.

Trace’s knees gave out and he collapsed into a puddle, huffing and panting. “Trace!” Red shouted, rushing over to help him up.

“I did it…” Trace panted with a weary smile.

“Knew you could,” Phillip said with a small smile, patting Trace on the back as he helped Red lift Trace to his hooves. “Let’s move.”

They began to follow the trail of glowing hoofprints across the lot, Phillip and Red holding Trace up between them. The unicorn’s horn continued to glow as he kept up the spell; fortunately, maintaining the trail took less effort than finding it. Daring flew above the group, while Prowl and Bumblebee followed behind. The thestral’s ears twitched from side to side as she listened for any suspicious sounds, one hoof on her holster. Bee hustled back to the cruiser and returned with a pouch carrying a walkie-talkie bouncing against his side.

“Just in case, right, boss?” he said to Prowl with a slightly nervous grin.

“Good thinking, Bee,” Prowl nodded.

They walked through an alleyway between two apartment buildings, circled around an empty church, briefly lost the trail in an empty lot overgrown with weeds before finding it again on the other side and continuing on. The trail began to lead away from the closely-packed streets and down a side road lined with oak trees and old houses with peeling paint on the walls and boarded-up windows. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn already, small slivers of red and brown peeking out through the green as the rain slicked off the leaves.

“We’ve got to be getting closer,” Daring muttered, shivering in the rain.

“How do we know if we’re close?” Bumblebee asked.

Suddenly, a loud, rapid, high-pitched chattering sound came from a two-story cottage with pale yellow paint to their right, the noise like a jackhammer banging against the sky. Bullets sang past the ponies, streaks of heat carving through the air. Everypony dived for cover, rolling behind a pair of parked cars as the gunfire continued to rain down on them.

“I think that’s how we’ll know!” Red declared, getting out his pistol. He peeked over the hood of the dark green Beetle that he was hiding behind. The distinctive chattering of the .45 caliber Trotson “Chicoltgo Typewriter” submachine gun immediately began again, sparks dancing off the metal as Red ducked back behind cover.

“Shooter in the second-floor window!” he declared. “Trace, you okay?”

Trace tried to channel magic into his horn and grunted in pain. “I’m out of magic for a bit,” he said.

Prowl looked around the back of the station wagon that she and Bumblebee were hiding behind and fired a couple rounds at the window. The dark figure holding the Trotson ducked out of cover, but another figure appeared in a first-floor window and fired back with a pump-action shotgun, every blast as loud as the thunder above them and as bright as the lightning. Prowl ducked, flinching. “Bee, call for backup!”

Bee fumbled with the hoofset, extracting it from the casing and extending the antenna with a series of clicks. “Break, break, this is Pawn Three-Nine! Officers under fire!” he shouted into the mouthpiece. “We’re on...where are we?”

“Tricycle Boulevard!” Prowl shouted, popping out of cover to return fire.

“Tricycle Boulevard!” Bumblebee repeated into the radio. “Multiple armed perps! Need backup now!”

“Finder!” Red barked as he reloaded and opened fire again. “You and Daring stay down! Don’t try to—” He turned around and his jaw dropped as he watched a gray streak taking off into the air.

“Be heroes,” he growled to himself, rolling his eyes.

Daring alighted in a tree behind the hideout, dropping Phillip onto a branch beside her. “You could’ve warned me before you grabbed me like that,” Phillip huffed, dusting off the front of his vest.

“While the cops are distracting them, we can sneak in through the back and try to take them out,” Daring stated, squinting at the back of the house. There was a rot-eaten back porch attached to the back door, which was secured with a deadbolt, and the back windows were all dark, coated in dust and spider web-like cracks; there was no sign of anypony back there. “C’mon,” Daring hissed, flapping down from the tree and silently flying to the door. Phillip easily swung down from the tree to land in the overgrown, yellowing grass beneath. By the time he crossed over to the door, Daring had defeated the deadbolt and was pushing the door open a crack to peek inside. Finding it clear, she opened it all the way and she and Phillip slipped inside.

They found themselves in a narrow hallway, the walls streaked with dust and the rafters above lined with cobwebs. A small hallway to the left led to what looked like a kitchen, with an old-fashioned wood stove and several cabinets with the doors just barely hanging onto their hinges; another door to the right led to a bathroom. The gunfire had momentarily ceased; they could hear Prowl’s muffled shouting, demanding that the perpetrators surrender and come out with their hooves in plain view. The floorboards creaked faintly beneath their hooves.

Phillip reached out and touched Daring’s shoulder, holding her back slightly. “Wait a bit,” he whispered. They both stepped into the kitchen to hide. Phillip took in a deep breath and let it out through his mouth, closing his eyes and stilling his mind to focus. His ears, nostrils, and tongue—fine-tuned instruments, a gift from his earth pony ancestors who lived in a time when survival depended upon detecting danger before it could present itself and fending it off with their bare hooves—began to probe the house.

He heard the male voices first, hissing and whispering from the front of the house and the second floor. Two were above them—one muttering at a frantic tone, the other hissing sharply in reply. The third male muttered barely intelligible curses to himself from the front window, daring the officers outside to come closer so he could fill them with buckshot. Then he heard another voice, a female, muffled, whimpering in fear.

More sounds and smells came to him. The dust of years tickled his nostrils, followed by the scent of fresh cordite, hot brass, and gun oil. Cheap cologne, ashes from the stove, faint traces of convenience store sandwiches and sweat brushed over his tongue. The floorboards above his head creaked as the nervous pony above them paced back and forth; the cartridges in his pocket jingled as he walked. The pony at the front of the house was half-cocking his shotgun, tapping at the trigger at a regular rhythm with barely contained restraint.

“At least three of them,” he whispered. “All armed. One at the front window, two on the second floor. Steamed is up there with them.”

“Let’s take out the guy at the window first,” Daring whispered. Phillip nodded in agreement, pulling out his baton and opening it slowly.

They proceeded through the kitchen, walking slowly and stepping with care to make the minimum amount of noise. They walked through an open doorway to enter a sitting room. A black earth pony stallion with dark green hair to include a bushy beard and the cutie mark of a sprinting hound was standing next to the window, clutching a polished Whinnychester 1912 to his chest. Phillip and Daring both paused for a moment, then nodded at each other and silently rushed at him.

The gunpony turned too late. Phillip’s baton went into the back of his knee, causing his leg to buckle; simultaneously, he seized the still-hot barrel of the shotgun and forced it down and drove his knee into his ribs. At the same time, Daring struck him across the back of his head with her elbow. Stunned, the pony dropped to a crouch and relinquished his grip on the gun, which Phillip quickly snatched away. Daring wrapped her foreleg around the pony’s neck and squeezed like a vise, crushing down on both his windpipe and his carotid arteries. The stallion choked and spluttered, flailing in a futile attempt to escape. After a few seconds, he slowly went limp in Daring’s arms. Daring lowered him to the floor and quickly checked his pulse.

“Let’s get the others,” she told Phillip, turning towards a set of stairs. She ascended up to the second floor with a flap of her wings, pausing at the top to give Phillip time to climb up after her. He walked along the edge of the stairs to minimize the creaking.

“It’s too quiet. What’s going on in there?” Red muttered, peering over the hood of the car.

“I repeat, reinforcements are on the way!” Prowl shouted again. “Surrender and come out with your hooves in the air!”

“Sarge, I don’t think they’re listening,” Bumblebee pointed out. “And Phil and Daring are probably in there now!”

“We need to wait for backup,” Trace said tersely. He gripped his pistol and gritted his teeth.

“Holy Mother damn it all, Finder, you’d better not be getting yourself killed in there,” he muttered to himself.

The second floor was a large square with a hole in the center for the stairs, with several closed doors along the other edge. Phillip paused to listen for a moment, then started sneaking along towards the right. Daring followed behind.

They came to a shut door at the end of the hallway. Phillip paused and took out his hoof mirror, slipping it underneath the door. He tilted the mirror around, trying to see inside what had once been a bedroom, though the bed had been replaced by a trio of sleeping bags. “There he is,” he muttered as the reflection revealed Soap Sud standing next to the window, armed with the Trotson.

Daring carefully jiggled the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. “All right, let’s get him,” she whispered with a grin, starting to push the door open carefully.

Phillip started to follow, but an itch at his nostrils gave him pause. He could still smell the cheap cologne from before: sage, the falseness of the odor burning his nose. It was stronger now, but it was coming from behind them.

That and a crackle of magical energy was all the warning they got before a wave of concussive energy blasted them from behind, sending them crashing through the door, tumbling across the room in a heap. Dazed, Daring looked up to see a unicorn with a green coat and a white blonde mane emerging from the room that he had been hiding in, his horn sparking with a pale green aura as he extracted a serrated knife from his vest.

Soap Sud turned, his shocked expression quickly turning into a vindictive sneer. He brought the Trotson around to bear.

Move! Daring screamed at herself. Spreading her wings, Daring launched herself forward and tackled the gunpony, sending the weapon tumbling from his hooves. Soap Sud’s’ horn lit up and his body glowed with hot energy. "Yeow!" Daring yelped, jumping off of him as the pain pervaded her hooves.

Motion in the corner of her eye attracted her attention. Phillip had engaged with the knife-wielding unicorn and the two were dueling fiercely, every strike met with a parry. The stamping of their hooves provided a rapid tempo to their deadly dance as they weaved around one another, each barely dodging the other's attacks.

He's fine! Focus on Soap! She turned back to Soap just in time to duck beneath a crackling arc of castfire. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the spell flew over her. With a flap of her wings, she darted right at Soap, her eyes stinging as she accelerated. Soap's eyes widened and he dodged aside with a startled yelp; Daring's momentum carried her past him and she had to pull up short to avoid smashing into the wall. Kicking off the wall, she started to bank around for another pass but had to hit the floor to avoid another spell.

Daring quickly rolled to the side as another arc of white lightning carved through the air at her and seized one of the sleeping bags that was on the floor. She tossed it at Soap, enveloping and blinding him. While he was struggling with the sleeping bag, Daring flew forward and struck him with a dropkick. He flew backward and crashed through a door, tumbling into a cramped, dirty bathroom.

Snarling, Soap Sud used the heat spell again to burn through the sleeping bag, violently tearing the shredded cloth of him. Giving him no chance to recover, Daring dashed in. He caught her punch and their limbs became entangled in a mutual grapple, both of them fighting for dominance, neither giving a single opening.

Soap's horn began to light up as he prepared his heat spell again. Thinking quickly, Daring dropped back to pull him off balance, then snap-kicked him in the groin. A grin spread across her face as she felt his family jewels crushed beneath her hoof.

Soap wheezed and shoved her back, stumbling. “You fucking little bi—”

“Language!” Daring snapped, seizing a bar of soap off the rusty soap dish and stuffing it into Soap’s mouth. He choked and spluttered, bubbles blooming from his mouth. Daring seized his head and slammed it against the toilet bowl hard enough to crack it. Soap Sud slumped to the ground and laid still, a small trickle of blood running down the side of his head; every time he exhaled, more bubbles bloomed from his mouth.

“Little runt,” Daring snarled, clutching her stomach where she’d been hit. She could feel the bruises forming, both inside and out.

There was a sudden cracking sound and a howl of agony from outside. Daring looked up to see Phillip standing over the green unicorn, pinning him down with a hoof to the throat. The unicorn’s right foreleg was twisted at an unnatural angle, a shard of bone tearing through the skin. Phillip was holding the serrated knife, which was trembling in his grip as he breathed through his clenched teeth, glaring down at his defeated foe. A cut was torn across his cheek, a layer of blood running down his face. Phillip’s eyes seemed to shine in the dark shadows of the room; the constant tattoo of the rain against the roof and the window seemed like a constant, frantic heartbeat.

The unicorn’s face quickly melted from an expression of pain to terror. He raised a shaking hoof in a gesture of pleading, attempting to choke out a cry for mercy. Phillip slowly raised the knife with a sharp inhalation. A flash of lightning from outside suddenly illuminated the moment of death in harsh light, a roar of thunder ripping through the room.

“No!” Daring shouted, starting forward.

But as she said it, Phillip flipped the knife around into a reverse grip and brought the blunt end of the knife down onto the unicorn’s temple, knocking him out. He got off the body and threw the knife down onto the floor, letting out a noise that was partly a growl, partly a sigh as he shook his head, recovering his senses.

At that moment, there was a muffled scream from across the way. Both ponies looked up, then hurried out of the room towards the sound. Exiting into the hallway, they paused in front of a locked door. Instinctively, they both took position on either side of the door. Phillip nodded to Daring, who took in a breath as she shifted her weight onto her front legs. With a grunt, she bucked backward, kicking in the door and allowing Phillip and herself entry.

The room inside was mostly bare, with only a couple old chairs and tables inside. Silver Polish was inside, backed up against the wall. He was holding Steamed Carrot in front of him like a shield, one foreleg around her neck. The mare was tightly bound with several coils of rough rope and her mouth was gagged with layers of cloth. She trembled in her captor’s grip, tears leaking from her eyes as she whimpered. Daring could see a faint line of dried blood on the inside of her thighs.

Polish’s other hoof was holding a pistol to Steamed Carrot’s head. “Get back!” he screamed. “Get back or I’ll fucking kill her!”

Phillip and Daring paused at the threshold, their eyes on the hostage-taker. Over the pattering of rain and the roars of thunder, there came the sound of approaching sirens.

“This place is surrounded, asshole,” Daring told Polish. “You’re not getting out of this.”

“I’ve got the hostage, that means I’ve got the leverage,” Silver Polish snarled. He pressed the gun tighter against Steamed Carrot’s head, causing her to let out a muffled wail of terror and begin sobbing. “You get me out of here, or I blow her fucking head off!”

“You can’t get out,” Phillip said coldly.

“You’re gonna let me!” Polish snapped. “Or I will kill her!”

Phillip noticed a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. A revolver was sitting on the table next to him, the pearl grip tantalizingly turned towards him.

“I will!” Polish shouted. “Believe me, I will!”

His face was so twisted in rage that it was nearly unrecognizable as belonging to a pony. The hoof holding the gun did not shake.

Phillip glanced at Daring. She gave him an almost imperceptible glance and a brief nod.

“Believe me—”

As one, Phillip and Daring moved.

Two gunshots resounded from inside the house. “Shit!” Trace shouted and leaped out from behind cover, sprinting for the front door.

“Trace, come ba—oh, for fuck’s sake!” Red snarled, sprinting after him with Prowl and Bumblebee right alongside him just as three other cruisers pulled up, their lights spinning and sirens wailing.

Trace shouldered open the door and tumbled into the house, barely pausing to examine the unconscious earth pony by the window. “Finder!” Trace called, crashing up the stairs to the second floor. Spotting an open door, he rushed to it and barged in with his gun raised.

Daring was crouched on the floor, gently hugging an untied and shivering Steamed Carrot, allowing the other mare to sob on her shoulder. Phillip was standing over the body of Silver Polish. The stallion was sprawled against the wall, a bullet hole in the left side of his torso and another in his temple. His eyes remained open, staring at nothing.

“I believe you,” Phillip muttered, tossing the pearl-handled pistol to the floor with a clatter. He turned to face Trace, his face drawn and exhausted. Trace holstered his weapon with a sigh.

“Nice to see you’re not dead,” Trace muttered. All Phillip could do was nod numbly as he walked over to Daring, who was still crouched on the ground, whispering to Steamed. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly placed his hoof on Daring’s back. She glanced up and gave him a small nod.

Daring refused to leave Carrot’s side until the responding paramedics came, wrapped her up in a blanket, and guided her downstairs to a waiting ambulance. Daring and Phillip slowly walked back downstairs into the pouring rain and walked over to the relative cover of a nearby oak tree, leaning up against the trunk for support. They watched in silence as the shackled and bandaged gunponies were loaded into a paddy wagon for transport.

Daring extracted a fresh pack of Blue Camel from her shirt and inserted a cigarette into her mouth. “You okay?” she asked Phillip as she pulled out her lighter.

Phillip didn’t answer for a moment. “You?” he asked.

Daring lit her cigarette instead of answering. The flame shuddered and shivered slightly as she held it up to the end of her cigarette. She took a long, slow drag; the taste of nicotine and false mint flavoring stung at her tongue, and she sucked it down like medicine, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs and settle her heart.

“You really had to shoot him, didn't you?" she hissed at Phillip. "You couldn't have just grabbed him or something? Used your boomerang or some other shit? No, you just had to go and fucking shoot him."

Phillip was silent for a long moment, then held out his hoof. Daring obligingly placed a cigarette into his hoof, still glaring at him.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know if I needed to kill him.” He inserted the cigarette into his mouth and turned to allow Daring to light it for him. “And I’ll be asking myself that over and over again tonight, and for the next night, and for many nights after,” he said, smoke puffing from his mouth and nostrils as he spoke, staring at the ground.

Daring let him think in silence for a couple of seconds, then pulled out her cigarette. “We saved Steamed, caught the bad guys, and plugged up a drug pipeline. We won, right?” she asked.

Phillip let out a quiet, noncommittal grunt. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess we won,” he muttered, staring at the wisps of smoke rising from the fag. Another thunderclap, quieter and more distant than before, rumbled across the sky and the rain slackened slightly, though it still hammered down upon the earth.

Case Two, Chapter Eight: Sempre con fe' sincera

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Daring tapped the side of the paper cup. The stale, muddy brown coffee inside shivered, sending ripples across the surface. It was the only real thing of interest in the interrogation room, with its bland white-walls, dim lightbulb set in the ceiling, and one-way mirror set in the wall next to her.

“So,” Trace Evidence said from across the table, looking down at his notes. “And that’s the whole story.”

“Yup,” Daring nodded, still staring at the coffee cup. She paused for a moment, then looked up. “What’s going to happen to Steamed Carrot?”

“There’s a rape crisis center that we can refer her to,” Trace stated, scribbling some more notes.

“But her job, her home?” Daring asked.

Trace paused in his notes, then slowly sighed. “I’ll go talk to her,” he said. “But there’s only so much that we can do. There aren’t many services available in this city.”

Daring scowled and pitched the cup and the swill it contained into a trash can tucked into a corner of the room. “It’s not right.”

“No, it isn’t,” Trace replied, closing the folder and standing up. “World isn’t fair, Daring. What’re we gonna do about it?”

“Well, somepony’s gotta do something,” Daring said, standing up and following him out of the room. They exited out into the hallway, which was lined with more doors that led into more interrogation rooms. Phillip was standing outside another room, staring through the one-way mirror. Night Waltz was inside the room, his back to the window as he spoke to Steamed Carrot. The mare was sitting with her shoulders slumped and her head lowered, staring at the paper cup that she was clutching with both hooves. Daring could just barely hear her answers to Night Waltz’s questions through the speakers set beneath the window. She spoke in a dull monotone, her replies mostly in monotones as she explained what she knew of the drug operation that had been run out of her home and related the tale of her abduction.

“So, let’s recap,” Trace said, joining Phillip. “We found a drug supply line into the Everfree District for the Nightmare Moon Disciples, and we found out their leader had been abducted and replaced with a lookalike so that a different group can find and kill their members.”

“The two shooters talk?” Phillip asked, not taking his eyes off the window.

“They both lawyered up as soon as we brought them in,” Trace grunted. “Neither of them have said a single word since.”

“Keep an eye on them,” Phillip stated. “If they’re making enemies like this, they won’t be safe here.”

“Good idea,” Trace nodded. “I’ll try to arrange extra guards for them tonight. Maybe we can get them to crack with some more talking tomorrow.” He turned to walk away.

“Trace,” Phillip called after him. The detective paused and looked back at Phillip.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Phillip said quietly. “There could be a war coming. Be careful.”

“You, too,” Trace nodded. He started to walk away, then paused and looked back. “You did good work out there,” he said.

“You did, too,” Daring said. “We wouldn’t have found her without your help.”

Trace nodded, hovering for a moment longer as if he was trying to think of something else to say. Ultimately, though, he was unable to articulate whatever feelings were percolating in his head, for he turned and walked away without another word.

Daring turned back to the mirror, watching Steamed Carrot take a slow sip of the coffee in a slow, mechanical motion. Her eyes stared straight ahead, registering nothing.

“We gotta try to help her,” Daring muttered.

“We should,” Phillip agreed. He lowered his chin to his hoof, thinking in silence. “Might have an idea,” he said after a moment.

“What?” Daring asked. Phillip whispered his plan into her ear. She considered it for a few seconds, then asked, “You think they’ll go for it?”

“I know Pinkie and Rara,” Phillip said. “They’ll go for it.”

Daring grinned. “Great. We'd better go talk to them about it. Besides, you still owe me a bottle of Manticore Rare."

There was the sound of a throat clearing from behind them. Both of them looked up to see Flash Sentry standing some distance down the hallway from them, one hoof pawing nervously at the ground. He fixed Daring with a wary gaze, his eyebrows narrowing slightly.

“Sentry,” Daring said, suddenly finding it hard to look at the younger stallion’s face.

“Ma’am,” Flash said with a cold edge in his tone.

“I, uh…” Daring stammered. She glanced up at Phillip, who gave her a glare. She swallowed in an attempt to soothe her suddenly dry throat, sighed, and turned to face Flash.

“I’m sorry for...for the way I treated you earlier,” Daring admitted, concentrating on looking at his eyes and not at his knees. “I was...I didn’t mean to…” She chewed on the air in her mouth for a while, trying to force into words, then sighed and dropped her head, staring at the floor. “Look, I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Flash was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I appreciate the apology.” He stepped forward and raised his hoof. Daring hesitated, then stepped forward and bumped her hoof against his, both of them now smiling.

“Okay,” Flash said, lowering his hoof and turning to face Phillip, his face falling into more serious lines. “I thought about what you said, and...I could use your help. With this problem.”

Phillip nodded, then gestured with his head, instructing Flash to follow as he walked down the hallway. Flash and Daring followed in silence as Phillip walked into an unoccupied office littered with old chairs and tables, closing the door behind them.

“Start from the beginning,” he instructed Flash, sitting down in one of the wooden chairs. Flash sat down in a chair opposite and began his story, explaining how he’d witnessed Star harassing a witness and stood up to him, only to receive a serious beating.

Daring studied Phillip as Flash spoke. While his face remained impassive, she saw his shoulders slowly tensing up. His nostrils began to flare as his breathing became heavier.

When Flash finished his story, he sat leaned forward in his chair, his forelegs on his knees, bent down under shame. Phillip sat in silence for a few moments, then leaned forward and lowered his head to Flash’s level.

“So what are you going to do about it?” he asked.

Flash looked up, his expression showing confusion. “What?”

“Are you going to sit there and do nothing about it, or are you going to do something about it?” Phillip asked.

Flash frowned. “Well...when I tried to do something about it, he kicked my ass.”

“Your problem, mate, is that you allowed Star to control the fight,” Phillip told Flash. “You reacted purely defensively and played into his strengths rather than yours. That won’t win you any fights. If you want to be a fighter, you have to think offensively just as much as defensively.”

His eyes drifted down to the pouch on Flash’s belt that contained his mace spray. “Star is bigger and stronger than you, more experienced than you, and he has the advantage of being able to use magic. You can’t even the playing field; you have to tilt it to your end and keep it that way. And that means you make sure that he can’t fight back. You cannot give him that chance because if he gets that chance, he will beat you. You understand?”

“Yes,” Flash nodded, gripping his nightstick so tightly that his hoof started to turn white. “This time, if it comes to blows, I’m not letting up on him.”

Phillip was silent for a moment, then reached forward and laid a hoof on Flash’s shoulder. “Anger’s a useful tool, but isn’t your ally,” he told Flash quietly. “Control it, or it’ll get you into worse trouble.”

Whistling to himself, Star Cluster strolled down Main Street, which was brightly illuminated by the powerful light from the regularly spaced lamps, their artificial light almost powerful enough to blacken out the stars in the night sky above them. Star gave most of the ponies who passed by with a broad smile that didn’t quite reach up to his eyes, which caused many of the other pedestrians to quickly turn away. His narrow eyes spotted a bright yellow and red food cart manned by a gray burro, and he quickly trotted over.

“How you doing, Marcus?” he asked the attendant, snatching up the well-cooked carrot dog that Marcus was just dressing with spicy mustard and relish. The stallion who had just paid for his meal glared at Star, looking as though he was about to protest, but quickly shut his mouth when Star Cluster gave him a glare.

“Give me a break, Star,” Marcus protested, looking more annoyed than anything else. “I got a second kid on the way.”

Star Cluster smirked and leaned in close, wrapping a foreleg around Marcus and pulling him in close. “Be thankful that an occasional meal on the house and a payment a month are all we ask from you,” he hissed into Marcus’ ear. “Or would you rather we suddenly remembered your son’s penchant for shoplifting?”

The burro went very still, glaring at Star, though his eyes betrayed a touch of fear. Star Cluster grinned and tousled his mane before turning away. “Good luck with the kid!” he called, munching on his carrot dog as he trotted up the sidewalk.

“Star,” a familiar voice called. Star Cluster paused and turned to see Flash Sentry approaching him, his head held high and his expression calm and level.

“Coming crawling back like a whipped dog,” Star commented, pitching the remnants of his meal away. A few passerby stopped to watch the encounter.

“I’m done being your whipping colt,” Flash declared to Star Cluster. “I’m arresting you for assaulting a police officer and other charges.”

“And what makes you think you can pull that off?” Star Cluster smirked. “I beat your ass the last time you tried to stand up to me. Or do you need a reminder?”

Flash’s reply was to pull out his nightstick and step back into a defensive stance, glaring at Star. The other pony’s face instantly turned from a superior smirk to a snarl of rage. “You little fuck!” he snapped, stomping forward with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible with his bulk.

But as soon as he got close, Flash opened up his left wing, revealing a black spray can clutched in his feathers. He pressed down on the can and a spray of dark orange liquid flew from the can, right into Star Cluster’s face. The unicorn reared backward, clutching his face and howling in pain as the pepper spray burned his eyes.

Flash lunged forward and swung his nightstick, twisting his trunk and hips into the blow. All the humiliation, abuse, frustration, and anger that he had carried within him flowed from his belly up his limb and into the weapon; with a furious yell that echoed off the nearby storefronts, Flash struck Star Cluster in the jaw, sending blood and teeth flying. Star was knocked off his hooves with a solid crack, tumbling to the ground.

Flash bellowed and brought his baton down twice more, thumping Star on the back and ribs. Star howled in pain and curled up into a ball. He clutched his snot, tear, blood, and pepper spray-covered face with his hooves, rubbing vigorously in a futile attempt to ease the pain. Every rapid, shallow breath came in and out with a desperate wheeze.

Flash paused, his baton held up in preparation to attack again; his head continued to pound with the sound of his heart beating, and his chest heaved with his heavy panting, but the look of genuine fear and pain on Star’s face halted him. Panting, he slowly looked around. The passerby around him were staring at him like he was an angry timberwolf; a young mare with a filly crouching behind her foreleg backed away as soon as he turned his eyes on her. The drumming in his head ceased immediately as his heart plummeted into his stomach.

Turning fully around, Flash spotted Phillip and Daring standing behind him. Phillip was holding his foreleg in front of Daring, apparently stopping her from trying to rush at them. Phillip studied Flash’s face as he lowered his arm. Both ponies stood and watched, waiting to see what the younger stallion would do. Flash watched him for a moment of silent indecision, then slowly let out a breath and lowered his baton, tucking it into his sheath. He extracted his hoofcuffs from his belt and snapped one cuff sharply onto Star's wrist.

“Like I said, you’re under arrest,” he declared, his voice quiet and heavy from reflection as he snapped the other cuff on. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can—”

“Fuck off,” Star Cluster growled, coughing and wheezing. He tried to glare up at Flash, but was only able to manage a one-eyed squint. “You honestly...think that...this is gonna stick? I’m...a cop, you...dumb..son of a...bitch. We...make the rules...here.”

“You think you’re above the law, but you’re not,” Flash said coldly. “The reason we wear these badges is to remind everypony that the law is above everyone, including us.” He grasped Star Cluster by the arm and lifted him up, guiding him towards the alleyway towards Phillip and Daring.

“You did good, mate,” Phillip praised Flash as he approached. “Good onya.” Flash managed to smile weakly.

Daring grasped Star Cluster’s arm and pushed him around against the wall, leering into his bruised and red-stained face. “Are you the mole?” she snapped.

“What?” Star squinted at her, spitting a thick wad of mucus, blood and pepper spray onto the ground.

“You were there when Shifting Tone was attacked,” Daring snarled. “You helped the killer get away. You were the one who told him where we were. Admit it!”

“Look,” Star protested, breathing fast and leaning against the wall for support. “I’ve done a couple favors for the mobs, looked the other way and kept my mouth shut when they paid me. But I didn’t lead him to that hotel!” He managed to open his left eye and looked around at all three of them before shutting it again. “How could I? I had no idea where we going and no way to contact them!”

“Trace’s car,” Phillip grunted, glowering at him.

Star Cluster turned towards the sound of his voice, coughing. “The fuck are you talking about? What about his car?”

Phillip scowled, then turned and whispered into Daring’s ear. “I don’t think he did it.”

“Are you sure?” Daring hissed back, aware that Flash and Star were both trying to listen to their conversation.

“Wanker’s just a greedy bully. Too dumb to pull off a lie like that,” Phillip replied. “And too stupid for them to trust with something this important, or to pull off on his own.”

Daring scowled at Star. “So if he’s not the mole, who is?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Phillip replied. “But we’re going to keep looking.” He turned to Flash. “Your prisoner, officer.”

Flash nodded and carried Star away by the foreleg, dragging him to the parked cruiser waiting at the other end of the alley. Phillip and Daring watched, then turned and walked back up the alleyway, away from him and into the bright lights of Main Street, flowing back into the river of ponies crossing back and forth on the sidewalk. In the distance, the great brick clocktower attached to the circular, carousel-like City Hall stretched up towards the night sky, its illuminated faces shining as brightly as stars.

“What now?” Daring asked as they started walking towards City Hall.

Phillip took the check out of his pocket. “Let’s head to the Apple Pie. We need some food, and to talk with the sheilas.”

Three days later, the door to the Apple Pie in Your Eye tavern opened and three ponies stepped inside. Phillip Finder gave the room a quick scan, then stood aside and held the door open for the other two. Steamed Carrot stepped tentatively forward, her eyes checking every face and every dark corner at least three times.

“I...I don’t know about this,” she said quietly.

Walking in next to her, Daring paused and waited for her to turn to face her. “It’s okay,” she whispered, smiling reassuringly and draping a wing protectively over her shoulders. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here; you’re with friends.”

Steamed Carrot smiled faintly and allowed Daring to lead her inside the tavern, Phillip walking ahead of them. The brightly-lit interior with its balloon decorations and the scents of cooking and fresh cider seemed to calm her, as Daring felt her shoulders loosening as she walked in. The ponies sitting around the tables raised their glasses and nodded in greeting. Steamed shyly smiled back in reply; Daring kept her wing draped over her like a shield.

It seemed to take ages, but they eventually reached the bar at the end of the room, where three mares waited. Applejack and Pinkie Pie were both standing behind the bar, while Coloratura was sitting in front of it, speaking to them both. All three mares smiled and waved as the trio approached.

“Sheilas,” Phillip greeted them. “This is her.”

Steamed Carrot’s eyes widened when she saw Coloratura. “You...you’re the Countess!” she said, a starstruck expression dawning across her countenance. “I loved your music! I have all your albums!”

Coloratura’s smile flickered briefly. “Thank you, but I just go by Rara now,” she said. “How are you, Miss Carrot?”

“I’m...I’m alright,” Steamed Carrot said, glancing around the room again.

Applejack poured out a mug of cider from a faucet behind the bar and slid it over to Steamed with a kind smile. “Here. Some of the Apple Family’s finest,” she said. “Good for what ails you.”

Steamed Carrot smiled shyly and took a sip. The taste of the sweet, tangy drink brought some color back to her pale cheeks and she stood up straighter.

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” Applejack encouraged, noticing her tenseness. “It’ll be quieter.”

Steamed, Phillip and Daring walked around the bar and followed the three mares through a pair of saloon doors into the kitchen. A long counter ran along the length of the room, with several ovens and refrigerators standing against the walls. A steaming, fresh-baked stack of small apple pies was standing on the counter next to a great pot of carrot stew, their flavors blending together in a wondrous aroma that floated into everypony’s nostrils.

“So,” Pinkie Pie said, leaning forward a bit. “We hear that you’re a super-duper cook!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say super-duper,” Steamed Carrot protested, blushing a little. “But I have been cooking since I was just a filly.”

“Her ratatouille is real ripper,” Phillip declared.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Daring agreed.

“Ratatouille?!” Pinkie gasped, leaping into the air in excitement and bouncing up and down as she spoke. “You didn’t tell me you made ratatouille! We’re gonna hire you, and you’re gonna make ratatouille for all of our guests and everypony’s gonna love it, and they’re gonna be like, ‘you make the best ratatouille ever!’ and you’ll be all, ‘Aw, it’s nothing!’” Pinkie Pie paused in her excited bouncing. “Just one question. What’s ratatouille?”

Steamed Carrot stared at Pinkie for a moment, then giggled quietly.

“Phillip and Daring also told me that you sing,” Coloratura added, leaning forward.

Steamed Carrot blushed again. “W-well, not as good as you, ma’am…”

“Please, sing for us,” Coloratura encouraged her. “I’m sure you’ll be wonderful.”

Steamed Carrot’s face turned an even brighter shade of red as fast as a light switch. “B-b-but...here?! Now?!”

Coloratura leaned forward and gently took Steamed Carrot’s hoof in both of her own. “Steamed, I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes,” she instructed.

Steamed hesitated, then slowly shut her eyes and took a deep breath in and out through her mouth.

“Now, forget that we’re here,” Coloratura whispered. “Pretend that you’re someplace else. Someplace that makes you happy.”

Steamed Carrot’s nose twitched as she smelled the mixing flavors of the cooked food and a smile crossed her face.

“Can you picture that place clearly?” Coloratura asked. Steamed Carrot nodded. “Now, take in a deep breath,” Coloratura continued. “And sing!”

Steamed Carrot inhaled deeply, filling up her lungs, and an aria began to flow from her voice.

“Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore,
non feci mai male ad anima viva!”

The song soared out of Steamed Carrot and flowed through the room, every high note struck perfectly. She swayed back in forth in time with the song.

“Con zoccolo furtiva,
quante miserie conobbi aiutai.
Sempre con—”

Steamed was interrupted by Coloratura grasping both of her shoulders. The musician’s face shone as brightly as a star with delight.

“You’re hired!” Coloratura squealed. Pinkie let out a great cheer and started hopping up and down again.

“Now, girls,” Applejack interrupted Coloratura and Pinkie. “I’m not sure about taking on another—”

“Pleeeeease?” Rara and Pinkie both pleaded, holding up their hooves in supplication.

Applejack paused, then rolled her eyes with an acceding smile. “Oh, all right,” she sighed.

“Yay!” Pinkie cheered, leaping up into the air as confetti inexplicably exploded around her. She grasped Carrot’s hoof and shook it vigorously. “Congratulations!”

Steamed Carrot stared at her with an open-mouthed expression of surprise. “I...I’m hired?” Steamed Carrot asked. “Really?”

“Really,” Applejack nodded with a smile, patting her on the back. “Welcome to the crew, Steamed Carrot.”

An elated smile slowly stretched across Carrot’s face. “Thank you! Thank you!” she cried. She hugged Applejack, Pinkie, and Rara, then flung her forelegs over Daring and Phillip. Daring chuckled and patted her on the back, while Phillip desperately tried to wriggle out of her grasp.

“You’re gonna do great here, Steamed,” Daring said. “And remember, you can always call us if you need us.”

“Thank you so much!” Steamed said. “I won’t forget this!” And with that, she turned back to her new co-workers, all of whom were talking at once. Phillip and Daring silently took their leave, pushing back through the saloon doors and walking back across the tavern floor.

“Y’know, Phil,” Daring said as they exited the tavern. into the afternoon sunshine. “Once in a while, this job is pretty damn good.”

“Too right, Daring,” Phillip nodded with a small smile, breathing in the crisp pre-autumnal air. “Let’s go home, I’ve got an experiment waiting.”

He didn’t notice Daring’s growing smile until it was too late. The next thing he knew, the ground was soaring away from him at twenty miles an hour and his hat was almost flying off his head.

“Why in the bloody hell can’t we take the trolley?!” he shouted as Daring laughed uproariously.

“This can’t go on, Zugzwang.”

Charlie August Silvertongue stood in the black room with the red curtains and the great ticking clock, standing beneath his coat of arms. The unicorn with the black eyes stood next to him, sucking on a gold-leaf cigarette. The heady odor of Saddle Arabian tobacco hung heavy in the air.

In front of the two stallions was a projected image: Daring Do and Phillip Finder standing at a four-way intersection, walking up the street towards Grease Monkey’s Auto Shop, their heads tilted against the pouring rain.

“Monopoly invested much into the drug pipeline into the Everfree District, and Whitestone relied heavily upon Grease Monkey’s smuggling center,” Charlie continued staring at the image. “Both of them are going to be heavily displeased; Monopoly moreso, as I have no doubt that these upstarts are also the ones who have been stealing from his assets.” He lifted a glass from the table with his magic and washed down a large gulp of the Amontillado within.

“And what’s more, our operation was successfully infiltrated, and our members were killed.” He turned to face Zugzwang, his eyes blazing with passion like hot coals. “They killed ponies that worked for me, that served me. They brought war and violence to this city, when I promised them peace. That does not happen. Not in my city.”

Zugzwang stared at the image, showing no sign of any emotion. “Bitte, calm yourself,” he said in a placating tone, lifting his cigarette from his mouth in a golden aura. “This is not an impossible situation. But first, we must deal with these two. They are our largest threat...which means that they could also be our greatest allies.”

“How do you mean?” Charlie asked.

“Phillip,” Zugzwang replied, nodding to the image of the stallion. “He is an ardent supporter of justice, but is blind as to the effects of his actions. All he cares about is ensuring that the perpetrators are caught and justice is served, not as to who profits.”

"Yes, he is an honorable stallion, a rarity in this city," Silvertongue nodded. "As is Miss Do."

“The two are dangerous together, however,” Zugzwang continued. “It would be wise to prepare to divide and conquer, if necessary.”

Silvertongue frowned. “Lucky Dice. I had hoped not to pull that out, but it may be necessary to play that card now."

“That could work,” Zugzwang nodded. “Frau Do has shown an aversion to killing.”

“There are things that will need to be prepared,” Silvertongue nodded, finishing the rest of his drink. “Superb thinking, Zugzwang.” Taking his glass with him, he exited the room, leaving Zugzwang standing alone.

Zugzwang continued to stare at the projected image in silence for several seconds, his empty pupils focused on Phillip’s shimmering, semi-transparent face. He glided forward and raised a hoof, stroking the back of it across Phillip’s cheek.

“Liebling,” he breathed softly. “Darling.”

They had been some of the most powerful ponies in the neighborhood. Now the three surviving lieutenants of the Nightmare Moon Disciples looked like whipped dogs. They sat on one side of the long table, glancing nervously at the armed guards that surrounded them, watching as their hosts' hooves hovered over their holsters.

"Let me explain to you what's happening," said the pony who had called them to that meeting. They sat on the other side of the table, obscured by the shadows. Looking at them was difficult, owing to the bright lamp that hung from the ceiling, its light a shield for the pony's identity. "We are at war. Your side is losing. Your masters—Silvertongue, Monopoly, all those fat bastards who hold your leashes, cannot protect you from us. We found your leader. We killed your suppliers in the street. There is nowhere you can hide where we cannot find you.

"So right now, you have a choice." The pony gestured behind them, to an open crate. Inside, neatly stacked like firewood, were a dozen BARs, the wood polished and free of any damage, and the metal as pristine as the day it was shaped.

"You can join us. You will receive weapons, training, equipment, and better pay than Silvertongue promised you. Or..." The pony then gestured to their guards. The threatening clicks of hammers sounded in the three guests' ears.

"You can die." The pony in the shadows leaned forward. As they did so, a necklace around their neck swung into view. The jade fox hanging from it shone in the lamplight.

"What's it going to be?"

Author's Notes:

And that'll end the second major arc of the series!

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my proofreader Magic Step (who honestly deserves a lot more love and attention, so go watch her so she'll write more amazing stuff) and all of you for reading and enjoying! I'm thankful that you've stuck with us so far, and I hope that you enjoy the rest of the story! Be sure to leave a like, fave and a comment!

In case anyone was wondering, Steamed Carrot's audition song was "Vissi d'arte" from Puccini's Tosca. I was looking for a soprano aria that wasn't "O Mio Babbino" and found this one; I like to think that the lyrics are somewhat fitting, though I had to change "man" ("hand") to "zoccolo" ("hoof"). The chapter title is taken from a line in the song and translates as "Always with a sincere faith."

Also, I have been pepper sprayed myself. Believe that I do not exaggerate when I say that "agony" does not even begin to describe the experience.

Case Three, Prologue: No Witnesses

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Dark clouds streaked across the sky over Ponyville, the half-moon and twinkling stars having to fight against the clouds in their battle to shine down on the city. The waves of the Maresippi river lapped lazily against the banks, the soft splashing mixing with the sound of an engine as a police cruiser traveled across the riverside street. The cruiser’s headlights fell on the front of a three-story marble block-shaped building. The pure white stone edifice stood on its own on a large block. The dome-shaped skylight set on the roof reflected the stars and the moon above. Two old-style gas lanterns, their wicks replaced with electric bulbs, were set into the front wall, illuminating the revolving door between them. A sign over the door read “Ponyville Central Bank.”

The sleepy griffon officer inside the cruiser paused in the middle of the road and briefly swept the spotlight attached to the door of his cruiser over the front of the bank, checking for any signs of a break-in. The windows and door showed no sign of any damage, the interior of the bank was dark, and there was no sign of any movement within. Yawning, the officer switched the searchlight off and continued down the street, following the street lamps to a nearby twenty-four-hour coffee house that he was familiar with.

But no sooner was the cruiser out of sight than a dark red unicorn mare with a long dark green mane and tail wearing a dark blue shirt and pants that covered most of her body, save for her head and tail, melted out of the shadows of an alleyway. She walked up to the front of the bank, smirking confidently at the building that stood in defiance of her.

“Walls enforced with anti-teleportation and strengthening runes,” the mare began to recite, walking around the building with all of the casualness of a pony taking an afternoon stroll. “Surveillance crystals covering almost every inch of the interior. Locks covered in triple anti-picking charms. Double-laminated magically-reinforced glass in the windows, which can only be opened from the inside. Air vents specifically designed to be too small for a pony to move through and covered in pressure-sensitive spells.” She walked up to the wall and rapped her hoof against the stone, letting out a breath. “This is not gonna be easy.”

She walked over to one of the windows. It, like all of the other black windows that stood in a row, was set too high off the ground for her to reach it. She paused and looked up at the window, waiting in silence.

A moment later, the window opened with a squeak, the lower pane pushing outwards. However, it only opened a couple of inches before stopping with a soft clicking.

The unicorn mare sighed. “I told you, you need to get the locks out first!” she hissed.

The window closed again. There was a series of clicking noises, then the window opened again, wider this time. A head wearing a mask poked out and a pair of silvery gray eyes looked down at the mare.

“Sorry, boss,” the masked stallion whispered. He disappeared back inside the window and tossed out a rope ladder that unrolled to the ground.

Sighing, the unicorn lit up her horn with a pale orange glow. With a soft popping sound, a long cylindrical tube appeared next to her. The mare climbed up the rope ladder and through the ladder, holding the tube next to her as she climbed through the window, entering an office with several desks, all of which were littered with papers. Once she disappeared inside, she and her companion rolled up the ladder, tucking it out of sight behind a desk, and shut the window.

“Night guard just walked past,” the earth pony stallion whispered, glancing down at a cheap watch with a brown wristband on his right foreleg. “We have seven minutes maximum.”

“Go,” the mare whispered, gripping the cylindrical tube in her magic. Both masked ponies stalked over to the door and the stallion carefully pushed the door open with a soft squeak. They darted out into the dark hallway, pressing their back up against the wall. They slid along the wall down the hallway.

“Crystal here,” the stallion whispered, pausing at a corner. “Do you have it?”

“Here,” the mare said, taking an object out of her pocket and handing it to her partner. The tool looked like a small hoof mirror with blue and red gems embossed around the golden frame. The stallion looked into the mirror, but his reflection did not reveal itself. Nodding, he carefully peeked around the corner, then darted out, holding up the mirror.

Secured onto the wall above the hallway was a pair of security crystals, each facing opposite directions to keep the entire hallway covered. The blue crystal stared down at the intruders through the glass dome that protected it. The earth pony advanced slowly, careful to keep the mirror aimed at the crystal.

Up above them, behind a locked door on the third floor, a security guard stood and watched the feeds from the security crystals throughout the bank. The young earth pony colt brushed his dirty blonde mane out of his eyes and checked the feed from the north hallway on the first floor. As he’d expected, the hallway appeared empty. Yawning, he leaned back in his chair and returned to the penny dreadful he was currently engrossed in.

He couldn’t have known, of course, that the intruders beneath him were using an enchanted mirror that was overwriting the magical signal between the imaging and the receiving crystals. The two thieves walked under the crystals into a blind spot, then the earth pony walked out from under and began to walk backward, aiming the mirror at the second crystal. The unicorn mare walked ahead to the end of the hallway, where another door waited. This door was made of thick metal and had a one-way mirror set into it that allowed a pony standing outside to see in. Setting the cylindrical tube down against the wall, she took a small blue gem out of her pocket and placed it against the lock. Then she extracted a lockpick and tension wrench and inserted them in the lock, setting them to work.

“Four minutes,” the earth pony reported, keeping the mirror fixed on the crystal.

No sooner had he declared the warning than the lock opened with a soft clicking. Pausing, the mare pulled another mirror with gems on it out of her pocket. She opened the door a crack, just enough to peek through and then thrust the mirror into the room. “Move,” the mare ordered, pushing the door open and taking the tube with her. The earth pony backed into the room, keeping the mirror fixed on the crystal right up until he closed the door and locked it.

They were inside a large room with no windows. Set into the wall beyond them was a massive square vault door, as wide as five ponies and almost as tall as two. A single surveillance crystal was planted on the corner of the wall, facing the door. The mare was currently aiming the mirror at the crystal. Her horn glowed as she lifted something from out of her back pocket; a photograph covered in a protective layer of plastic. Specifically, a photograph of the vault room from the perspective of the crystal. The mare unwrapped the plastic from around the photograph and carefully placed it over the crystal so that it blocked its view; the sticking spell affixed to the picture ensured that it stayed in place.

At the same time, the stallion unscrewed the top of the cylindrical tube and extracted a large photograph of the room itself, from the perspective of the door. He placed this on the interior of the door, over the viewport, and it too stuck to the metal surface.

“Set,” he reported in a quiet tone.

“Set,” the mare repeated. “Let’s get to work.”

They both crossed over to the vault door, which was equipped with a large wheel-shaped handle. On either side of the handle was a combination dial, with a keyhole beneath.

“You sure you can handle this?” the mare asked, turning to her partner.

The earth pony’s eyes twinkled as he reached into his pocket and extracted a small diamond-tipped hoof drill. “Relax, boss,” he whispered, setting the tip of the drill against the vault door, above one of the combination dials. “The safe that I can’t crack hasn’t been built yet.”

He began to carefully work the tool, drilling the half-inch-wide tip into the dial and boring a thin hole angled down into the dial’s inner workings. Setting the tool aside, he took out what looked like a thin black cable with an eyepiece on one end. He slid the opposite end into the hole and peered through the eyepiece. His brow furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly, there came the sound of hoofsteps from outside. Both ponies froze instantly, their heads turning towards the door as the hoofsteps of the night guard grew louder. Dropping the borescope, the stallion started to reach into an inner pocket of his suit, half-drawing a leather sap. The lead shot inside the weapon rattled faintly as he prepared to attack.

The steps paused outside the door for a moment, then started again, quickly fading away into the distance. Both ponies sighed in relief and the stallion replaced the weapon; as they’d hoped, the high school graduate rent-a-cop was too bored and tired to look too closely through the viewport.

The stallion turned and got back to work with the borescope, carefully studying the inner workings of the lock. His tongue between his teeth, he extracted a stethoscope from his shirt, plugging the ear-tips into his ears and pressing the diaphragm against the dial. He slowly turned the dial clockwise, then counterclockwise, watching carefully as the wheels spun, listening to the clicks of the wheel flies as they knocked against each other. He and his partner did their best to breathe as little as possible.

After several minutes of near-silent work, he whispered, “Fifteen, thirty-nine, forty-two, seven.”

“Fifteen, thirty-nine, forty-two, seven,” the mare repeated.

Taking up his tools, the stallion walked over to the second combination dial and repeated the process, drilling a new hole into the lock into which he inserted his borescope and carefully watching and listening as he worked his magic. The night guard walked past again on his patrols, but neither of the safecrackers looked up at the sound of his hoofsteps and once again, he didn’t bother to go inside the vault room to check.

“Forty-nine, twenty-one, twenty-six, two,” the stallion finally reported, dropping his tools. “Keys.”

The mare extracted two keys from another pocket. She tossed one to her partner and they both took their places in front of the dial. As one, they both input their combinations, the dials clicking faintly as they spun. Once they were ready, each of them inserted their key into the lock.

“Three, two, one, turn,” the mare ordered. With a click, two keys turned within their locks. The keys faintly glowed red for a moment, then faded. A series of rattling clicks resounded from within the vault door. The stallion grabbed the wheel and spun it hard, then tugged. The vault door groaned faintly as he pulled it open just enough for his partner to slip inside.

The mare lit up her horn as she entered. The orange light fell upon the vault’s contents: stacks of golden bits, carefully organized jewels that covered every color of the rainbow, folders of bonds, and more covered every inch of the floor and tables. The walls were lined with the doors to safe-deposit boxes, each of which was numbered.

The mare tugged a small cloth bag and unfolded it, holding it open as the stallion entered the vault. Both of them began to grab as many valuables as they could reach, shoveling them into the bag. The enchanted bag did not bulge beneath the weight of its cargo: the expanding charms that made it larger on the inside ensured that it could carry its load.

While the stallion stuffed jewels into their sack, the mare ran her gaze along the safe deposit boxes, halting at number 387. Pulling out the key that she used to open the vault, she inserted it into the box’s keyhole and turned. Once again, the key glowed red and the door unlocked. Inside the box was a single sheet of paper. The mare snatched this up and tucked it into her pocket.

“Let’s go!” she hissed to her partner, who grabbed some last few gems and heaved the now-slightly bulging bag over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Guard walked past eighteen minutes ago. We have about nine minutes,” the stallion reported as they exited the vault and retrieved the enchanted jamming mirrors. He opened the door a crack and aimed it at the surveillance crystal in the hallway, jamming the signal. They proceeded carefully up the hallway, aiming their mirrors at the crystals until they disappeared around the corner. They ran on silent hooves back to the office that they entered in, quickly closing the door behind them.

Dashing to the window, the mare opened it up and tossed the rope ladder out. The stallion dropped the sack out the window, then swung himself out and climbed down in a hurry. The mare waited until he reached the ground, then swung herself out and climbed down. Once she reached the ground, she used her magic to pull out the ladder and shut the window.

With a flash of orange magic, both of them teleported away, reappearing several blocks away.

The stallion tugged his mask off, shaking out a tangled purple mane that spilled over his pale golden face. “We did it, boss!” he grinned broadly, holding up the bag of loot.

“We did, Step,” the mare replied, pulling off her mask. Her long mane tumbled down past her shoulders and her smiling green eyes sparkled in the starlight. She pulled out the paper that she’d taken out of the safe deposit box and examined it. The sheet was covered in thin lines of cuneiform writing, looking like childish scribbles.

“This is gonna make Scarlet and Janus really happy,” she declared.

“It’s gonna make all of us very happy. And so is this!” Step declared, holding up their bag of loot. He tossed it over his shoulders and raised his hoof towards the mare.

She smiled and bumped his hoof with her right hoof. A hoof that had a brand marked into it: a series of thin red lines that formed a shape like a ring of keys.

Case Three, Chapter One: The Bank

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Gray clouds and morning mist hung over the streets of Ponyville, the heavy air tasting of imminent rain. A soft wind flowed across Honeybee Bakery Street, making the leaves on the wilted cherry tree shiver.

Phillip sat on the banister of the back porch, his eyes closed as he hugged his saxophone to his chest. His body swayed back and forth in time to Buffalo Summer, the tune summoned eagerly from the bell of his instrument. A few birds perched on the picket fence, listening to the concert.

The window behind Phillip opened and Daring leaned out, her eyes narrowed and her lips drawn in a thin line of irritation. “Do you mind? I’m trying to read here!” she snapped.

Phil pulled the reed out of his mouth and turned to fix Daring with a furrowed brow. “You heard Rara. If I don’t practice this set, she’ll kill me.”

“She weighs maybe one-ten soaking wet. I think you can take her,” Daring snorted. “Anyway, you were the one that told me I needed to read these things.” She held up a thick black book titled Criminalistics and Forensic Science. “The least you could do is be quiet so I can focus.”

“You can go up to your room if you like,” Phillip replied, turning back to the sax and resuming his rehearsal. Daring sighed and slammed the window shut. Stalking back over to the couch, she flopped down upon it and returned to the chapter on hoofprints, trying to ignore the brass squeals from outside.

Unfortunately, her reading was once again interrupted by a knocking at the door. Growling to herself, she slammed the book shut. “I’m gonna need at least three cigs for this,” she grumbled as she walked up the hallway to the front door. She opened it wide and her jaw dropped in shock as she saw who was on the other side.

Charlie August Silvertongue smirked at her from the front step, his blue-gray eyes shining in a superior fashion. He was flanked by two unicorn stallions, both wearing dark suits and ties. The one on her left was a dark green unicorn with blonde hair and a mustache, with a cutie mark of a silver padlock locked around a length of chain. He sneered at Daring, his green eyes narrowed. The other stallion was a tan pony with a neatly trimmed brown mane. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and she could feel his gaze boring into her from behind the opaque lenses. His cutie mark was a black king chess piece.

“Good morning, Miss Do,” Silvertongue addressed her in a tone like cold motor oil being poured down her spine. “I am here to speak to you and Mister Finder about engaging your services—”

His sentence was cut off by the door slamming shut in his face. Daring turned and sprinted up the hallway and burst out the back door onto the porch. “Phil!”

Phillip leaped back in shock and nearly fell off the banister, regaining his balance at the last moment. “What is it?” he snapped, glaring at her.

“Silvertongue’s here,” Daring said, glancing at the door.

Phillip’s eyebrows shot up into his bangs. “What does he want?”

“Your services,” Charlie announced, slithering out onto the porch with his two bodyguards in tow.

Phillip glared coldly at their visitor. “Get out,” he snarled.

"I merely ask a moment of your time," Silvertongue said. “I have a business proposition for you, and you would do well to hear it.”

“I’m not one of your lackeys,” Phillip spat.

Charlie smiled at him. “I wouldn’t insult you by suggesting that; though you may not believe it, I respect you both,” he said politely. “But the matter at hoof could potentially result in innocent lives being lost if it is not dealt with.”

Phillip’s cold glare could’ve turned magma into ice, but Silvertongue did not waver. “Perhaps we should discuss this inside,” he suggested, already turning to go back indoors. “It is far too cold and wet to be outside for long.”

The dark green unicorn followed his master back indoors like an obedient dog. The tan unicorn, however, remained on the porch, looking at Phillip. His expression and body posture remained neutral, his eyes hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses. Phillip walked back inside, his eyes on the unicorn; the bodyguard’s head swiveled to follow his progress as he re-entered the kitchen. The unicorn then stood aside to allow Daring to enter; she walked inside slowly, conscious of the fact that she was deliberately avoiding looking at him.

When she entered the sitting room, she found that Silvertongue had taken possession of one of the two couches that she and Phillip usually sat upon when they interviewed clients and was lounging upon it, sprawled out like a predatory cat sitting in its lair. Phillip was sitting on the sofa that was normally reserved for visitors, his posture as stiff as though he were sitting on a board. The green unicorn was standing behind him; he glowered at Daring as she entered.

She walked over to the bookcase and stood next to it, turning so that she could survey the entire room. The tan unicorn walked in behind her and stood on the opposite side of the room. His horn lit up with a golden aura and he magically removed his glasses, pocketing them. The eyes behind the lenses were as black as a pair of holes, displaying no emotion at all, and they were fixed on Phillip.

“To business,” Silvertongue declared. “As I’m sure you are aware, there have been a number of high-profile robberies throughout the city recently.”

“Yes,” Phillip admitted.

Daring’s mind went back in a mental review of the headlines for the past two weeks, all of them publicizing a recent string of daring robberies. A jewelry store, two high-end restaurants, the Majestic Cinema, and several other large establishments had been struck by the thieves. Every time, the thieves had entered surreptitiously, perfectly weaved their way around layers of security, and vanished without leaving any witnesses and little evidence.

“These thieves are professionals, that much is obvious,” Charlie continued, speaking about the matter as though they were discussing it over drinks. “I am somewhat surprised to find that you are not already working on this."

“Police have been stonewalling me,” Phillip grunted, glaring back at him.

“Ah, I see,” Silvertongue nodded. "If you wished, I could make them more willing to cooperate with you."

"No," Phillip growled. "Don't need you using blackmail to help me."

Silvertongue shrugged. "I thought you might say that. I believe that sometimes the rules have to be bent a little in order for some good to be done: for example, keeping the low-feeding animals at the bottom rungs of the criminal ladder in check so they don't overrun the city with their violence."

Phillip scowled. "That doesn't justify what you've done to ponies."

Silvertongue sighed and pinched his nostrils shut. "We could argue this point all day and get nowhere, so I shall move on," he declared. “These robberies: I personally suspect that these robbers are connected to the vigilantes who were responsible for the rash of shootings last week.”

Phillip didn’t say anything, but a small bobbing of his eyebrow indicated for Silvertongue to continue. Daring stood where she was, surveying the room. She studied the green unicorn. His bulky build spoke of his regular exercise, though her suspicions that the muscles weren’t totally natural were strengthened when she spotted the red pockmarks on his inner foreleg. His neck bore a crude prison tattoo of three rough circles arranged in a triangle, indicating his membership in the Royalties, a unicorn supremacy prison group. Squinting closer, she noticed his eyes twitching and shuddering slightly in his sockets and noticed a faint scent of sour apples coming from his breath, and wondered if Chuck was aware that his bodyguards were drinking on the job.

But her eyes kept moving towards the tan unicorn. He was staring at Phillip, unblinking, his black eyes fixed on him like spotlights. She studied the bodyguard closely. His dark blue suit was nondescript but pristinely kept. His mane, tail, and thin mustache were expertly combed and cut straight. She pondered the black kings on his flanks for a few moments, then studied his hooves. They were as pristinely trimmed as the rest of his body, and she could see no sign of any dust or dirt upon them; obviously, he must spend a lot of time indoors. A light dusting of fluffy pale gray cigarette ash clung stubbornly to his collar and right shoulder. And as her eyes traveled upwards, she spotted a small, pale white scar on his neck, peeking up from underneath his collar like the head of a snake.

But the unicorn must’ve felt her gaze because, with a motion that was almost too smooth to be natural, he turned towards her. She looked into his black eyes, and a sudden swoop of vertigo overtook her, as though the floor was suddenly pulled away from her; she felt as though she were staring into an enormous, infinite abyss, and that the abyss was staring back at her.

He turned away and the moment passed; Daring felt herself crash-land back on the floor. The unicorn lit up his horn with a golden glow, magically dusting off his suit and pulling up his collar to hide the scar as he turned back to stare at Phillip, who continued to keep his gaze steady on Silvertongue.

“I propose an arrangement between us,” Silvertongue said. “I shall provide you with information and whatever clues that I can scrounge up about our robbers, and you report to me whatever findings you make.”

“No,” Phillip stated without hesitation.

Silvertongue sighed again. "I knew you'd turn me down," he said. "I really wish I didn't have to do this, but I shall have to extend my second offer."

He turned and fixed Daring with an appraising stare over the tops of his glasses; his intense gaze made her feel like a bug on a microscope slide.

“What do you think of your partner, Daring?” Silvertongue asked.

Daring shrugged. “Well, he has a habit of practicing his sax when other ponies are busy, but he’s not that bad, Chuck,” she replied.

The brief look of annoyance that flickered across Silvertongue’s face almost made her smile. “Yes, I imagine you find him quite honorable,” he commented dryly.

“Like you’d know anything about that, Chuck,” Daring snapped.

“Some would say that he wouldn't, either,” Charlie replied, nodding at Phillip. Phillip’s face seemed to darken slightly, his scowl deepening and his eyes appearing to turn a darker shade of gray.

“What do you mean?” Daring asked before she could stop herself.

Charlie looked at her. “You mean to say that he hasn’t told you about Lucky Dice?”

The effect was immediate. Phillip leaped off the chair as though he’d been struck by lightning, a look of complete outrage crossing his face as he whipped his baton out of his vest with a snapping motion of his hoof. “Get out!” he roared at Silvertongue.

Both of the unicorn bodyguards lit up their horns, the tan unicorn with a golden aura and the green one with a pale blue aura, but Silvertongue waved them down. "I told I didn't want it to come to this," he said quietly, shaking his head at Phillip.

“Get out,” Phillip repeated in a growl, glaring at Silvertongue.

Daring flew forward and placed herself between Phillip and Silvertongue, holding up her forelegs to keep them apart. “You need to go,” she told Silvertongue sternly.

Silvertongue stood slowly and walked towards the door, looking at Daring all the way. “I do hope that both of you think long and hard about this day." He paused at the threshold, then turned to look back.

“While I’m sorry that we couldn’t come to an agreement, I will give you this for free,” he said. “There was a robbery at the Ponyville Central Bank last night. The police are already investigating; Detective Sergeant Trace and Detective Herring are already there. It might behoove you to drop by and visit.” He nodded to his bodyguards. “Zugzwang, Secure Lock, come.”

The green unicorn huffed at them like an angry buffalo and stomped out. The tan unicorn followed him in a silent slither.

Phillip remained standing until they were gone and the door closed behind them. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed into the chair and tucked his baton back into his vest. He lay back in the seat, breathing heavily like a boxer who had retreated to his corner after nine straight rounds.

“What an asshole,” Daring huffed, glaring after the stallions.

Phillip didn’t reply, staring straight ahead. Daring noticed that he was gripping the arm of the chair as tightly as though he were trying to break it off. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Phillip grunted, staring straight ahead. His foreleg shook as he continued to grip the armrest.

Daring hovered for a moment on the edge of her curiosity, then asked, “Who’s Lucky Dice?”

Phillip’s gaze snapped towards her, his eyes flashing dangerously as they narrowed. “Nopony you need to know about,” he growled.

“Okay, geez!” Daring cried as she stepped back and defensively raised a hoof as if to ward off the harsh words.

Phillip closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, letting out a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

The silence that stretched between them was as cold and hard as ice. “Maybe we should go to the Central Bank,” Daring suggested.

“Yeah,” Phil grunted, getting up off the couch.

Daring plucked a box of Blue Camel from her pocket and extended it towards him. He plucked a fag from the box without looking and inserted it into his mouth. Taking out his lighter, he lit it as he walked out the door, sucking down a long drag as he hailed a passing trolley car. Daring flew out to join him, lighting up her own cigarette as she sat down next to him. With a jolt, the trolley trundled up the street, carrying them towards the Dockside district.

The two walked around the corner to behold a pair of black and white cruisers sitting on the curb in front of the marble edifice, their red and blue lights spinning. A familiar Hayson Commander was parked behind one of the cruisers. The usual shifting, throbbing crowd of onlookers and paparazzi was gathered around the scene, barely restrained by the yellow “CRIME SCENE” tape stretched around the sidewalk that flapped and shuddered in the growing wind.

“Well, looks like Chuck wasn’t lying about one thing,” Daring commented as they approached. Phillip just grunted.

A light yellow unicorn officer with a short cerulean mane and green eyes was standing guard behind the yellow tape. She had a cutie mark of an old-fashioned pistol. Her eyes widened in recognition as they fell on Phillip.

“Uh...sir, I’m not sure that my superiors would like it if I let you in,” she said nervously.

“We’re just here to help, Officer Wheellock,” Phillip stated, reading her name off of her nametag.

“If anypony asks, you can say we forced you at gunpoint,” Daring said with an easy smile. “Deflect the blame on us.”

Wheellock hesitated for a few seconds, then shrugged and lifted the tape up for him and Daring, acknowledging them with a brief nod. Phillip and Daring both returned the nod as they walked beneath it, ignoring the storm of questions from the press and the comments and jeers from the witnesses.

Pushing through the front door, they entered a grand circular lobby made of marble. Light from the dome-shaped skylight in the ceiling filled the room, making the polished stone floor and walls glimmer. The floor was decorated with a black circular emblem that depicted a forest with a river running alongside it and the words “Ponyville Central Bank.”

Trace Evidence and Red Herring were standing in the center of the seal, talking to one another in quiet undertones. A nervous looking young pimply stallion with straw-colored hair wearing the uniform of a security guard was standing off to the side, staring at his hooves.

Red looked up and scowled. “Hey, Trace. Guess who just walked in.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Daring sighed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, just fine, fine, how’re the kids?”

Red’s ear twitched in irritation. Trace Evidence just sighed and turned around.

“Phil, you know that Chief Tumbler has told us not to let you into our crime scenes anymore,” he said.

“Tumbler can go fuck himself,” Phillip said back in a completely calm tone. “You need help for this.”

Trace and Red both looked at each other, then Red sighed. “Fine, but I’m blaming you if I get fired.”

Trace turned to Phillip and Daring. “Come with me. I’ll show you what we found.”

He led them down a hallway to a metal door with a sally port. Daring and Phillip both noticed the surveillance crystals on the ceiling that they walked beneath. Another police officer was standing sentry in front of the door. Trace opened up the door and they walked into the vault room.

“Check that out,” Trace said, pointing at the door. Both detectives turned and saw the photograph over the sally port.

“Hmm,” Phillip muttered, turning to look at another photograph over the surveillance crystal in the corner. “How’d they get their hooves on those?”

“We’re making theories on that already,” Trace said. “Take a look at this.” He pointed at the vault door, which was still slightly open, revealing the cavernous interior filled with almost as much treasure as a young dragon’s hoard.

Phillip and Daring both studied the vault door, which still had the drilled holes in it. “Tell me about this,” Phillip stated, studying the door.

“Two combination locks, the combinations to which are changed at the end of each day by the manager and given by word of mouth to the tellers and staff the next morning,” Trace Evidence reported. “Two keys enchanted with a randomizing security enchantment, whatever that means. You have to enter the combinations and then turn the keys simultaneously to unlock it.”

“That means there had to be at least two of them,” Daring concluded, squinting into the hole over the left combination lock. “Right into the wheel pack. Whoever did this was experienced.”

“What did they take?” Phillip asked, entering the vault and pausing at the door, panning his gaze over the vault.

“A shitload of money,” Trace said. “But we’re still confirming with the owners of the safe deposit—”

“Let me through!” a voice suddenly bellowed from outside, accompanied by the sound of a scuffle.

“Sir, you know I can’t—” the officer outside protested.

“Do you know who I am? I own this bank! Let me through this instant!” the stallion’s voice replied.

All three detectives rushed to the door to find the officer struggling with a large blue blonde-maned earth pony stallion wearing an expensive white suit and tie that was almost too small for his size. The earth pony was trying to push past him and enter the vault.

“Mister Monopoly,” Trace Evidence cut in, stepping forward and raising a hoof in a conciliatory gesture. “This is a crime scene. You know we can’t let you in here.”

Monopoly stepped back and glared at Trace. “I could buy both of you five times over. What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”

Trace scowled and reached underneath his coat, revealing his silver police badge. “This does,” he replied curtly.

“Who’s the fatso?” Daring whispered to Phillip, hanging back slightly to avoid the visitor’s rage.

“Monopoly,” Phillip replied. “Huge-scale business mogul, owns almost half of the companies and most of the banks in this city.”

“You’d think he could afford a gym membership,” Daring commented, looking over the arguing stallion’s enormous girth. Phillip’s face convulsed slightly as he fought down a laugh, his shoulders shaking up and down.

“I need to check my safebox,” Monopoly was protesting. “Those thieves might have taken my most valued possessions!”

“We can check that,” Trace said. While his tone sounded calm, Daring and Phillip both picked up on the weary “I’m not paid enough to deal with this bullshit” impatience underneath the words. “But I’ve already told you, I can’t let you in here. This is a crime scene, and you are not authorized—”

“And they are?!” Monopoly snapped, pointing at Phillip and Daring. “The vigilante and the thief?!”

Daring expected the words, but the accusation still struck her like a battering ram against her chest, bashing against the walls of her self-restraint. Her muscles tensed and her wings started to flare open; her breath came in hisses through gritted teeth and her heart pounded against her ribs.

“That’s it,” Trace declared, a harsh edge added to his voice. “Out, or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice.”

Monopoly scowled but stepped back slightly. “At least check my safebox for me,” he demanded in a quieter but still firm tone. “Number three eight seven.” He lifted a small bronze key from his suit pocket and held it out towards Trace.

Trace stared at him for a moment, then sighed and took the key in his magic. Walking inside the vault, he scanned the walls for the number 387. Spotting the appropriate box, he inserted the key into the lock and twisted it. The key glowed faintly for a moment, then the lock unfastened with a click, allowing Trace to open it. He peeked inside the box.

“It’s empty,” he declared in a flat tone, tossing the key back to Monopoly.

Monopoly’s face convulsed, displaying a variety of expressions—shock, anger, fear, apprehension—then he turned around and started back up the hallway. “Damn,” Daring heard him mutter quietly.

“Sir!” Trace called after him. “What was in the box?”

But Monopoly apparently did not hear him, because he turned the corner and vanished from sight. Trace shrugged.

“Show me where they got in and out,” Phillip stated, giving the vault door one last examination.

Trace walked out of the vault room and led them down another hallway into an office room, which was empty save for the desks and cubicles. He walked down to an open window at the end of the room.

Daring studied the broken locks on the window. “These are built so that you can’t open them up enough for somepony to slip through,” she said. “And this is double-laminated security glass. Getting past this would take study and experience.”

“The kind of study and experience that…?” Trace started to ask delicately, but his voice trailed off.

“Yes,” Daring said bitterly. “The kind of study and experience that you find in ponies like me.”

“Like you used to be,” Phillip said in a slightly insistent tone. Daring paused in her examination to blink at him for a moment, then went back to looking at the window.

“Could you break it open from the outside?” Trace asked.

“No way,” Daring replied. “It’s specifically designed to make that impossible, even via magic.”

“So what does that tell us?” Phillip asked, leaning against the wall.

“There had to be somepony inside who opened the window,” Daring concluded. “They opened the window up and let their partner in, then got out the same way.”

“Good,” Phillip nodded. “What else?”

Daring thought for a while. “They had to have scouted this place out,” she stated. “That’s how they got those photographs for the door and the crystal to fool the guards.”

“But how?” Phillip asked. “Somepony would’ve noticed if they’d climbed up to the surveillance crystal in the room.”

Daring paused for several moments, then her eyebrows shot up into her mane. “A repairpony,” she stated.

“Good thinking,” Phillip nodded. “A repairpony to fix the crystal could’ve gotten them the images they needed.”

“I’ll ask about any recent repairs,” Trace nodded. “What else do we need to know?”

“They had to have had somepony on the inside,” Daring continued. “That’s how they got the keys and how they knew which one was Monopoly’s safebox.”

“And we have an idea who it wasn’t,” Phillip continued.

“Who?” Daring asked, tilting her head to one side.

Phillip turned to Trace and raised an eyebrow. Trace frowned in thought for a moment, then looked up. “The manager,” he said. “He would’ve just given them the combination instead of making them drill into the door.”

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded.

“We’ll need to check with the bank employees who had access to that info,” Trace continued. “When we—”

“Detective Sergeant Trace Evidence!” a voice bellowed. Trace whirled around and snapped to attention as a dark brown pegasus with a ring of silver hair and thick glasses stomped into the room, the ribbons on the front of his crisply pressed police uniform jingling as he walked up to stand next to Trace.

“Sergeant, do you mind telling me why these two...civilians are in my crime scene?” Chief Chilled Tumbler asked Trace, his narrowed eyes fixed on Phillip and Daring. Phillip glared back at the Chief; Daring could see that his jaw had tightened and his forelegs had tensed slightly. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed. She could feel the energy coming off of him, like the heat from an oil lamp that was dangling over a mound of spilled gunpowder.

“They’re here to help, Chief,” Trace replied flatly, though he suddenly seemed to find the blank white ceiling tiles over his head extremely interesting.

“Detective Evidence,” Chief Tumbler replied. “Do you see badges on them?”

“No,” Trace admitted.

“I didn’t think you did,” Tumbler replied. “Now kindly escort them off my crime scene before they damage something.”

“But—!” Daring started to protest, but Phillip stopped her by holding up a hoof in front of her.

“No point,” he muttered.

Trace sighed and nodded to Phillip and Daring, gesturing for them to follow him. He led them out of the room; Chief Tumbler and Phillip glared at each other every step of the way.

“We’ll try to talk later,” Trace whispered as they turned the corner and started to walk back to the lobby. “Once we’ve got some suspects, we’ll have you come down for help.”

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded curtly as they reached the lobby. Red Herring was talking to the young security guard; he glanced up briefly as they walked past and exited through the front doors. As soon as they walked out, the reporters that had been waiting outside began their chorus of questions and speculation once more.

“What do we do now?” Daring asked, holding up a hoof to shield her eyes from the flashes of the cameras.

“Wait until we get word,” Phillip replied, tilting his hat down over his face. “We can’t do anything more here. Meantime, we can head home and do some research.”

“The chief normally show up at bank robberies?” Daring asked as they descended the steps to the sidewalk and ducked back underneath the crime-scene tape.

“Only when it’s important,” Phillip replied, not looking at her as they retreated back up the road.

“Well, this is obviously important to Chuck,” Daring commented. Phillip just grunted.

“What do you think was in that safe deposit box?” Daring asked.

“Don’t know,” Phillip replied. “But I doubt it was money or anything like that. Monopoly is a greedy wanker, but he wouldn’t be so concerned with monetary loss. This had to be something else.”

“Maybe it was some kind of experimental weapon of mass destruction?” Daring suggested. “Or a spell that can turn ponies into mindless zombies?”

Phillip gave her an utterly bewildered stare. "What? Why would it be something like that?"

"Because that would make it cool," Daring replied. "Like a Hayana Pone adventure."

“...I somehow doubt it," Phillip said.

“Oh, c’mon, have a little imagination,” Daring snickered, bumping her flank against his.

“I am,” Phillip replied. “I’m imagining you putting a sock in it.”

Daring’s mouth dropped open and she reached a hoof up in an exaggerated look of shock. “You insult me, sir!” she cried. She tilted her nose up and flicked her tail in a display of disdain and trotted ahead of Phillip.

In doing so, she missed the small smile that appeared for a moment on his face.

Case Three, Chapter Two: The Suspects

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The clouds had lifted by the next evening, and a cold river breeze was floating over the city, dancing through the streets and sending most ponies retreating into the cover of their homes. Luna was beginning to paint the darkening sky with faintly twinkling stars in the eastern skies when Trace Evidence walked up the steps to the doorway of 221 Honeybee Bakery.

“Phil? Daring?” he called, knocking at the door.

There was no immediate reply. Pressing his ear to the door, Trace listened intently for any sign of life from within.

There came such a sign to his ears: two voices, one female and one male, both of them grunting loudly and occasionally letting out a shout, accompanied by various thumping noises. Raising an eyebrow, Trace telekinetically tested the doorknob and found that the front door was unlocked. Pushing the door open, he proceeded into the front hallway and looked around for the two detectives.

He proceeded forward towards the sitting room; the grunting noises got louder and faster as he walked. He eventually deduced that they were coming from behind a door in the hallway. Opening the door, he found himself facing a set of stairs leading down, lit by a bare bulb set in the ceiling.

He descended down the stairs, each of which creaked loudly as he put his weight upon them, and entered the basement, which had been converted into a gymnasium. Cheap but thick dark green matting covered most of the floor. A stack of free weights was stacked neatly against one wall, next to a bench press set. An exposed length of black piping in the ceiling bore friction marks from having been used as a pull-up bar; a treadmill stood in the opposite corner, with a grappling dummy sitting against the wall next to it.

Phillip and Daring were currently attacking a heavy bag that was hanging from the ceiling. Both of them weaved and dodged around the swinging black bag, grunting and shouting as they punched, kicked, elbowed, kneed and headbutted the canvas. Both of them were nude, their manes were in complete disarray, and their bodies glistened with sweat. Trace's eyes scanned the scars that dotted their forms, red and dark brown marks of every description that spoke of lives of violence: jagged marks from a broken bottle on the back of Phillip's shoulder, red dots on Daring's side where she'd taken a glancing round of buckshot.

Feeling relieved for some strange reason, Trace paused at the threshold of the stairs and waited for them to acknowledge his presence. After almost another minute of exercise, Daring and Phillip backed away from the bag, panting heavily. Phillip turned and nodded to Trace as he walked over to the side of the room.

“G’day,” he greeted Trace, snatching up a waiting water bottle. He unscrewed the top and took a long drink before continuing. “What news?”

“We checked with the bank, and you were right. There was a repairpony called to fix the surveillance crystal in the vault room five days ago,” Trace said, pulling a photograph out of his trenchcoat and showing it to Phillip. The black and white image depicted a lightly colored unicorn with a conservative blonde mane and mustache, thick round glasses and a toothpick clenched in his teeth. “We got an image of them off of the surveillance records, but we checked with the company they called, Enchanted Security, and they didn’t recognize him; as a matter of fact, they had no record of ever getting a call from the bank.”

“Somepony must’ve tampered with the crystal and given them a phony number to set up the ‘repair,’” Daring commented, mopping off her sweat-covered brow. “These guys are good; it’s what I would’ve done.”

“We’ve got an APB out on him,” Trace said.

“You won’t find him,” Daring stated. “He’ll have completely changed his appearance and gone into hiding by now.”

Trace shrugged. “Can’t hurt to try. Also, we’ve got a list of bank employees that we thought you might want to talk to. I’ve had my team hold off on questioning them for you.” He handed Phillip a manila folder of names, photographs, and notes. Phillip flipped through the folder, sucking on his lower lip in thought.

“I want you to know that I’m taking a big risk with this,” Trace stated. “Your name’s mud with Chief Tumbler and most of the higher-ups in the department these days. He seems to think that you’re making us look bad, encouraging vigilante action.”

“Is that so?” Phillip replied flatly, not looking up from the folder.

“You don’t give a shit, do you?” Trace asked in a slightly weary tone.

“He can’t fire me again,” Phillip stated.

“Wait, you were fired from the department?” Daring cut in.

Phillip looked at her, a small frown crossing his features. “It’s not something I like talking about.”

“Seems that you have a lot of those,” Daring commented, her eyebrows knitting.

Phillip turned back to Trace instead of replying to her. “Appreciate your help on this, mate,” he said to the trenchcoat-wearing stallion, holding out his hoof.

“Appreciate you trying to help,” Trace replied, grasping Phil’s hoof and shaking it. “And even though most of them will never say it, a lot of the others appreciate it, too.”

“I know,” Phillip replied. “You pay me.”

Daring laughed loudly. “See? I knew you had a sense of humor somewhere in there,” she said.

Trace’s mouth twitched upwards, then he glanced at his watch. “I’d better go. Captain Cold Case wants me to report back in; we’re looking into a multiple murder at a drug house.”

“You do that,” Daring said, flicking her tail and smirking at Phillip. “We were about to spar; Phil was looking forward to pinning me to the ground and holding me down.”

Phillip turned and stared at her, his ears burning crimson.

“Okay,” Trace said, backing up. “You two have fun.” And with that, he turned and retreated back up the stairs.

“Think you can handle me, big boy?” Daring purred as the sound of his hoofsteps, faster and louder than when he first entered, vanished upstairs.

“I cannot believe you sometimes,” Phillip grumbled, his ears still bright red.

Daring laughed again, a bright, throaty sound that filled the room. “Ah, you make it too easy,” she sighed, tossing her mane back. And without further ado, she dashed forward with a flap of her wings and tackled Phillip to the floor.

The Dockside District was home to a number of restaurants and taverns, all of them offering meals of varying qualities at a variety of prices. One such restaurant was the Falling Leaves, a wide, single-story establishment, painted in shades of gold and red, located only a few blocks from the Central Bank.

Currently, three employees wearing simple but pristinely creased suits were gathered around a round table in the corner, awaiting their orders. “I still can’t believe that our bank was robbed,” said a light tan donkey female said, twirling her dyed blonde mane with her hoof.

“I’m just thankful that none of us were there when they got in,” an aqua green unicorn with gray hair shuddered, pushing his thick glasses back up his nose and adjusting his silk tie. “Imagine if they had tried to hurt us.”

“You guys are too down in the dumps,” a young green earth pony with a purple mane and mustache said, munching on a roll. He loosened his tie and settled back in his mane. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like your new Cougar?” the jenny said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s very impressive, Wax Seal, we get it.”

“I got it brand new!” Wax Seal boasted with a broad grin. “Still can’t believe that I actually got it, I’ve been saving up for months!”

The jenny and the unicorn both sighed and engaged in conversation with one another, tuning out their colleague.

Across from them at the bar, Phillip and Daring watched their targets in the reflection of Phillip’s hoof mirror, which he had concealed in his hoof.

“Willow, Signature Line, and Wax Seal,” Phillip stated. “Our three suspects. Willow’s had difficulties with drugs in the past, Signature’s heavily in debt, and Wax Seal came into money recently.”

“Any one of them might be the informant,” Daring said. “So how do we find out which one was it?”

“First, we learn as much as we can about them,” Phillip stated, closing the mirror and taking a bite of his salad wrap. “Then, we question them one at a time.”

Daring nodded her understanding. Wax Seal stood up and excused himself to head to the little stallion’s room. He walked past the two detectives on his way to the restroom; neither of them looked up at him as he passed.

“Hmm,” Phillip muttered. “Willow’s using.”

“What? How can you tell?” Daring asked, slightly alarmed.

“Look at her purse,” Phillip said, tilting the mirror so that Daring could see the black bag that the jenny had set on the table. Daring squinted at the bag and noticed a bracelet of some sort poking out an exterior pocket, decorated with black and red beads. Attached to the cord was a blue coin with a hole pierced through it. The coin was embossed with a number 9 in a triangle.

“That’s a sobriety coin,” Daring observed.

Phillip nodded. “Now look at her wrist.”

Daring squinted at the hoof that was still twirling the dyed mane. There was a faint white line around the wrist. “She normally wears that bracelet all the time,” she stated.

“Right. So why is she not wearing it?” Phillip stated. “Also note the bags under her eyes, the slight tremor to her hooves, the way she keeps licking her lips. All signs of withdrawal from a dose of red poppydust.”

Daring nodded. “Okay, what about Signature?”

Phillip studied his reflection over a few more bites of his salad wrap. “Gambler,” he concluded. “The lines and marks on the sleeves of his suit from where he rests his forelegs on the table, the late bill in the pocket of his suit, newspaper in his suit with Wonderbolt race results circled, the fact that he ordered two of the cheapest items on the menu, unhealthy appearance due to stress.” He thought for a moment. “I want you to check his car, see if there’s anything inside worth noting. You know which one it is?”

“The blue NeighSoho two-door,” Daring replied. “I can see the key hanging out of his inner pocket.”

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded. “Wait for you here.”

Daring smirked at him and flicked her tail at him, drawing it across his back as she exited. He didn’t turn to look at her, but his ears twitched backward as she exited the restaurant.

Wax Seal returned from the restroom and started to walk back to his table. Phillip turned to face him as he came close, an easy smile on his face.

“Hey, mate,” he called to Wax. “I hear you got a new Cougar.”

“Sure did!” Wax Seal replied, grinning. “Brand new and everything.”

Phillip gestured into the seat next to him and signaled the barkeeper for a cider. “I appreciate a stallion who knows his cars. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Eager to brag to a pony willing to listen, Wax Seal jumped up onto the seat and grabbed up the offered cider. He began to boast of the Cougar’s stats, its engine power, multiple luxuries such as heated leather seats and a high-end radio, and terrible fuel economy. Phillip listened patiently, occasionally making a comment or question.

“I really think the Z8 series is superior,” Wax said, slurping up his drink. “But when you—” He paused, turning towards Phillip and fixing him with a look as though he’d just noticed that he was there. “Why do you want to know?”

Phillip placed his forelegs on the table, his expression molding into serious. “I’m with the police,” he stated. “I’m looking into the robbery.”

Wax Seal stared at Phillip for a few seconds while the gears turned in his head, then his eyes widened. “And you think I—”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Phillip said, raising a hoof. “What matters is what the police think. A new pony flashing about a new car and pulling in a new mare with a long, black mane and a misaligned top bicuspid?”

Wax Seal shifted in discomfort and adjusted the collar of his suit to cover the hickey on his neck and flicked off the long hair that was clinging to his sleeve. “Look, you gotta believe me,” he whispered quickly, his eyes focused on Phillip. “I got the car completely legit! I’ve been saving up for it for over a year! And the mare…” He cringed a bit. “I went to a bar three nights ago, I was flashing some drinks, and she came up...it was just sex, man! You gotta believe me!”

Phillip studied Seal’s face for a few seconds, his claim of innocence echoing faintly in the back of his mind like a recording. His intuition, refined through years of practice, analyzed the words, the tone, pitch, volume, and rate, and found them all satisfactory.

“I do,” Phillip nodded. “But I do need to check; somepony had to have helped the thieves. Do you have any idea who?”

Wax Seal shook his head. “No. But the only way they could’ve gotten their hooves on the keys to the vault is from the tellers; they’re the ones with the enchanted keys, and we’re supposed to keep them on us at all times.” He opened up an inner pocket in his suit and extracted a small golden key on a chain.

“And you’ve had it with you all the time?” Phillip asked.

“It never gets out of reach of me,” Wax Seal stated.

“Even when you were with the mare?” Phillip asked.

Wax Seal’s eyes widened slowly. “Describe her,” Phillip stated.

“Uh…unicorn. Black hair, but you knew that,” Wax said, scratching his head. “Red highlights. Pink coat. Cutie mark was uh...uh, a letter and a quill.”

Phillip made a mental note of the description, then stood and walked away from the bar, leaving Wax Seal alone with his thoughts. He walked over to the table where Signature and Willow still sat. Willow was feasting on a daisy salad with a side of nuts and yogurt, while Signature was miserably finishing up a hay bacon, lettuce and tomato wrap. The elder stallion finished off his meal, brushed off his suit, and walked off to the restroom.

Phillip started to walk past Willow, but then paused and looked back as if just registering something. “Oh, excuse me,” he said to Willow. “I couldn’t help but notice your sobriety coin.”

“Huh?” Willow looked around, startled. “Oh, yes, yes, that.”

“Nine months?” Phillip asked, reading off the number embossed on the coin. “That’s impressive. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you,” Willow said slowly, her posture relaxing in response to the complement.

Phillip paused for a moment, then took in a breath. “So why aren’t you wearing it?” he asked.

Willow’s eyes darted back and forth as if looking for an escape. “I, er...they don’t let us wear jewelry on the job.”

“And wedding rings are an exception?” Phillip asked, glancing at the golden ring attached to the silver chain that the jenny wore around her neck.

Willow looked up, her eyes widening, then lowered her gaze.

“I understand,” Phillip stated. “Red poppydust is not an easy thing to deal with.”

“It was just a couple of times,” Willow whimpered. “I was tired...I needed a fix.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” Phillip replied. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a purple coin with a 10 embossed on it. “We all mess up from time to time.”

Willow blinked at the coin in amazement. “Poppydust?” she asked.

Phillip nodded. “I want you to understand, Willow,” he stated. “This is a serious position that you’re in. You could lose your job.”

“Oh, please don’t tell!” Willow cried.

“I won’t,” Phillip stated in a reassuring tone. “But you’re a suspect for being an inside pony for the thieves. The cops are already looking hard at you.”

“It wasn’t me!” Willow protested. “I don’t know anything about it! I—”

Her pleas to be believed were cut off by Phillip laying a hoof on her shoulder. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and gave her a small smile.

“Get some help,” he advised her in a quiet tone. “Talk to your sponsor. You can beat this.”

Willow smiled at him in relief and squeezed his hoof. Phillip looked up and spotted Signature Line leaving the restroom. “Good luck to you,” he said to Willow, standing up and following Signature out. It wasn’t until the door closed behind him that Willow realized that he’d left a small stack of coins next to her plate.

Signature Line walked into the chilly afternoon, trotting through the misty air towards his car. Phillip followed behind, staying in the stallion’s blind spot. As they approached a blue NeighSoho, they both saw a golden pegasus mare with a greyscale mane leaning against the driver’s side door, smoking a fag.

“Heya, Line,” Daring greeted Signature with a grin, huffing smoke out of her nostrils.

Signature Line paused a few feet from her. “Do I...know you?” he asked slowly.

“Saw you at the Smokey Rose,” Daring replied, flicking the cigarette away. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

Signature Line’s eyes widened in shock, but Phillip, even from this far away, could see the matchbox sitting in the passenger seat of the NeighSoho. The white cardboard box was decorated with a pale pink rose, embossed on a background of swirling smoke. He almost smiled. Attagirl, Daring.

“I don’t know what you—” Signature Line started to protest.

“Coin Toss wants his money,” Daring cut in.

Signature’s face blanched white and both Daring and Phillip knew that she’d struck gold. It was no secret that the Smokey Rose was owned by Coin Toss, the local boss of the Mareish Mob.

“He’ll...I...you don’t…” he protested, staggering back from Daring. She advanced on him, taking three steps for his every two, still smirking. Phillip positioned himself behind Signature, causing the unicorn to bump into him. He whirled around to face Phillip, his face adorned with a look that made it very clear that he knew that he was trapped.

“You know what the Mareish Mob does to ponies to teach them a lesson?” Daring pressed. “We kneecap them. We take a drill and punch it through the sap’s kneecaps.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I’ve seen it done. Nasty. You wanna find out what it’s like firsthoof?”

Signature Line’s mouth opened and closed several times, but he was unable to articulate a sentence. Daring and Phil both looked at each other, then turned to go. “Have fun learning how to walk again,” Daring called over her shoulder.

“Wait!” Signature Line called. Daring and Phillip paused, turning back.

“I...I can get the money for him within a week,” Signature Line stammered out. “I’ll have it soon.”

Daring turned around fully, looking interested. “So how’d you get your hooves on that?”

Signature Line’s mouth began to convulse again as he tried to form the words. “Uh...I...won the lottery?” he said in a tone that begged to be taken seriously.

Daring snorted and shook her head. “Nice try.” She studied him for a moment, then asked, “You were in on the bank robbery, weren’t you?”

Signature looked like he was going to protest, but then sighed and mopped his brow with a hoof. “Yes,” he admitted. “I gave them information on how to get inside the bank, told them about the security...I even had photographs taken for them.”

“How’d they get in touch with you?” Phillip asked.

“They...they approached me after work,” Signature Line stammered. “They said they could get me out of trouble if I helped them rob the bank.”

“Did you meet any of them?” Phillip asked.

“Once,” Signature Line said. “They brought me down to a house in the Industrial Section to discuss their plans. There were two of them there; a golden earth pony stallion with a purple mane and a dark red unicorn mare with a green mane.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Daring asked.

“I was nervous!” Signature Line said. “The room was dark, and they never told me their real names! I swear, that’s all I know!”

“What’s the address?’ Phillip asked.

“Twenty-seven Hermit Thrush Street,” Signature recited.

Daring looked at Phillip. He was silent for a moment, then nodded. She turned back to Signature Line and walked up to him. He retreated away from her, but was trapped against his car and left with no escape route.

“Go straight home,” Daring ordered, her smirk replaced by a severe expression. “Get what you need, and run. Never stop running.”

Signature Line stared at her for a moment, then rapidly nodded. He turned, fumbling his keys out of his pocket and trying to insert them into the door.

Daring and Phillip both turned and walked away. “Twenty-seven Hermit Thrush,” Daring repeated. “Shall we go for a stroll?”

“Not yet,” Phillip replied. “First we get the cops.”

Daring looked around at him, her eyebrows shooting up into her mane. “You sure?”

“I can’t do this job without their help,” Phillip said flatly. “And I’m in enough shit with them already.”

Daring sighed and rolled her eyes. “Like I said. Being the good guy sucks. Least when I was with the Family, I didn’t have to give a fuck what other ponies thought about me.”

“Daring…” Phillip started to say in a warning tone, but his voice trailed off. He was silent for a couple seconds, then exhaled through his nostrils.

Daring extracted a cigarette from her vest and inserted it into her mouth, biting down on the end. “Eh,” she muttered. “Fuck ‘em anyway.”

“Too right,” Phillip agreed as they exited the parking lot and turned up the sidewalk, heading towards a nearby trolley stop.

Case Three, Chapter Three: Familiar Faces

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The Industrial Section in the western regions of the city was one of the more recent expansions to Ponyville. This neighborhood was composed of cheap housing and apartments, several of them placed claustrophobically close to each other; these ramshackle contraptions were intended to provide for cheap housing for the workers that would work in the great brick factories. The smoke and smog that issued from the great smokestacks still hung heavy in the air of the streets and scratched incessantly at the noses and throats of the ponies that bustled to and fro on the sidewalks.

Coughing, Daring followed Phillip around a corner, walking past a long-abandoned gas station. “How can anypony live here?” she asked, shouldering her way through a young couple of unicorns. The mare and stallion both turned and glared at her as she walked past.

“This way,” Phillip said, pointing down a side road. As they passed the corner, both of them spotted a homeless pony, with a scraggly salt and pepper beard sitting up against the brick wall of a convenience store, an empty coffee cup standing upright next to him. Without looking, Phillip extracted a couple of bits from his pocket and dropped them into the cup, where they jingled merrily.

“Holy Mother bless you, sir!” the stallion rasped, picking up the coins and dropping them into his pocket. Neither Phillip or Daring acknowledged his words of praise, continuing down the street.

Eventually, their surroundings changed from brick apartments and stores to wooden condos, most of them painted in dull colors—yellows, greens, whites, browns, and blacks. The sidewalks became less densely populated. Plots of grass, the mostly vibrant green and occasional splashes of color from patches of flowers almost startling amidst the dull colors, reappeared next to the sidewalks, most of them fenced in by uneven pickets or chain-link. Phillip and Daring walked past a two-story house that had two boarded-up windows surrounded by a large square of chain-link fencing. No sooner had Daring noticed the “Beware of Dog” sign stapled to the fence than a huge black Gerwhin Shepherd launched itself at the gate, which rattled and shook like it might fall over. The dog barked and snarled at them, spit flying from its snout. Both ponies leaped away from the fence with a startled shout.

Daring hissed and glared at the offending animal. “I hate dogs,” she growled.

“Not fond of them either,” Phillip grunted.

Daring felt something pressing against her. She glanced down and noticed that Phillip had flung his foreleg across her chest, in an instinctive attempt to shield her from the perceived danger. She turned and smirked at Phillip, who stared at his foreleg as if just realizing that it was there. He lowered it slowly, his ears turning faintly red.

“Let’s move,” he grunted, walking ahead of Daring. Daring followed behind him, still smirking.

They finally reached Twenty-seven Hermit Thrush Street, which turned out to be a two-story apartment building that stood on its own little block, surrounded by a sea of grass that was bridged by a cracked walkway that led to the blue oak door. The white paint on the walls had faded to a pale, bleached yellow and the curtains in every window were drawn.

Phillip and Daring kept walking past the house, watching it out of the corner of their eyes in order to appear uninterested. They walked past the block, then circled around to study the back of the house. The open backyard was devoid of any decorations, save for a half-hearted attempt at creating a hedge along the back property line that resulted in a tangled mass of foot-high bushes. The dark red back door was shut tightly; the two-step set of stairs that led down it was starting to collapse under its own weight, the rotting boards sagging in the middle.

“No sign of anypony,” Phillip muttered.

“Doesn’t mean nopony’s there,” Daring replied as they walked past the house again and started to circle around. “When did you say the cops would be showing up?”

A long black two-door Chevroneigh Fleetracer pulled up to the curb in front of them and stopped, followed by a police cruiser. Phillip looked into the window of the black car and scowled. “Right now,” he grunted.

The door opened and a mare stepped out. She was a unicorn with a snow white coat and a long mane that spilled down her shoulders like water, colored in shades of dark blue. Her pale sapphire eyes were fixed on Phillip with an icy expression. The mare was wearing a black coat, with her prominently displayed police shield worn around her neck. Her cutie mark was a manila folder with a snowflake embossed on the cover.

“Captain,” Phillip greeted her in a flat tone.

“Finder,” the mare replied in a tone that was so icy that Daring almost shivered. “Did you go into the house?”

“No,” Phillip stated as Officer Wheellock exited her cruiser and approached, accompanied by Detective Trace Evidence. Trace shot Phillip and Daring an apologetic look as he approached. Daring shrugged in a conciliatory gesture.

“Good,” the mare in the coat stated. “Can’t have you messing up the evidence and getting our case thrown out of court. Judge Gavel almost refused to sign the warrant when he heard that you were our informant; we’re on shaky legal ground already.”

“Gavel can go fuck—” Daring started to snap, but Phillip put his hoof over her mouth, silencing her. She glared at him, but he refused to look at her.

“Sergeant, Officer, follow me,” the mare declared to Trace and Wheellock as she turned and stormed towards the target house. Wheellock fell into step behind her, with Trace following behind at his usual lackadaisical pace.

“Who’s this?” Daring asked Phillip as they walked after the group.

“Detective Captain Cold Case,” Phillip replied, glaring at the mare’s back.

“Cold being the operative word,” Daring commented. Phillip grunted in assent.

Cold walked up to the front door of the target house and pounded on it with her hoof. “This is the police! We have a warrant!” she barked.

There was no reply from inside. Cold stepped aside and nodded to Trace. His face creasing in concentration, Trace lit up his horn and fired a concussive spell at the door, throwing it fully open and nearly blasting it clean off the hinges.

“Property damage,” Daring commented. “And you wonder why ponies don’t like you guys?”

Captain Cold Case shot Daring a very icy look as she crossed the threshold behind Officer Wheellock and Trace. “Stay out here until we say you can come in,” she ordered them over her shoulder.

Daring huffed in annoyance and leaned against the wall, scowling. Phillip simply sat down on the porch and waited in silence.

After a couple minutes, Wheellock poked her head out of the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she reported in a sheepish tone. “The house is clear. Captain Case found something in the basement, she wanted you to have a look at it.” She gestured with her head for the two of them to follow her inside. Daring and Phillip passed through an entry hallway with bare walls decorated in floral blue wallpaper and entered a living room. A trio of old but still firm sofas stood in a circle around a low dark brown coffee table, upon which sat a small stack of mail. A three-foot tall radio set stood in the corner; it was off, but Daring could see on the display that it was tuned to a classical music station. Next to the radio set was a closet, the door partly opened to reveal several shirts, jackets, and coats hung up on racks within, including a blue jacket with red trimmings.

Wheellock gestured to an open door. Phillip and Daring descended down a set of creaking wooden steps into a one-room basement. The room was illuminated by four bare lightbulbs that were set into the low ceiling. Most of the walls were covered in blown up blueprints and street maps, covered in red and blue marker lines that marked entry and exit pathways and potential hazards. Three old card tables were placed in the center of the room, littered with photographs, notebooks that were crammed with barely legible writing, burnt cigarettes, partly empty soda cans and coffee cups, and more blueprints and maps. A dozen chairs were placed around the tables.

Cold Case and Trace Evidence were standing to one side of the room, cast in partial shadows by the inadequate lighting. “Phillip,” Cold said as they entered. “You know what to do.”

“Oh, now she’s glad that we’re here,” Daring scoffed.

Without looking at Cold, Phillip walked to the table and began to circle around it, his eyes scanning the surface and the chairs. He sniffed at the cigarettes and the soda and coffee cups, studied shed hairs and dropped feathers that he plucked from the ground, and studied the floor with a magnifying glass. The minutes ticked by in slow silence; Daring watched from the doorway, Captain Cold Case alternated between glaring at Phillip and glaring at Daring, and Trace just watched Phillip working with a stoic expression, his tail twitching from side to side as he waited.

Finally, Phillip stood up straight. “Well?” Cold asked.

“Not much I can tell you,” Phillip stated, walking over to the single chair at the head of the assembled tables. “Boss sat here. Unicorn mare, long green mane. Likes coffee with lots of sweetener. Wears dark purple lipstick.”

“How can you tell that she’s a unicorn?” Trace asked.

“This coffee cup is hers,” Phillip said, nodding to an empty plastic cup sitting in front of the table. There was a purple lipstick stain on the lip of the cup. “No hoofmarks on it.”

Cold and Trace both nodded in understanding. Phillip walked around to the chair on the right, closest to the head. “Number two sat here,” he reported. “Purple hair. Not a unicorn, possibly an earth pony. Tall and heavy, based on the marks on the floor from the chair.” He plucked a half-eaten apple from the table and examined the bites. “Biggest bloody overbite I’ve ever seen. And he smokes, too.” He sniffed at some small circular burns on the side of his chair.

“Anything else useful?” Cold asked.

“Not much,” Phillip shrugged. “I could give you some physical descriptions, but there’s little to go on.”

“You did your best, Phil,” Daring stated.

“I was hoping for better,” Cold snorted. She stared around the room. “These plans, I recognize some of them. That’s for the First Bank,” she stated, pointing at a detailed sketch for a bank vault. “And that’s a floor plan for the movie theater,” she added, nodding at another enlarged sketch tacked up to the wall across from her.

“If we could place all of these plans, we might be able to figure out where they’re planning to hit next,” Trace suggested.

“Fine,” Cold nodded. “But that’s something that we can handle ourselves,” she added, turning to Phillip. “If you two can’t contribute anything further, get out of my crime scene.” With that, she turned around and started studying the plans on the walls, resolutely ignoring him.

Phillip glared at her for a moment, but Trace caught his eye and shook his head slightly. With a quiet sigh, Phillip turned and walked towards the door, gesturing with his head for Daring to exit with him. Daring opened her mouth in preparation to launch a very vigorous protest, but he silenced her with a glare. Scowling, Daring followed Phillip back up the stairs into the living room of the safe house.

“What a bitch!” Daring hissed as soon as she was sure that they were out of earshot.

“Cold fought tooth and hoof to get where she is,” Phillip stated. “And she’s on our side, no worries about that.”

“She could maybe act like it,” Daring snarled. “Do all of the cops in the PPD hate you?”

“It’s not worth getting hot under the collar over,” Phillip shrugged.

“After all the shit you do for them?” Daring replied, whirling around on him.

“We do,” Phillip corrected. “And I’m not in this business for ponies to like me. Didn’t think you were either.”

“I’m not,” Daring answered. “But I don’t appreciate ponies talking shit about us, either.”

Phillip just shrugged and turned to exit. Daring scowled, took one last look around the room, and followed him out. They pushed through the front door and walked outside; Officer Wheellock, who was standing outside the door, nodded to them as they walked past.

“So what do we do now?” Daring asked, turning up her collar against the frosty wind that was assailing her coat.

“Can’t do much of anything here,” Phillip stated. “Don’t have enough info to go on right now. We have to wait and see what happens next.”

“I hate waiting for stuff to happen,” Daring grumbled.

“Tell you what,” Phillip said, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “Let’s find a bottle-o that has Manticore Rare and brainstorm some ideas.”

Daring’s ears instantly stood up at the word “Manticore.” “You sweet talker, you,” she purred, nuzzling against Phil’s side and giggling at the scarlet coloring that spread across his ears.

They found a small liquor store not far down the street and purchased two bottles of Manticore Rare. They sat on a bench on the sidewalk, sipping their bottles and watching the ponies pass by.

“You have any ideas on where the thieves are gonna hit next?” Phil asked.

“I’m sure Captain Frost can figure that out on her own—” Daring started to grumble, but then stopped. Her eyes widened slowly.

“What is it?” Phillip asked, sitting up straight.

“The uniform in the closet,” Daring muttered, tapping her head in thought. “I know I’ve seen that logo before…” She closed her eyes and tried to settle her mind, struggling to recall the living room: the sights, the sounds, the odors, and sensations.

Something tried to bring itself to her attention, like an itch in her skull, demanding her immediate focus. Forcing out the residual image of Cold Case glaring at her, she followed the trail that her instincts were laying out for her. At the end of the tracks was the pile of mail that had been on the table. She tried to recall the addresses on the envelopes, forcing them out of her subconscious memory…

“The bank!” she cried.

“What bank?” Phillip asked.

“In the closet of the house, there was a uniform for a security guard at the Ritz Bank,” Daring stated. “And one of the envelopes on the table was from the Ritz Bank; looked like a paycheck. One of our thieves works for the bank!”

“You sure?” Phillip asked.

“I scouted out the Ritz dozens of times myself for potential jobs in the Family,” Daring said. “I know what their uniforms look like.”

Phillip stood up, tossing his partly full bottle of whiskey into a nearby recycling can. “Well, let’s have a go at it,” he declared, straightening his vest. “The Ritz is only a half mile from here, easy walk—”

Daring grinned and chucked her bottle into the can as well. A moment later, a gray streak swooped up into the sky, accompanied by a squawk of surprise and protest.

“It’s only half a bloody mile, I said!”

The Ritz Bank, named after the pony who founded it generations ago, was a modestly sized establishment, but it made up for its size with its haughty beauty and visibility. White brick formed the front wall, with the bank’s name spelled out in two-inch high gold lettering over the revolving glass door.

Phillip and Daring entered the door and found themselves inside a great circular lobby. Their hooves sunk into the plush golden-red carpeting. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting them all in a luminous yellow glow. Marble countertops formed an arch that spanned across half of the room’s circumference; behind the countertops were several ponies in red-breasted suits, assisting customers with their business. On the opposite side of the room were several doors that led to offices. A security guard in a blue jacket with red trimmings stood next to the door, studying them with a friendly but professional gaze. Across from them was a large portrait of the bank’s founder, Glitter Ritz herself, a golden earth pony mare with long green and golden locks, dressed in an ivory white dress with jewels sewn into the golden trim.

“May I help you?” a teller asked, approaching them. The blonde-maned unicorn with the golden brown coat eyed them over a pince-nez.

“We need to speak to a manager,” Phillip said. “We have a few questions about a recent hire of yours.”

“Ah,” the teller nodded. “I shall pass your message along. Please wait here.” He gestured them towards a grouping of cushions that sat around a low table loaded with magazines and newspapers to the side, then turned and strode away.

Phillip and Daring walked over to the miniature lounge and settled themselves down on the rich cushions. Daring grabbed a recent copy of the Foal Free Press off the table and turned to the crossword puzzle, while Phillip took the time to study the other ponies in the room. Customers flowed in and out of the door, some only staying long enough to speak with a teller, some entering or exiting the offices.

“You really think that these thieves are connected to the ponies that were killing the Disciples?” Daring asked, sucking on a cap of an old plastic pen.

“It’s a possibility,” Phillip replied, still looking around the lobby with an expression of disinterest on his face.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Daring said. “So far, they’ve only been after other criminals, right?”

Phillip didn’t reply. “So maybe,” Daring continued. “Maybe they’re like us. Maybe they’re just trying to—”

“Heads up,” Phil whispered. Daring looked up at him, noticing that even though he was seemingly studying the portrait of Glitter Ritz on the far wall, his posture had stiffened slightly and he had lowered his right hoof close to the pocket that she knew contained his baton.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Earth pony at teller seven,” Phillip whispered, not looking around at her. “Purple mane, pale gold body. Cutie mark of a gray hoofprint.”

Without turning her head, Daring panned her peripheral gaze across the room and spotted the pony. He was sitting in front of a teller, a nervous smile flickering and faltering on his face. He wore a badly pressed white dress shirt and a mustard yellow tie that clashed horribly with his everything. His silvery eyes darted about behind his thick glasses. A black briefcase sat on the ground next to him.

“All right then, sir,” the burro behind the counter said, smiling as he flicked through some papers in front of him. “In order to open an account, I’ll need a full name.”

“Er…” the pale golden pony said, licking his lips. Daring noticed his large overbite and yellowing teeth as he spoke. “R-Robin Debank.”

“I see,” the teller said, scribbling down some notes with a pen. “Now, I will also need—”

“Wait,” the pony interrupted, making eye contact with the teller for the first time. “Um...my name is kind of unusual. Could you just...make sure you got it right?”

“I am certain that I have it correct, sir,” the teller replied patiently. “Now, if you—”

“Could you...you just say it out loud for me?” the pony asked, his voice subtly rising to a vaguely desperate pitch.

The smile fell off the teller’s face. “Robin Debank,” he stated.

“What was that?” the pony asked, leaning forward as though he hadn’t heard.

The teller sighed. “You are Robin Debank?” he said.

“MADE YOU SAY IT!” the pony crowed, his nervous demeanor instantly disappearing as he stood up straight. He reached underneath his shirt and whipped out a small black remote, holding it high up into the air. Every eye in the room turned towards the pony, focusing on the foreign object.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” the pony yelled, clicking the remote.

Instantly, Phillip whirled around and tackled Daring to the floor, shielding her with his body. As he did so, the briefcase exploded like thunder, blanketing the entire lobby in thick clouds of smoke. Screams of panic rose from the crowd, and there was a thundering of hooves as everypony made a mad scramble for the closest exit. Fire alarms in the ceiling began to blare, and the automatic sprinklers activated, drenching everypony with gallons of cold water. Cackling, the pony with the overbite dashed across the room and into one of the offices; the security guard at the door followed him, barking instructions and orders into the radio that he had pulled from his belt in between coughs and wheezes.

Coughing and choking on smoke and water, Daring squinted her eyes to see, but the vapors stung at her eyes, making them water. Phil’s weight shifted off of her, and she felt his hoof running down her drenched shoulder and foreleg. On instinct, she grabbed his hoof and gripped it tight; the knowledge that he was next to her was comforting to her.

“What do we do?” she shouted through her coughing. A blinded pony slammed into her and she was nearly pulled away from her partner; she instinctively tightened her grip on his hoof. Phillip let out a hiss of pain in response.

“Smoke bomb’s a distraction,” Phillip said. “We need to get inside, get to the vault. That’s where they’ll be.”

“Got it!” Daring called and started to push forward through the smoke. Phil reached around and grabbed the back of her shirt; she used her free hoof to guard her face, protecting her from other ponies that ran into her in the darkness.

“Can you clear out this smoke?” Phillip asked, coughing.

Spreading her wings, Daring began to flap them forward, creating a gust of wind that blew the smoke aside and flinging water forward. The clouds were too thick to clear completely, but the wind helped her to see more clearly; she could make out the shapes of furniture and ponies. She squinted around through her dripping bangs, spotted a door behind the counter where the tellers stood, and began to march determinedly towards it. Phil followed behind her. Daring roughly pushed ponies out of the way as she pushed through the smoke.

They reached the door and Daring seized the handle, but it refused to open. Growling in frustration, she turned and shifted her weight onto her forelegs, preparing to buck the door down.

But then something dangled in front of her face, catching her attention and making her pause. Phillip was standing in front of her, holding up a set of keys that he’d taken from the belt of the terrified teller that was cowering underneath the table.

“Right,” Daring said with a small smile, taking the keys and quickly flicking through them. She settled on a short silver one and inserted it into the lock. It turned fully and Daring pushed the door open. Behind the door was a long hallway, with only a few doors inserted into the walls.

“If I remember right,” Daring said, shaking her head and flinging water everywhere, including all over Phillip, “The door to the vault is at the end of this hallway.” She proceeded forward at a fast trot to the doorway at the end and began to sort through the keys, looking for the right one.

“Wait,” Phillip cut her off, laying a dripping hoof on her shoulder. He pressed his ear against the door and listened intently, blocking out the continuing fire alarms and shouting from the main lobby, as well as the wailing of approaching police sirens that were sounding from outside. On the other side of the door, he could hear heavy breathing from four different voices on the other side and four sets of nervously shifting hooves.

“Four security guards on the other side of that door,” he reported. “They’re facing this way.”

“Of course,” Daring nodded. “At the first sign of trouble, they’d go to block the vault. This isn’t the thieves’ target.”

“But then, what is?” Phillip asked.

Daring thought for a moment. “The jewel room!” she cried. “The Ritz does jewel evaluations, they’d probably have a bunch of gems here.”

“Where?” Phillip asked.

“This way,” Daring said, turning and heading back up the hallway. She stopped at a door on the left side and quickly selected a key from the ring. Inserting it into the lock, she twisted it and unlocked the door, pushing it wide open.

Inside was a long room, with several desks equipped with table-mounted magnifying glasses, balance scales, and boxes of equipment for studying and valuing gems. At the end of the room was an open safe. A security guard, a dark red unicorn mare with her green mane tied up in a bun and the cutie mark of a trio of orange stars, was standing in front of the safe, shoveling the multicolored stones into an open sack. She whirled around in surprise at being caught.

“Drop them,” Phillip ordered, running towards the thief and drawing his baton.

The guard responded by tossing the bag of jewels at Phil’s head, forcing him to duck. The unicorn lunged at him, her right hook flying at his jaw. He struck the inside of her foreleg with his baton and swung at her head, but she ducked beneath him and darted past him, moving with surprising speed. Grinning, the mare bucked Phillip in the side, causing him to fall to the ground with a grunt of pain.

Daring launched herself at the thief with her wings, spiraling up into the air to perform a flying kick. The unicorn created a bright orange shield in front of herself, blocking the attack and causing Daring to tumble to the ground clumsily. She landed on all fours and immediately followed up with a one-two buck. The kicks slammed into the shield with the force of a pair of sledgehammers, causing the thief to stumble backward.

Recovering from the blow, Phillip swept his baton across the mare’s hind legs, striking at her ankles and knocking her legs out from beneath her. The mare rolled over onto her back and fired a concussive spell at Phil, striking him in the chest. He flew backward and smashed into the wall, then slid to the floor, groaning.

The mare fired another spell at Daring, but Daring flew straight up into the air to avoid it, then dropped down like a hammer, driving her knee into the floor as the mare rolled out of the way and got to her hooves. The thief launched a punch at Daring with her right hoof, and Daring stepped back to avoid it.

But as the offending hoof passed in front of her face, Daring’s eyes widened. She saw a mark on the frog of the mare’s hoof: a set of crude red lines that formed the rough shape of a keyring. Like a light switch being turned on, Daring suddenly recognized the mare’s rounded face and her cutie mark of orange stars.

“Sparks?” she asked.

The other mare froze, her hoof hanging in midair. “Daring?” she whispered.

Case Three, Chapter Four: Trust

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The mares stared at one another, neither of them moving. Daring glanced over at Phillip; he was still laying against the wall, moaning faintly.

“What happened to you?” Daring whispered. “I haven’t heard from you for over a year. Not since I…” She paused, her next words—her admission—balking on her tongue. “Since I ratted out the others.”

“Duh,” Bright Sparks rolled her eyes. “I went into hiding. Nopony hearing from me was kind of the point.” She cocked her head, one ear pointed up.

Daring paused, listening. And then she heard it, too: the police sirens had stopped.

“We don’t have much time. Where’s Silent Step?” Sparks asked urgently.

“Who?” Daring asked.

“My partner!” Sparks hissed.

“I don’t know,” Daring said. “He ran off.”

“Damn. He broke script. I need to go,” Sparks said, turning towards a window at the end of the room and pushing it open. Daring made no move to stop her. Sparks grabbed the sack that she had loaded her booty into and swung it over her shoulder. She started to climb out of the window but paused halfway.

“Can I trust you, Daring?” she asked, looking directly at Daring.

Daring hesitated, glancing at Phillip, whose eyelids were fluttering faintly as he tried to wake up. She then looked back at her friend and raised her hoof, showing off the brand that still marked her skin. “We’re Family,” she said in a low, determined voice. “That doesn’t break.”

“The church,” Sparks said, glaring at Phillip. “Be there at five tonight.” And with that, she slipped completely out of the window, out from the grasp of the anti-teleportation wards. With a flash of orange lights, she vanished.

Daring stared for a moment at the spot where her friend had just been, then turned to Phillip, who was groaning and holding his head as he stood up. She crouched down next to him, draped his foreleg over her shoulders, and lifted him up.

“Where’d she go?” Phillip asked, looking around.

“She…” Daring started to say, glancing at the window. “I’m sorry, Phil. She hit me with a spell and got away.”

Phillip glared up at her, and she instantly knew that he had smelled her lie; it seemed to hang in the air with a reeking odor like rotting fish. But before he could press the issue, the door opened and a police officer dashed into the room, his revolver drawn.

“Sentry?” Phillip asked.

Flash Sentry stopped as though he’d run into an invisible brick wall, his eyebrows rising straight up as though they might leap right off his face. “Sir...er, Finder! What’re you two doing here?”

“Investigating,” Phillip replied, shaking Daring off of him with a grunt. “What’s going on?”

“We’re clearing the bank,” Flash replied, then shook his head with an expression of sudden realization. “Oh, right! I need to get you and the other civilians out of here. Come with me.” He signaled for them to follow and turned to head out of the room. Daring and Phillip both followed him out, headed back up the hallway, through the now-empty and drenched lobby that still smelled of smoke, and back out into the exterior of the bank.

Four police cruisers and a police motorcycle, their lights spinning wildly, were parked in front of the bank, forming an arc that was designed to block any traffic into or out of the bank. Police officers crouched behind the vehicles, weapons drawn. Prowl and Bumblebee were standing beside one cruiser, both of their revolvers aimed at the front door.

“Is that all of them?” Prowl called to Sentry as he escorted Phillip and Daring out of the bank.

“I think so, ma’am,” Flash replied, pausing next to the motorcycle and drawing a pump-action twenty-gauge from a holster attached to the side. “What's our orders?”

“We hold and wait,” Prowl replied, keeping her eyes fixed on the door. “Keep the thief from escaping.”

“Who’s in charge?” Phillip asked, pointedly not looking at Daring even though she kept trying to catch his eye.

“I am,” a voice called. Captain Cold Case was standing behind another cruiser, holding a pair of field binoculars to her eyes as she watched one of the windows on the second floor of the bank. A golden-coated griffon police officer stood next to her, squinting at the window.

“He’s still in there,” the griffon reported; his nametag read MacWillard. “Pacing back and forth, watching the door.”

“What’s happening?” Phillip asked.

“The thief has a guard’s weapon,” Cold replied, not looking up from the binoculars. “He’s barricaded himself in an office on the second floor and is trying to negotiate his way out.”

“Does he have any hostages?” Phil asked, squinting at the window they were all focused upon. Daring could very vaguely see the silhouette of a pony walking back and forth in front of the glass.

“Negative,” Cold replied tersely. “Wheellock?”

“One second, ma'am,” a voice called just to the right of the captain.

Daring looked around to see the speaker and her heart seemed to freeze in her chest. Wheellock was crouched behind the cruiser, braced against the engine hood. In her hooves was a rifle: a Summerfield .30-03 M1903. The wooden stock of the weapon was so smooth and polished that it seemed to have just been plucked from the assembly line, and the metal bolt, barrel, and trigger assembly seemed to glow in all their horrible, burnished glory. Wheellock pressed the scope to her right eye, closing her left. Her chest rose as she sucked in a breath through her open mouth, held it for a moment, then slowly let the air out through her nostrils. Daring saw her expression subtly mold into a stony mask of stoicism. It was a look that she had seen before, and it sent a chill up her spine; she knew what was going to happen.

“I have a shot,” Wheellock stated in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.

"Take it," Cold Case said, no emotion in her voice whatsoever as she ordered a pony's death.

"No, don't!" Daring cried, starting forward, but Phillip's hoof against her chest stopped her. The cry had barely left her mouth before she saw Wheellock's hoof squeeze the trigger. A burst of flame blossomed from the tip of the weapon, accompanied by a crack of thunder. A crack appeared in the window and the silhouette dropped out of sight so fast that it seemed that they just disappeared.

The deed was done in less than half a second. "Move in and secure the bank, there could be more," Cold Case ordered. A line of police officers moved up to the front doors, guns drawn, with Sergeant MacWillard in the lead.

Daring shoved Phillip's hoof off her chest and stormed up to Cold Case, who did not turn around to face her. "Is shooting ponies in the face your answer to everything?" she snapped.

“He posed a lethal threat,” Case stated, without any change in her tone.

“He was trapped and outnumbered!” Daring protested. “You didn’t need to shoot him!”

Cold Case turned around and glared at Daring. “He was a thief who was associated with the same ponies who were armed with a Blackhorn Automatic. A weapon that was designed for and issued to Crystal Soldiers under Sombra during the war. I find it odd that you’d care so much about somepony like that.”

“He was still a pony,” Daring countered, glaring back at the captain.

The icy-eyed mare continued to glare at Daring, then grunted and turned away. "You're done here. Move along," she ordered, following Wheellock up the stairs into the bank. Daring stared after her retreating form, suddenly realizing that she was shaking down to the end of her tail.

Phillip laid a hoof on her shoulder, giving her a look that was as icy as a frost dragon’s breath. “Let’s go home,” he said in a voice that gave no room for argument.

Daring looked at him for a moment, then glanced up at the window where, moments earlier, Silent Step had been standing. The window was marred by a circular hole surrounded by spiderweb-like cracking.

Sighing, she followed Phillip to the street curb, where he hailed a taxi to take them back home. During the entire trip, he not once spoke to her or looked at her.

The silence wounded her more than any words ever could.

When they finally reached 221 Honeybee Bakery, dark clouds were gathering across the sky, slithering in front of the sun. Phillip exited the taxi, tossed some bits at the driver, and stalked up to the door. Daring followed him, her stomach churning inside her.

Phillip let her inside and guided her into the sitting room, then whirled around to face her. “The mare,” he spoke, his tone seeming to shudder beneath the weight of his barely restrained anger. “Who was she?”

Daring took a slow breath, forcing herself not to step back or flinch, and spoke. “Bright Sparks. She was a member of the Family. My Family.”

Phillip did not reply, continuing to glower at her. Daring looked back into his stormcloud gray eyes and continued. “She was my best friend, and the only one that got away after I...after I ratted them out. I told her that I was going to turn everypony in and gave her a chance to run.”

“Why?” Phillip asked.

“Because…” Daring started to say, then paused. Her stomach churned again, then clenched, pushing something up from inside her, the bitter taste of bile rushing up her throat to her mouth. She returned Phillip’s glower with a glare of her own and began to speak, the words rushing out of her.

“I left my parents when I was thirteen, and good fucking riddance to them both; neither of them ever gave a shit about me, half the time they couldn't even remember I actually existed, much less my name. Living on the street was better than having to put up with them. Bright Sparks found me and took me into the Family. Do you even know what they were?"

"I know what you told everypony," Phillip replied. "The Family was an order of thieves, spies, and treasure hunters for hire."

"More than that!" Daring snapped. "The Family was a group of ponies from centuries ago. They took in the homeless, ex-cons, outcasts...ponies like me. We promised to stick together no matter what, and to help each other, even if that meant breaking the law. And especially if that meant stealing from those who stole from others. We really were a family: they named me Daring Do, they gave me a home, they taught me...they gave me my life!”

“And yet they made you brand your hoof,” Phillip pointed out, looking down at her right foreleg.

The mark suddenly burned again, Daring’s entire arm flaring with pain. She bit down on her lip to contain a cry of pain, fighting through the distraction. “I’m not saying it was all sunshine and rainbows,” she grunted. “It was an old tradition, as old as the Family itself. We had to get branded with this cursed iron that the original members found years ago. When I got branded, it connected to my magic somehow. That's why it burns when I get upset. That's why it can never come off. That's why it will always be there, reminding me of who I am.” She raised her hoof and looked down at the bright red brand.

“I’m a Family member,” she whispered, staring at the mark. “Forever.”

“And they stole,” Phillip stated, frowning.

“Never from anypony who couldn’t afford it or didn't deserve it,” Daring countered. "Most of what Sparks and I did was harmless treasure hunting that we sold to museums and shit...at least I thought it was."

“But you turned them in,” Phillip prompted.

Daring sucked in a breath and looked away from Phillip.

“Because...because it changed,” she admitted, tilting her head down and sweeping her gaze across the floor. “When they took me in, it seemed all right because we were just making money and looking out for each other, and no one was really getting hurt...at least no one that didn't deserve it...but then I met..." She paused, her tongue refusing to form the name for a moment, so she had to force it out of her mouth. "...Mojo. The boss.” She shuddered, sucking in a breath through her teeth.

“And I realized the truth. It was all about money. The end. Stealing weapons for mob bosses or foreign powers. Taking historical treasures from their rightful owners to sell to some collector. Even...even assassination. All that Mojo and the other higher-ups cared about was getting paid and fuck whoever got hurt doing it. I couldn't believe I'd been so blind...”

Phillip’s expression faltered for a moment, and he half-raised his hoof, as though tempted to try to reach out towards her and comfort her, but he suppressed the urge and continued to glare at her.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Daring continued, her breathing accelerating as the pain of the cursed brand continued to spread like fire up her foreleg. “I had to stop them. But Bright Sparks...she was my friend. She was my sister. She and I were the only ones who did what we could to avoid killing. So I told her what I was going to do, gave her the chance to run and hide.” She lowered her hoof to the floor and forced herself to breathe evenly, emptying her mind of all emotion. Slowly, the fire ebbed away.

Phillip was silent for a few moments, then spoke in a softer, gentler tone. “I understand you wanting to protect her,” he said. “But she’s still a thief.”

“She’s still my friend!” Daring spat, the burning of bile in her stomach and throat blocking out the pain of the brand. Phillip stepped back slightly, his eyes widening momentarily in response to her anger. She thrust her brand-marked hoof at him, and he stepped back fully, instinctively raising his hoof to defend himself.

“And given circumstances a bit different, I’d be no different than her!” Daring shouted.

Phillip scowled and grabbed her hoof. “You are different than her,” he snapped. “You’re not a thief anymore, and she is.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break!” Daring shouted, ripping her hoof from his grasp. “You and I are both perfectly fucking aware that we’ve broken the law...but at least I haven’t broken anypony’s kneecap!”

“You didn’t have a problem with it,” Phillip stated.

“I didn't. Don’t. I'm just pointing out that you haven’t got an argument,” Daring stated. “Besides, the only places that they’ve hit are businesses connected to Monopoly and Silvertongue, right?”

“Yes…” Phillip admitted hesitantly.

“So how exactly is she different than us?” Daring asked.

“She may be connected to the ponies who murdered Nightmare Moon Disciples in the streets,” Phillip stated, sounding as though this might cut off her entire argument.

Daring faltered for a moment, then scowled. “Who weren’t innocent ponies,” she countered. “It might not have been the way I’d preferred to deal with it, but—”

Phillip interrupted with a raised hoof. “What it boils down to is this,” he said. “How do you expect me to trust you after this?”

“At least I’m being honest now,” Daring snapped. “I think it’s funny you should ask me that when you don’t trust me.”

“What do you mean?” Phillip asked.

“Lucky Dice,” Daring hurled the accusation at him.

Phillip flinched as though she had struck him, then turned his head away. “That’s different,” he hissed through his teeth.

“How?” Daring pressed, walking around to glare into his eyes. “I kept a secret from you, you’re keeping secrets from me. And how do you expect me to trust you if you’re keeping secrets from me?”

Phillip stared at her for a moment, then turned his head away again. “It’s not…I don’t…”

“Not what?” Daring snapped, pressing her forehead against his to force him to look at her.

He pulled away from her and turned his back on her. “This conversation is over,” he declared, walking out of the room.

“The hell it is!” Daring shouted, but her only answer was the door to the basement stairs slamming, followed by a heavy, rhythmic thudding of hooves smashing into the heavy bag.

She let out a breath in a half-sigh, half-growl and stalked out into the back deck, slamming the door behind her. The evening air kissed her skin as she seized the pack of cigarettes from her pocket. Ripping a fag from the pack, she placed it in her mouth and grabbed her lighter, snapping it open and lighting it on the third click. Lighting the end of the fag, she sucked in a full lungful of mint-tasting smoke. She held it in her chest for a couple moments, then exhaled slowly, blowing smoke spitefully up at the encroaching storm clouds over her head. As she exhaled, she felt as though she were exhaling all of her tension, her muscles relaxing and the acidic burn of her anger abating.

But though the burning of the cursed brand abated slightly, it did not fade away completely. And after a moment, Daring realized that it was the only thing that she could feel; with her anger gone, her chest felt hollow, as though her innards had been scooped out and thrown away.

“He doesn’t trust me,” she whispered, staring down at her hooves.

As if on cue, the rain broke over her head, the first drops pattering against the brim of her hat and dripping down into her mane. Her cigarette went out with a sizzle, but she barely noticed.

She glanced down at her watch. It was already 4:15. Getting to the church would take time, and she’d want to get there early to make sure that it was clear.

But even as Daring spread her wings to prepare to fly, her hooves refused to leave the cold, wet wood of the deck. She felt as though a weight was tied around her body, holding her to the ground, to the house.

She glanced back over her shoulder, looking into the window. She could see into the sitting room through the kitchen, and for a moment, she almost fooled herself into believing that she could see Phillip sitting on the sofa, his saxophone in his hooves, eyes closed as he played.

But he wasn’t there. He’d turned his back on her. Just like everypony else had.

Except for Bright Sparks.

Daring took in a breath, flicking the cigarette away. Spreading her wings, she forced herself to take off, lifting from the ground into the cold, rainy, endlessly gray skies. She turned and flew eastwards, every flap of her wings seeming to take an enormous effort, as though the air had turned into molasses. Even though she tried to look forward to seeing her friend again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that when she’d taken off, a part of her had ripped off and been left behind on the rainy back deck.

The old church hadn’t changed much; the white paint on the sloped rooftops was still patchy and crumbling and the hole in the side of the squat belltower revealed that it was still vacant. But the flower gardens that surrounded the building were colorful and lovingly tended to, and the floor to ceiling windows that formed the walls of the sanctuary were still clean, allowing Daring to see inside. It still looked much the same; the same rows of wooden pews with the red cushions, the same table of candles and small but well-polished pipe organ that sat on the small dais at the head of the room, and the same stained glass window at the head of the room that depicted the Holy Mother, represented as a softly glowing yellow star with the faint image of an eye inside it, looking down upon Faust and Speranza, the first alicorns, who were admiring their new wings with looks of awe: Faust, white-coated with long red hair and the cutie mark of an inkpot and quill, and Speranza, crystal blue with emerald hair and the cutie mark of a rainbow-colored circle.

The sign next to the concrete pathway that led to the main door read “Church of Navahism. Pastor: Joyful Sound” in faintly peeling letters. Daring looked at it and took some small comfort in the fact that something in her life hadn’t yet changed. She shook her rain-soaked mane to get it out of her face and walked up the pathway to the double doors and entered the two-story building attached to the sanctuary.

The lobby was empty of ponies, though the tables with the pamphlets, newsletters, and coffee machine were still set up around the room. She pushed through the doors into the sanctuary and entered. The pews were mostly empty, though there were a few ponies sitting by themselves. Some had their heads bowed, others were watching the pale blonde-maned jenny that was practicing the organ at the head of the room.

A steady clicking, tapping noise alerted Daring to another pony approaching her from the left. She turned to see a unicorn mare walking towards her. She had a sunshine yellow coat and the pale sky blue and white of her mane was starting to melt into gray. Her cutie mark was a dandelion flower with a musical note, and she held a red and white cane in her left hoof, which she tapped on the ground as she walked forward.

“Hello, child,” Joyful Sound smiled at her, looking at her with her clouded-over blue eyes.

“Pastor,” Daring greeted her briefly, walking past her. She scanned the pews and spotted Bright Sparks sitting on the second row on the left, all the way at the end. Her head was bowed, pressed against her clasped hooves. Daring slowly slid into the pew next to her and waited in silence.

After a few moments, Sparks sniffled. “Step…” she whispered. “He was just supposed to run...he shouldn’t have...they just...they fucking shot him…” She sobbed quietly, her shoulders shaking. Daring draped her wing over her friend and held her close. Eventually, Sparks’ sobs subsided and she took a deep breath to get herself back under control.

“You came alone?” Sparks whispered urgently, glancing up to make sure that Joyful Sound was nowhere near and couldn’t hear them over the organ music.

“Yes,” Daring nodded.

“What about your friend? The detective?” Sparks spat quietly.

“He…” Daring felt the words pause in her throat, scratching against her inner walls for a moment, then flowing out of her mouth. “He’s out of the picture.”

“You swear?” Sparks pressed, glaring at Daring.

“He doesn’t trust me,” Daring replied. “And why should he?” She gritted her teeth. “He’s a cop. First, last, and always. To him, I was just a thief.”

The cursed brand began to burn, but she ignored the pain. Sparks glared at her for a moment more, then her expression softened and she hugged Daring. “I missed you, sis,” she whispered into Daring’s shoulder.

“I missed you, too,” Daring replied, hugging her in reply. “What happened to you?”

“I lammed it, like you told me,” Sparks said. “I was hiding for a few months, made ends meet as a handypony. And then I met somepony. Somepony who could help me, help us fight.”

“Fight?” Daring asked.

A spark shone in Bright Sparks eyes, a spark that grew into a fire. “You and I have always hated it, Daring—the rich, fat fucks who think that they can run this city, like Silvertongue and Monopoly. They get rich off of the blood of ponies like us and other innocent ponies. They steal and they kill because they can, not because they needed to like us!” She let out a breath in a growl. “They need to be stopped. And they can’t be stopped legally. We need to hurt them, take away their money and their assets, break them down piece by piece.”

Daring listened in silence, listened and allowed the words to burrow into her brain. Silvertongue’s arrogant smirk and Monopoly’s twisted sneer flashed across her mind in every vivid detail, and the bile in her stomach began to boil. The muscles in her forelegs tensed in preparation to attack.

“And she can help us both,” Sparks continued. “The both of us, together, just like old times...except this time we won’t be just surviving. We’ll be fighting back. And we’ll be winning.”

She smiled up at Daring, her expression hopeful and expectant. Daring looked back at her, the fire that she had ignited spreading across her entire body, galvanized by the triumphant chords that echoed from the pipe organ. She did not hesitate for a moment; her reply was a smile and a nod.

Sparks’ smile grew wider. “Great! Come on.” She stood and walked down the center aisle. Daring followed her back out of the sanctuary, through the lobby and back outside. The rain had intensified, the drops pelting down like small hammers upon their backs.

Sparks walked some distance away from the church, gesturing for Daring to come closer. Daring stepped in close. Sparks closed her eyes in concentration as her horn began to glow orange.

Then, with a flash of orange light, the two of them vanished.

At the same time, back at 221 Honeybee Bakery, Phillip emerged from the basement. Sweat dripped down his brow and his chest rose and fell heavily as he breathed through an open mouth. His front hooves were bright red from punching the bag and he winced quietly every time he gingerly put weight on them. Droplets of blood on the floor marked his path up the stairs and down the hallway.

“Daring?” he called out.

Silence was his only answer. He walked into the empty sitting room and looked around.

“Daring?” he called again, his voice carrying a small tremor of uncertainty. He trotted up the stairs and looked into Daring’s room, only to find it empty as well.

“Daring? Where are you?” he shouted, descending the stairs again at a faster pace. He walked out onto the back deck, into the pelting rain that tumbled from the darkening skies. Glancing down, he spotted Daring’s partly smoked and soaked fag, lying pathetically on the deck. He looked up and scanned the clouds, but found no sign of her.

“Daring?” he whispered, knowing that she wouldn’t answer. And that she’d never answer again.

Case Three, Chapter Five: Plans in Motion

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When the orange light faded from her sight, Daring found herself standing in a basement. A pair of lamps hung from the ceiling, casting the room in bright light. She observed several tables set up along the length of the room, scattered with maps, blueprints, photographs and letters. Boxes and crates lined the walls of the room; empty soda bottles, coffee cups and the remains of fast food meals were scattered across the floor. Several ponies were sitting or standing around the tables, deep in discussion.

“I’m home, everypony!” Bright Sparks called out, the others halting their work and looking up at the sound of her voice. “And I’ve brought a friend!”

The other ponies all focused their gazes on Daring. Several eyes widened in surprise; a number narrowed in suspicion.

“What’s she doing here?” a light gray unicorn stallion with white-blue mane that stood up in short spikes atop his head snarled, pointing accusingly at Daring. His cutie mark was a forked lightning bolt and he wore a short dark brown open vest. “She’s with the cops! I saw her with that snoop, the one in that hat!”

“She’s on our side now, Boltstrike,” Bright Sparks said patiently. “Daring, show them.”

Without a word, Daring raised her right hoof, showing everypony the brand mark of the Family on her skin. A gasp rose amongst the other thieves at the sight.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Boltstrike snarled to Sparks. “She ratted out the rest of you to save her own skin a year ago!”

“The other members of the Family deserved to be turned in,” Bright Sparks said calmly. “They’d just become killers for hire. And she saved me.”

Boltstrike whirled on Daring. “What gives you the right?” he challenged, advancing on her. “What makes you think you can be here?”

He reached a hoof back and lunged it forward, aiming to shove Daring backward. The next thing that he knew, he was sprawled facedown on the floor with his foreleg twisted painfully behind his back and Daring’s knee on the back of his neck.

“That’s what makes me think I can be here,” Daring stated, tightening her vice-like grip on Boltstrike’s knee joint. He yelled in pain and ceased his struggling.

“Okay, Daring, I think you’ve proven your point,” Sparks said, barely containing her laughter. Daring got up off of Boltstrike, who scrambled away from her and climbed to his hooves, cursing her with his eyes the entire time. He limped away, rubbing his foreleg.

“C’mon, let me introduce you to the rest of the team,” Sparks said, excitedly leading Daring ahead of her. “You’ve met Boltstrike,” Sparks said, pointing to the unicorn, who growled back. “This is Dusty Tail,” a tan unicorn stallion shook Daring’s hoof, “Black Licorice,” a black and purple earth pony mare saluted, ”her brother Red Licorice,” a red and orange earth pony nodded, “Sledgehammer,” a bulky, bald dark brown unicorn grinned at her, “Gear Shift…” A gray pegasus with an oily mane and thick beard nodded.

There were just under a dozen ponies for Daring to be introduced to. The last pony in line was a stallion sitting by himself. He was an earth pony with a gray coat and a long, wispy indigo mane. He sat hunched over, staring at his front hooves. His cutie mark was a pair of oak leaves, floating on a gust of wind. He looked up when Daring and Sparks approached, blinking his brown eyes sadly.

“And this is Leaf Dance,” Sparks introduced him to Daring. “He and Silent..” She paused abruptly, her face molding into an expression of numb realization and recall. “He and Silent were brothers.”

Daring looked down at Leaf, who gazed sadly back at her. “I...I tried to stop them,” she found herself stammering. “I couldn’t…” She let out a defeated sigh. “I’m sorry.” That was the only thing she could say.

Leaf Dance merely nodded and looked back down at his hooves. Bright Sparks laid a hoof on his shoulder for a moment; he did not respond.

“All right, everypony, we need to get to work,” Sparks declared, walking back to the center of the room, where a large table was set up with a set of blueprints and maps scattered across it. Everypony else gathered around.

“We just got word from Janus,” Sparks explained, laying her hooves on the table. “The target is definitely at Miranda and Sons.”

“Janus?” Daring asked.

“He’s our contact within Silvertongue’s organization,” Sparks explained. She shuffled through some of the papers and extracted a newspaper clipping. It was a personal ad:

“Lonely mare seeks a good-hearted stallion with a taste for shrimp scampi and long walks on the beach. Call 839-0877 and ask for Janus at 4:15 PM.”

“It’s a different number every time,” Sparks continued. “And when he says a time, he always means three hours later. I have to give him a coded passphrase every time I call, and then he tells me what he knows and gives me the passphrase for next time.”

“Sounds like somepony’s been reading too many spy novels,” Daring snickered.

“Well, it works for him and it works for me,” Sparks shrugged. “And I will admit, it is kinda cool,” she added quietly, as though as an afterthought. Daring’s snickering grew into a hearty chuckle.

“Anyway, Janus told me that he personally witnessed Monopoly bring our primary objective out of its former hiding place at his personal office and bring it down to Miranda and Sons, just as Janus predicted that he would,” Sparks continued. “Unfortunately, he didn’t know where exactly he put it. We’re gonna have to find out ourselves.”

“I suppose that’s what’s she’s for,” Boltstrike snarled, glaring at Daring.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Daring replied, smirking at him, then turned back to Sparks. “What’s the objective?”

“A scroll,” Sparks replied. “It’s the second half of the one we took from the Central Bank. According to what Janus told us, it’s some kind of spell or ritual. Monopoly bought it ages ago from Silvertongue’s gallery, one of a dozen other spells and magic charms and things like that that get smuggled through there.”

The memory of a dead mare confessing that she and her friends had been sentenced to die because she stole an ancient necklace that was supposed to grant the wearer good fortune from Silvertongue suddenly flashed unbidden through Daring’s mind and she flinched momentarily. Shaking off the thought, she focused on Sparks’ lecture. “What does it look like? How big is it?”

“If it’s anything like the one we stole already, it’ll be a piece of old parchment about a foot and a half long,” Sparks stated.

“Finding that might be tricky,” Daring mused.

“Getting in, fortunately, will be the easy part,” Sparks continued, sliding forward a hoof-drawn blueprint of an office building. “Miranda and Sons is, as most of you know, one of the biggest attorney firms in this city. It’s also the dirtiest firm by far; they’re all in the pockets of Silvertongue, Monopoly and the like.”

An angry murmur like the buzzing of hornets rose up from the gathered thieves at the mention of the names.

“Which is why we had already scouted this area out along with the other possible targets,” Sparks continued, raising her voice slightly to bring everypony’s attention back to her. “I’ve been visiting their offices, pretending to be a battered mare looking to settle a suit against my ex-husband. I’ve already labeled possible entry and exit routes on this map for you. Also, Monopoly increased security at the place recently, but Janus put me in touch with one of them who’s agreed to be an informant for us. He’s explained guard routes and the positions of surveillance crystals.”

Daring bent over the map and noted the marks and arrows drawn all over it. Red lines marked entry and exit pathways, green arrows traced over patrol routes, and green dots marked surveillance crystal. A small room on the second floor was circled: Daring deduced that this must be the surveillance center.

“Our opportune moment will be tomorrow afternoon, around 2 o’clock,” Sparks explained. “Our informant will be working in the surveillance center then, and it’ll be close to the end of shift and after lunch, so the guards will be tired and looking forward to going home. He’ll leave a key for the back door in a dumpster in an alley for you, Daring. This is the plan.”

Everypony leaned forward and listened closely.

“When I come into the office tomorrow, I’ll talk to them for a while, then Boltstrike will come in, pretending to be my ex-husband. The two of us will make a scene; that should distract everypony. While all that’s happening, Daring, you and Leaf Dance will sneak in through the back and start searching.”

Daring looked across at Leaf Dance. He returned her gaze with a baleful look but gave a brief nod.

“You won’t have long, so the two of you should start thinking of where and how you’re gonna search,” Sparks said. Her eyes widened. “Oh, almost forgot!” She bustled over to one of the crates and opened it up. She extracted something and tossed it to Daring, who instinctively caught it.

Daring’s eyes widened. In her hooves was a length of rope, about a foot and a half long, with two round six-ounce weights tied to either end. The hoofmade makeshift weapon was a variant on the kusarifundo, a traditional weapon of ninja.

"I made it before the meeting," Sparks grinned. "I had a feeling you'd join up with us."

Daring spun the cord in her hoof a few times, then stepped back to practice a few strikes, the weight snapping and whistling through the air. "Yeah, this'll help," she nodded approvingly and grinned back at Sparks. "Thanks, Sparks."

“No problem,” Sparks smiled, giving Daring a brief embrace and rubbing her forehead against hers. Daring caught sight of Boltstrike glaring at her over Sparks’ shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Now, we’ve got work to do,” Sparks said, breaking the embrace. “Leaf, Daring, you need to think up a search pattern and backup plans.”

Daring bent over the table, beckoning Leaf Dance over. “Let’s get to work.”

A thrill like electricity danced through her veins, and for the first time in what seemed like days, the brand didn’t hurt at all. She was back where she belonged: with Family, on the hunt for a challenging take, and even better, taking from those who deserved it and giving it back to those who needed it. She felt good.

The fourth glass of Kanga-Rum sat on the bar in front of him, just as unappetizing and unappealing as the first three glasses were. Phillip stared at his reflection in the dark red liquid for several long seconds, then grasped the glass with a sigh and started to raise it to his lips.

But an orange hoof reached out and stopped him. “Phil, I know the kinds of problems that drive a pony to want to crawl into a bottle,” Applejack said, taking the bottle away and dumping the glass out into a sink behind the bar. “What’s wrong?”

Phillip sighed and laid his forelegs on the bar, listening to Rara practicing a piano rendition of Whiskey Lullaby up on the stage of the Apple Pie. “Daring,” he said.

Applejack nodded. “She break your heart?”

Phillip was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yeah. But not in the way you think,” he added, giving Applejack a brief glare.

Applejack just shrugged in an “if you say so” kind of way. “What happened?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Pinkie Pie asked, sliding onto the stool next to Phillip.

Phillip sighed. “We had an argument. She left.”

“You argued? What about?” Pinkie asked, pulling a notepad and a pencil out of her mane and preparing to take notes.

Phillip grunted, mentally cursing Applejack for taking the rum away. “A case.”

Pinkie waited a moment for him to elaborate, then nodded when it became clear that that was all he was going to say. “Well, an argument doesn’t mean that a friendship is over,” she said, smiling reassuringly.

“Sure doesn’t,” Applejack agreed. “Pinkie and I argue all the time.”

“No, we don’t!” Pinkie Pie cried, looking shocked at the idea.

“Yes, we do,” Applejack replied.

“No, we don’t!”

Applejack paused and raised an eyebrow at Pinkie with a small smirk. Pinkie paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she thought, then her eyes widened with realization. “Oh!” she said as the irony dawned on her. She giggled, then turned to Phillip with a grin. “See? Friends can argue and still be friends!”

Phillip gave her a deadpan stare. “I’m pretty sure that what we argued about was a bit more serious.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t work it out,” Pinkie Pie replied.

“But she left,” Phillip pointed out.

“Don’t mean she won’t come back,” Applejack said. “I’ve seen what you two are like when you’re here; a friendship like the one you’ve got isn’t gonna be killed by one argument.”

Phillip blinked at her. “We’re not friends,” he protested bluntly.

“You sure about that?” Pinkie smirked. “You spend a lot of time together, you make each other laugh and smile, you do fun things together, you take care of each other...those are all things that friends do!”

Phillip blinked slowly as the realization dawned on him. “So...what do I do now?” he asked quietly, speaking more to himself than either of the mares.

“You go and find her!” Pinkie Pie declared, putting a foreleg around Phillip and squeezing him tight. “You’ll search the darkest caves, climb the highest mountains! You’ll brave freezing snows and scorching desert winds and tempestuous seas! Chart uncharted lands and battle ferocious beasts!” She spun Phillip around and grabbed him by the shoulders, staring into his widening eyes. “And do you know why?!”

“Uh…” Phillip stammered.

“Because that! Is what! A true, true friend does for a true, true friend!” Pinkie Pie declared dramatically, striking a heroic pose. Her determined face quickly molded into an expression of embarrassment when she realized that everypony in the now-silent tavern was staring at her. She chuckled nervously and sat back down, releasing a bewildered Phillip.

The phone behind the bar rang. Applejack plucked it off the receiver and held it to her ear. “Apple Pie in Your Eye...oh, hello, Twi...yeah, he’s here.” She turned and handed the phone to Phillip, who took it.

“Finder,” he grunted into the hoofset.

“Phil, it’s Twilight,” Twilight’s voice filtered into his ear. “I’m calling from the safehouse crime scene. Doctor Suunkii and I are here, and we think that you should come down here. Captain Case has gone, it’s just us and Officer Sentry.”

For a moment, Phillip was tempted to just say no; he was too tired, too drained, and could feel the buzz of alcohol seeping like a fog into his mind, slowing his thoughts. But then, a single thought charged through the fog, riding astride a charged emotion: Wherever the thieves are, that’s where Daring will be.

“I’ll be there,” he declared.

“Great! We’ll be waiting!” Twilight chirped.

Phillip handed the hoofset back to Applejack and slid off the stool. His hooves struck the floor and then his knees buckled beneath his weight, causing him to wobble and weave as though he were on the deck of a ship fighting through cresting waves. Without missing a beat, Applejack grabbed a pot of steaming, tar-black coffee from a machine with a sticky note on it that read “Do not let Pinkie Pie have any!” She poured out a serving into a cup and slid it over to Phillip. He snatched it up, drained the entire cup in one go, and slammed the cup back down, shaking his head like a wet dog trying to dry itself off.

“Go get ‘em, Phil!” Pinkie cheered as he bustled out the door, giving them a brief wave over his shoulder as he passed the threshold. As he disappeared, Pinkie sighed and leaned against the bar, resting her cheek on her hoof and staring after him with a wistful expression.

“You’re doing it again,” Applejack commented as she wiped down the used coffee cup.

“Doing what?” Pinkie asked innocently.

“Staring off after somepony with that 'shipping' face,” Applejack replied. “Whatever that means.”

“You can’t deny that Phil and Daring make such a great couple!” Pinkie Pie said, tilting her head back to fix Applejack with an upside-down gaze.

“Well, you certainly seem to think so,” Applejack commented dryly.

“Aw, c’mon! You had to have seen this coming!” Pinkie Pie giggled, winking at the audience.

“...who are you talking to?” an utterly bemused Applejack asked, staring at the wall that Pinkie had just winked at.

The taxicab dropped Phillip off in front of Twenty-seven Hermit Thrush Street and he proceeded down the walkway towards the door. As he walked in, he noticed a police motorcycle parked on the curb next to the house, next to a dark blue pickup truck with “Police CSU” painted on the sides in white paint.

Ducking underneath the “CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS” tape that stretched across the doorway, Phillip entered the house and immediately was confronted by the sight of Officer Sentry backing away from a very angry Twilight Sparkle, his hooves held up in a conciliatory gesture and fear on his face.

“You do not just pick up evidence without photographing it first, you nincompoop!” Twilight was shouting, her horn sparking dangerously. “Didn’t you study chain of custody in the academy?!”

“I’m sorry! I was trying to help!” Flash cried, backing up against a wall.

Twilight looked like she might shout at him again but then turned away. She closed her eyes and inhaled as she raised a hoof to her chest, then exhaled as she extended her hoof out.

“I understand,” she said in a quieter voice, turning to face Flash again. “And I appreciate that you were trying to help. In the future, just tell me if you find something. Don’t touch it yourself.”

“Yes, Miss Sparkle,” Flash nodded.

“Oh...you can just call me Twilight,” Twilight said with a small smile that Flash returned.

Phillip cleared his throat to announce his presence. Both ponies looked up. “Sir! Er, Phil!” Flash chirped, standing up straight and saluting. “I, uh, you’re not technically supposed to be here, but…”

“Seems to me, if you’re supposed to stop ponies from contaminating the scene, Officer, you should be standing in front of the door,” Phillip commented dryly.

“Oh, right,” Flash admitted sheepishly. “Guess I need to start living up to my name.” He looked around at Twilight and Phillip expectantly. Neither of them reacted. “Well...because my name is Sentry...get it?”

Twilight gave him a very deadpan look, while Phillip didn’t react at all. Flash’s ears folded back and his posture slumped. “Okay. I’ll go back to my post.”

Phillip turned to Twilight. “He might be of some help,” he suggested.

Flash instantly perked up at the words. Twilight thought for a moment, then turned to the door and lit up her horn and pointed it at the door, closing her eyes and letting out a grunt of concentration. A purple field of energy appeared over the front door.

“There,” Twilight said, wiping a bead of sweat off her brow. “A special shield that will allow us to go out and come in, but nopony else.”

“Neat!” Flash said admiringly.

“Oh, it’s not that hard when you know how,” Twilight replied. “A regular shield spell is relatively simple, even though it takes practice to form the energy into the proper shape and provide enough form to make it solid. But when you want things to be able to pass through, you have to be able to create a vibrating frequency that—” She trailed off slowly, realizing that both stallions were staring at her with expressions of complete incomprehension.

“Uh...magic is great?” Flash offered with a very unconvincing smile.

Twilight sighed. “Let’s just talk to Doctor Suunkii,” she said, turning around and leading the way down to the basement stairs. Flash followed behind, with Phillip bringing up the rear.

“Her eyes aren’t on that end, jackaroo,” Phillip whispered to Flash, who yelped quietly and snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling, his face turning beet red. Twilight glanced backward with a sound of confusion but said nothing.

They entered the basement, which looked the same to Phillip as it did when he left it, save for the zebra in the labcoat crouching in front of the furnace in the corner.

“I dislike being called out of my laboratory, Phillip Finder,” Doctor Suunkii complained as he probed the ashes with a long pair of tweezers. “Sergeant Trace Evidence must be exceptionally desperate for clues as to this mystery.”

Phillip watched in silence as Suunkii pushed some ashes aside and uncovered what looked like a long, thin piece of paper. He plucked it out with the tweezers and held it up to his eyes. “This appears to be a piece of film that the former occupants attempted to and failed to destroy. Twilight Sparkle, please bring me the dark green toolbox from the truck.”

“Yes, doctor!” Twilight chirped, hurrying back up the stairs as Suunkii set the film down on the floor and took a photograph of it, adding a note to a chain of custody list on a clipboard. Twilight returned moments later carrying a small dark green toolbox in her magic. She set it down on the floor.

“Thank you, Twilight Sparkle,” Suunkii said, placing the film in a clear plastic bag and setting it on the floor next to him. He opened up the toolbox, revealing several small bags of colored powder, a jar of crystal clear water, and several plastic test tubes with rubber stoppers. He pulled out a test tube and used an eyedropper to fill it partway full with water, then took out a bag of dark red powder. He scooped out some of the powder and dropped it into the test tube, causing the water to turn red. He added a smaller scoop of some light green powder, then stirred the mixture, causing it to turn a dark purple color.

He studied the liquid for a moment, then nodded and poured it into the bag with the film. He held up the bag, allowing everypony to observe the film twitching and dancing inside the fizzing and bubbling liquid.

“What’s that doing?” Flash asked.

“It is restoring the film,” Doctor Suunkii explained. “This mixture is my own invention, developed after many months of experiments. Burnt, damaged, or undeveloped film can be restored with this formula.”

Flash whistled. “Dang, this stuff is cool.”

“It is good to hear a pony appreciating my work," Suunkii said with an appreciative nod.

After a few more moments, the liquid in the bag ceased bubbling. Suunkii extracted the film from the bag and placed it on the table, directly beneath the lamplight so that everypony could examine the pictures.

The first image on the roll was a pale gold earth pony stallion with a purple mane and the cutie mark of a gray hoofprint, sitting on a sidewalk bench, looking at a newspaper. Phillip frowned a little bit at the sight and quickly turned his focus to the next picture. This one showed the mare from the bank, the false security guard, standing on the sidewalk curb, wearing sunglasses and a small but dazzling smile as her mane flowed back in the wind. All of the pictures in the roll showed at least one or both of the ponies—making goofy faces at the camera, licking an ice cream cone, feeding pigeons. The last shot was the two of them standing on the sidewalk, looking at the camera with their forelegs around each other. The stallion had a small lipstick mark on his cheek and was nuzzling the mare, who had her eyes closed in bliss.

Phillip stared at the last picture for a moment, then turned back to the table and focused on the two chairs at the head. He noticed, with a small pang somewhere inside his chest, how close to each other they were, and how the chair where the number two pony sat was angled so that pony sitting there would be half-facing the mare at the head.

“Why would they try to burn these?” Twilight asked. “They’re just innocent photos.”

“If they were innocent, they wouldn’t be in the furnace,” Flash pointed out.

“Flash is right,” Phillip said, arranging the photos around on the table. “These are all taken around the same area; you can see the same tree in these three pics, and that trash can with the markings on it is in both of these.” He frowned and studied the pics beneath a magnifying glass. “Damn. There are no clues as to where, though: I can’t see any street signs.”

“Hold on,” Flash said. He started to approach, then stopped and shot Twilight a nervous look. She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. Flash approached the table and bent over one of the photos that depicted the stallion sitting on the sidewalk, eating a strawberry ice cream cone.

Flash took the magnifying glass from Phillip and studied a sidewalk signpost in the corner of the photo, the writing on it partially obscured. “Tweet...deet...Sweetcream Scoops!” he read. “Sweetcream Scoop’s shop! This photo was taken right outside it!”

“Are you sure?” Phillip asked.

“I eat there all the time,” Flash replied. “I’d know that sign anywhere.”

“Where is the shop?” Phillip asked.

“Along Honeydew, just past Rich Boulevard.”

“Twilight?” Phillip started to ask, but with a flash of purple light, Twilight had already summoned a large purple accordion folder from out of thin air. She flipped through it and extracted a street map of Ponyville from it, unfurling it into its full size with her magic.

“Honeydew...Honeydew…” she muttered, scanning over it. “Here it is!” She pointed at a small building on the map on Honeydew Road, in the northern part of the city.

Phillip studied the map for a moment, then pointed to another building across from it. “Miranda and Sons,” he stated. “An attorney firm. That’s their target.” He glanced down at the photos. “Looks like these are photos taken from behind the building. They were planning out possible escape routes.”

“They must’ve been having quite a party, too,” Flash commented, having wandered over back to the furnace. “Look at all these crates of beer.”

The others turned to look at the stack of three empty beer crates in the corner that Flash was looking at. Phillip frowned in thought. “But there are no empty beer bottles anywhere here,” he commented.

“They could’ve just thrown them out,” Twilight pointed out.

“These crates were only delivered a few days ago,” Flash said, looking at the receipt stamped on the top crate.

“And they left all this other trash lying around,” Phillip added, noting the litter that was scattered across the table.

“Phillip Finder,” Doctor Suunkii said, an unusual note of concern in his voice. He was examining a small scrap of fabric that he’d picked up off the ground. He held it out to Phillip. “Smell that.”

Phillip sniffed at the fabric and his eyes widened. “Gasoline.”

Twilight gasped. “They were making Dragon's Breath cocktails!”

“Hey, guys, what’s in here?” Flash asked, opening up a door that led to another room. Everypony stared in horror at the decorations on the thick, padded walls inside: bullet holes, pockmarking the walls in groupings, and several black silhouette targets, the featureless bodies covered in holes.

“How did nopony hear this?” Flash asked.

Twilight lit up her horn and panned the walls with her magic. “They’re covered in a soundproofing enchantment. You could stand right outside and wouldn’t hear the shots.”

Spotting a discarded cartridge on the ground, Phillip bent down to examine it. It was a .30-06 caliber round. The same caliber used in a BAR. The same gun used by the shooters who murdered Silvertongue’s drug runners.

“Daring,” he whispered.

"I don't trust Finder," Captain Cold Case stated, standing in front of the carved oak desk in the brightly lit room with the red carpeting. "He knows more than he lets on; he always does."

Across the desk, Chilled Tumbler stared into the full-to-the-brim shot glass in front of him, studying his reflection in the dark amber liquid. “But we can use him,” he admitted, downing the glass’ contents in one go. “He might have a pendant for stirring up shit, but he’s also too smart for us not to use.”

“He’s still got his own agenda,” Cold Case insisted. “Holding information from us, working with that thief…”

Chilled Tumbler just grunted and filled the shot glass again from a bottle. “Be patient, Captain,” he said. “Sooner or later, he’ll lead us to our little merry band, and then we can take them all out in one swoop.”

“And if he or Daring gets in the way?” Cold Case asked.

Chilled Tumbler knocked back the second shot glass and grinned. “Then, as far as this department is concerned, they are in cahoots with a band of armed and dangerous thieves and will be met with the same punishment.”

Cold nodded grimly, her brow darkening. “Understood, sir.”

Case Three, Chapter Six: The Heist

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The sound of quiet snoring mixed with the rhythmic thudding of her own slow heartbeat, echoing in Daring’s ears. She tossed and turned, the sleeping bag that she was wrapped in shuffling as she moved. Tired as she was after a full day of planning and preparing with the others, she just couldn’t fall asleep.

She lay flat on her back and huffed through her nostrils, staring around enviously at the other members of the crew, all of whom were fast asleep, curled up in their own sleeping bags that were scattered across the floor of the hideout’s living room. Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was almost two o’clock in the morning. In just over twelve hours, she’d be breaking into a guarded attorney firm to find and steal a scroll.

With a quiet grunt, Daring tossed the covers off and walked out of the room on tiphoof, carefully stepping over the bodies of the others. Reaching a back door, she slowly pushed it open just enough to slip out, quietly cursing the soft squeaking of the hinges.

She stepped out onto a back porch. The cool evening air embraced her, making her shiver slightly; she detected the faint odor of smog, scratching against her nose. Leaning up against the railing, she looked up at the night sky stretching above her. The waning moon over her head, peeking out over the dark clouds that passed slowly in front of the heavens, had a hazy halo around it, promising rain. The stars all glimmered and shone over her heads; Daring’s gaze focused on the jewel-like cluster of Pleiades, then went up to heroic Perseus rescuing Andromeda as Cassiopeia watched. She followed Cassiopeia’s direction to observe Ursa Minor and Major, with Draco winding in between the two bears. Finally, her gaze settled on Polaris, the unmoving North Star.

Previously, the stars had always seemed to her like close friends, offering her help and advice from above. But now, the stars seemed cold and remote, so far beyond her reach, taunting her with their light. Even steadfast Polaris simply stared coldly down at her.

Sighing, Daring closed her eyes to save herself the pain of having to look. She stood in silence for a few moments, then, without consciously willing it, began to hum quietly. A tune formed from her closed lips, floating up into the silent night.

After a minute, she suddenly realized that the song was a familiar one. Buffalo Summer. She stopped suddenly with a soft gasp, opening her eyes wide. She was suddenly aware of a cold, empty feeling inside her breast, as if a part of her had been ripped from her interior and discarded. And she knew that she’d left it behind on the back porch of 221 Honeybee Bakery.

For a moment, she was tempted to go back home, go back to him, but her wings and hooves felt as though they were encased in lead at the thought. Sparks needed her. Her new Family needed her. The cursed mark began to burn again, a cold, icy burn like frostbite that made her entire hoof feel numb, as though it had been cut off.

“Dammit,” she whispered throatily, her eyes burning with tears that she dared not shed. Wiping at her face with a wingtip, she turned away from the stars and walked back inside.

As she slowly pushed the door shut behind her to prevent it from creaking, her ears caught an odd munching sound coming from her right. Following the sound, she entered the kitchen of the hideout to find Bright Sparks sitting in front of the open refrigerator, bathed in the light from the interior bulb. She was munching happily on what Daring slowly realized was a large pickle slathered in mayonnaise and potato chips that she was dipping in a cup of ketchup. Trying to ignore her stomach twisting and clenching inside her, Daring cleared her throat softly.

Sparks looked up in surprise, a dollop of mayonnaise sliding down her chin. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispered, licking her lips clean. “Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Daring replied, walking up and sitting down next to her friend. “I couldn’t sleep.” She glanced over at Sparks’ midnight snack. “I see you couldn’t either.”

Sparks smiled sadly and slowly rubbed a hoof across her belly. “The little one wanted some food.”

“The little…?” Daring asked slowly.

Sparks nodded slowly. “Silent Step and I both want...wanted a better life for them,” she whispered. “One where they don’t have to live a life being ruled by crime lords that grind innocent ponies under their hooves to make a quick bit.” She looked up at Daring, her eyes suddenly hard and determined. “That’s why we do this,” she stated.

Daring nodded, unable to think of a suitable reply. They sat in silence (save for the crunching of Sparks’ meal) for a few moments, then Daring asked, “Sparks? What exactly is this scroll?”

Sparks finished her chip before answering. “Some kind of spell or ritual,” she answered. “From what Janus told me, Monopoly bought it off of Silvertongue years ago. I had a look at the first half of the scroll, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it; it was in some ancient language.”

Sparks paused to swirl another chip through the dish of ketchup before continuing. “From what Janus told me, Monopoly bought it to use as a ‘last resort weapon’ in case things really got fucked up.”

The words “last resort” sent a cold shiver like ice water running down Daring’s spine. “What does it do?” she asked.

“I don’t know; I asked, but if Janus knew, he didn’t tell me,” Spark replied, licking salt and ketchup off her hoof. “All I know is, it’s too dangerous for the likes of Monopoly to have their hooves on.”

“And you’d let Janus have it?” Daring asked. “How can you trust him?”

“Scarlet says we can,” Sparks replied in a tone that made it clear that she expected this to clear up everything.

“Scarlet?” Daring asked.

“The boss,” Sparks explained. “She’s the one who found and took care of me while I was on my own, the one who put us all together. She gave us this home, helps us with plans and equipment...we all owe so much to her.”

“Do you trust her?” Daring asked.

Sparks gave her an angry look. “She saved my life, Daring,” Sparks said. “How can you even say that?”

Instead of answering, Daring slowly turned to stare straight ahead. She sat in silence for a while longer, then stood up. “I should get back to bed,” she sighed.

“Good night, sis,” Sparks called, spooning out mayonnaise on another pickle.

Daring tiphoofed back to the living room, stepping over the sleeping forms of the other members of the crew. Reaching her sleeping bag, she carefully crawled back inside and laid down, staring at the ceiling. She knew it was pointless to try to sleep now.

The hand on a clock standing at the corner of Willow and Gold Dust ticked forward and settled over the 11, declaring to all who viewed it that it was now 1:55 in the afternoon. The sun peeked through the cloud cover for a moment, firing down its beams at a five-story glass and steel building that stood on Gold Dust road. Miranda and Sons, the hanging sign over the gold-handled revolving door declared in flowing golden letters; the door was bordered on either side by wide, almost floor to ceiling windows.Two security guards in stark white uniforms adorned with the badges of a local security agency stood on either side of the door, grumpily studying the faces of the ponies that walked by and scanning over anypony who passed through the door. A security crystal was mounted over the door, staring down at any visitors.

Phillip Finder crouched on the roof of the apartment building opposite the firm, partly hidden behind the short wall that circled the roof, watching the flow of ponies beneath like a hawk. An extremely tired hawk who kept blinking sleepily and yawning and shaking his still wet mane out of his eyes. Several empty styrofoam coffee cups were littered on the roof around him, along with an empty box of Blue Camel and eleven used cigarettes, all of them smoked down to the end. He chewed on the last one, apparently oblivious to the fact that it had gone out.

The fire escape ladder behind him rattled and Trace Evidence climbed over onto the roof, pausing to study the sight before him. “There you are,” he called, approaching Phillip. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Phillip didn’t react to Trace’s approach. Trace walked up next to Phillip, studying the litter around him and noting his wet mane and vest. “Have you been here all night?” he asked.

Phillip grunted quietly in affirmation.

“Geez,” Trace breathed. “You’ve got to be freezing.”

“I’m fine,” Phillip stated, spitting his cigarette out onto the rooftop and staring down at Miranda and Sons.

“Where’s Daring?” Trace asked.

Phillip did not reply. Trace stepped forward and laid a hoof on Phil’s shoulder. “C’mon, Phil, take a break,” he said. “Doctor Suunkii told us about what you found out. We’ve been keeping an eye on this place. Just go home and sleep.”

“Can’t,” Phillip replied tersely, never taking his eyes off Miranda and Sons’ door.

“Phil, go home,” Trace repeated, an edge added to his voice. “You’re no good to anypony like this.”

Phillip looked up at Trace, and for a moment, there was something of a pleading expression in Phil’s eyes behind the exhaustion and worry. But Trace’s gaze did not waver. With a groan, Phillip pulled himself to his hooves, moving as slowly and wearily as though he were trying to hold up the world. Trace took him by the foreleg and guided him to the fire escape ladder and the two stallions climbed down to the ground together.

Phillip allowed himself to be guided down the sidewalk to the corner and Trace gave him a gentle push up Willow. He walked away down the street, his head low and his eyes fixed upon the sidewalk.

Daring. Where was Daring? Was she safe? What would happen if Trace caught her? Or a different officer? What would happen if they decided that she wasn’t worth arresting?

The thought sent an electric jolt of terror through his heart, banishing his sleepiness. His head snapped up straight and his legs straightened, hardening into pillars of iron.

He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Trace Evidence approaching a familiar long black Fleetracer that was parked down the road behind him. Red Herring was standing next to the car, picking at his teeth. They had something planned, and Trace wanted him out of the way. And then he noticed the bulges beneath the two detectives' coats: they were wearing bulletproof vests.

He proceeded down until he reached another intersection and turned down it, then paused, pressing his back up against the wall behind him. Whatever was happening, there was a good chance that Daring Do would be at the center of it. And if she was there, then he needed to be there, too.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” Red asked through the window of the Fleetracer.

“Wait for them to make a move,” Cold Case replied, her teeth clenched around the neck of a clay pipe, smoke issuing from her nostrils as she spoke. “And then we call down every unit in the vicinity and rain down hell on their heads.”

“Sounds good to me,” Red grunted, throwing his toothpick into a nearby trash bin.

Trace Evidence did not reply; instead he looked around at the cruiser that was parked several feet behind them. Prowl and Bumblebee were standing at the back of the cruiser, talking. Bumblebee looked over at the detectives, then back to his sergeant, shifting to adjust for the weight of the bulletproof vest he was wearing.

“I don’t know, boss,” Bumblebee muttered, looking into the trunk of the cruiser. A .45 Trotson and an 18-gauge pump action, both loaded and primed for action, sat in the floor of the trunk. Next to them was a black ballistic shield, a two by four foot black rectangular slate of metal with a bulletproof glass viewing port set into the upper part. Small runes were etched into the perimeter of the shield, the magic contained within them reinforcing the metal’s strength. “The Cap orders us to wait here at the start of our beat, and then tells us to make sure that we got the heavy gear ready to go. It doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Nor with me,” Prowl admitted, double-checking to make sure her .38 sidearm was loaded and clean. She glanced around as she holstered her weapon, then leaned in close to her partner. “If this goes bad, just keep your head down, follow your training, and stay close to me. You’ll be fine.”

Bee smiled faintly and tapped the shield. “I should be telling you to keep your head down and stay close to me, considering I’m the one that’s going to be carrying this big-ass thing.”

Prowl chuckled and briefly tussled Bee’s mane. “Better you than me.”

Further up the street, Flash Sentry stood next to his motorcycle, leaning against the parked bike. He glanced down at the shotgun holster attached to the bike. The wooden stock of the shotgun was poking out of the leather holster, like the head of a venomous rattlesnake glaring out from its coils, preparing to strike. “I don’t like this,” he muttered to himself, scratching at his neck where the vest chafed at his skin.

Several feet over their heads, another pony looked down at the scene beneath her, and decided that she didn’t like it either. Daring Do crouched in the cloud that she had hidden herself in, peering down her monocular at the ponies below, frowning as she studied the cruiser, motorcycle, and plainclothes car.

Reaching into a pocket in her shirt, she extracted what looked like a notebook with a single page on it and wrote a quick note on it: “There’s a lot of cops hanging around this place. Something’s not right. Should we abort? —DD”

As soon as she lifted the pen from the enchanted page, the writing faded away from the page. Moments later, the notebook grew warm and more words appeared on the paper, written in a different hoof:

“Negative. This is our one shot. We proceed as planned. —BS”

Daring frowned and glanced down again. Even from up here, she could recognize all of the officers: Trace, Red, Prowl, Bee, and Flash. And there were probably more just a radio call away.

But if Sparks said they were going ahead, they were going ahead. She couldn’t let her sister and her new team down.

From above, she spotted Bright Sparks entering the firm, subtly exaggerating her steps to make her hips and tail sway side to side as she walked. She was wearing a slinky black dress that hugged her form, designed to draw the eye; indeed, the security guards manning the front door turned their heads to follow her progress inside.

Darting to another cloud, Daring watched Officer Sentry, waiting for him to turn his back, then dove straight down and landed in an alleyway behind Miranda and Sons. Leaf Dance was waiting for her, his expression as morose and blank as always. He wore a small backpack over his shoulders.

“She’s in, and so are we,” Daring whispered. Leaf Dance nodded and turned up the collars of his coat. He reached into a garbage can next to him and extracted a plastic bag with a golden key inside. Plucking out the key, he led the way to the red door set in the brick wall at the end of the alley. Inserting the key into the lock, he turned it slowly, then pulled the door open a crack. Daring peeked through the gap between the other side of the door and the wall, checking the hallway behind.

“All clear,” she whispered. Leaf opened the door fully and they both snuck inside, Leaf silently closing the door behind him. They crept down the carpeted hallway, eyes and ears alert for any sign of trouble. Daring noticed a security crystal placed on the wall over her head as she passed a locked doorway, and instinctively hid from its sight by pressing against the wall beneath it.

“Don’t need to hide from that,” Leaf Dance pointed out, walking out in full sight of the crystal.

“Can’t be too careful,” Daring whispered back, creeping along the wall until they reached an intersecting hallway to the right. She peeked out around the corner and froze, holding up a hoof to stop Leaf.

A security guard in a gray uniform, a burnt orange earth pony with a rounded belly and shaggy brown hair, was standing down the hallway in front of them, his back to them. He was watching a hallway lined with office doors, leaning against the wall and yawning. “Hold on, belly,” he muttered to himself, scratching his chin as his stomach grumbled. “Just another hour and we can go home and have dinner.”

One of the office doors opened and a stallion stepped out. He was a tall purple pegasus stallion with oily black hair that was obviously dyed and thick glasses. He was wearing an expensive dark blue suit with a muted crimson tie and a silver watch on his foreleg that was far too large to be allowed. His cutie mark depicted a golden balance scale that was tipped to one side, towards a dish that contained several manila folders. He was clutching another folder under his wing, tucked against his side like a hoofball. Daring recognized him immediately from photographs at the hideout: Miranda Right, the founder and unquestionable head of Miranda and Sons.

The security guard immediately stiffened and stood up straight, but Miranda was too busy to notice him. “Three million bit settlement!” the attorney muttered to himself as he hurried down the hallway away from him. “That’ll be just enough to get me that summer house on the Lunar Sea…Holy Mother bless greedy mares like her...” He disappeared around the corner out of sight. The guard immediately relaxed and glanced behind him, forcing Daring and Leaf to duck back out of sight.

Daring uncoiled the kusarifundo from her belt and spun it: the weighted end whistled past her ear, a familiar, almost comforting sound. She whistled softly. Hearing the noise, the guard turned around with a grunt of confusion. Half-drawing the revolver slung at his hip, he started towards the sound. As soon as he was close enough, Daring snapped the kusarifundo out, coiling it around the guard's foreleg and yanked him towards them. The stallion’s cry of surprise was cut off by Leaf Dance bringing a leather sap down onto his skull twice, knocking him out.

“I still don’t like this,” Daring muttered as she gathered up her weapon and tucked it back into her belt, watching Leaf Dance stripping off the guard’s uniform and duty belt. "I prefer leaving a small hoofprint."

“You don’t have to like it, just help me tie him up," Leaf Dance replied, unpacking a coil of rope and a roll of duct tape.

The two of them quickly tied up and gagged the guard and locked him in a closet. Donning the stolen but fortunately relatively well-fitting uniform, Leaf Dance took the guard’s place in the hallway.

One of Daring’s pockets started to warm up. She reached inside and extracted the enchanted notebook, flipping it open to reveal more writing:

“OOF: Miranda, Brown, Silverthorne, Mapp, Wainwright.”

Daring nodded. All of the firm’s attorneys were currently out of their offices, leaving their offices wide open for the taking.

“I’ll start searching while you cover me,” Daring said to Leaf. “Warn me if somepony comes back.”

Leaf Dance nodded. Daring approached the door to the first office on the left. The gold plaque on the door read “Wainwright.” Pulling out the magic-nullifying crystal, she placed it on the doorknob and set to work picking the lock. Twelve seconds later, she opened the office door and stepped inside.

On the floor below, Miranda Right straightened his tie and entered a private meeting room. “Good afternoon, Miss Star,” he said with a smile, approaching Bright Sparks. The mare was sitting on one of the cushioned seats that surrounded a polished maple table that sat in the center of the brightly colored room. The window outside showed them a view of the street outside.

“Good afternoon, Mister Right,” Sparks smiled back, shaking his hoof. “I’m glad that you were able to see me on such short notice.”

“Absolutely, your case means a lot to me personally,” Miranda smiled, sitting down on the cushion across from her and placing his folders on the table.

So does my money, Bright Sparks thought, maintaining her false smile throughout. Well, actually, your money. Yours and your bosses. “I’m certain that I’ll be able to get this settlement solved with no issues with your help,” she said.

“Not to worry, Miss Star,” Miranda said, opening up a folder and flipping through the files. “I’ve been reviewing your husband’s arguments, and they have no merit. I’m sure we can win this if it goes to court.”

“Excellent,” Bright Sparks nodded. “Now, then, where were we?”

Still, she couldn’t help but think as she pretended to listen to Miranda talk about court procedures and evidence, it probably would have been a better idea to tell Daring the full plan. She thought it was just a heist...

Time ticked past as Daring searched the attorney’s offices one by one. She checked drawers, picked filing cabinets, scanned the pockets of coats and tapped the walls and chairs for secret compartments. But so far, she’d found nothing. Leaf Dance remained where he was in the hallway, coughing loudly whenever somepony approached to warn her to hide. Fortunately, nopony ever went into the office where she was working.

Finally, she entered the last office: Miranda’s. Glancing back at Leaf Dance as she pushed the door open, she entered a large office with a plush golden carpeting. A large bookshelf stood on the right wall, while several plaques and diplomas were hanging off the left. An oak desk with a carved figure of Lady Justice, an alicorn mare wearing a blindfold and holding a set of balance scales, stood in the center of the room, with a large red swivel chair behind it and three cushions in front. On the wall behind the desk was a large portrait of Miranda Right, grinning at his visitors.

Daring snorted. “Not short on vanity, are you, buddy?” she muttered to herself, starting her work at the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. There was nothing in there except legal files that Daring barely understood. The other drawers in the cabinet only contained more of the same.

Daring huffed and paused, looking around the room. “Where the hell is this fucking scroll?” she muttered to herself. With a sigh, she mopped a hoof through her mane.

Phil would know... she thought silently, then shook her head. But he’s not here. There’s a reason you’re on opposite sides now. Learn to live with it.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she looked around the office once more, scanning the top section of the walls first. A glimmer of light in the corner of the room, just above the door, caught her attention. A small surveillance crystal lens was stuck into the wall, partly hidden in the shadows of the ceiling. Frowning, Daring slowly turned around and spotted two more surveillance crystals, planted just beneath the ceiling. All of them were pointed not at the desk or the door, but at the painting in the back.

“Hmm,” Daring muttered, approaching the painting. She grasped the frame and pulled. The picture swung forward on a set of hinges, revealing a safe with a combination lock in the wall behind it.

“I should’ve guessed,” Daring muttered, placing the magic-nullifying gem on the safe door, just over the combination lock. She reached into an inner pocket of her shirt and pulled out a small drill and a punch rod, taken from the safehouse. She set the punch rod on the desk and was about to start drilling into the lock when she noticed a sticky note attached to the top of the desk with the numbers 27-18-43 on it. Frowning, Daring turned to the safe and dialed 27, 18 and 43 into it. With a click, the safe unlocked.

“I feel insulted,” Daring huffed, opening the safe to reveal the contents. To her irritation, there was nothing inside but some jewels and notebooks with financial information. Scowling, Daring was about to shut the safe door when a thought crossed her mind.

This guy’s not stupid; Monopoly wouldn’t trust him with this if he was. So why hide his safe in such an obvious spot? Daring weighed the painting in her hoof. This feels too light.

Squinting at the back of the painting, she noticed a faint rectangular outline in the middle. Carefully, she tested it with her hoof. A false panel swung outwards, revealing a smaller safe hidden inside the painting itself.

“Bingo,” she grinned, taking up the punch rod and drill again.

The notebook in her pocket grew warm. She flipped it open to read the scrawled note on it in Boltstrike’s writing.

“We’re running out of time until shift change. I’m going in now.”

Daring drew in a breath in a hiss. Bolt was supposed to wait until she had the scroll in hoof to go in for the distraction. And with those cops outside…

She pressed the drill against the combination lock and began to turn it as fast as she could. If the scroll wasn’t in there, she was getting out of the building immediately. She wasn’t going back to prison. Not today.

“Your whole case hinges on convincing the jury that you deserve every cent of his money,” Miranda was saying to Sparks. “With the right testimony, we can surely win this case.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Sparks laughed. “I’ve lived with him for two years, I know—”

“STAR!” a voice roared. Both ponies jumped as Boltstrike stormed into the room, his face livid, his horn sparking with barely suppressed emotion. A golf bag was slung over his shoulder, the club heads covered with formless cloth bags.

“I come back from the club, my dinner’s not made, and I find that you’re here, talking to this shithole?” Bolt roared at Sparks.

“You must be Mister Star,” Miranda said, rising with a smile that oozed of false charm and snake oil. “I am Miranda Right—”

“This isn’t about you, Thunder,” Bright Sparks said, standing up.

“It’s always about me!” Boltstrike yelled back, spittle flying from his mouth. “Every fucking problem that the two of us have, you lay all the blame at my hooves!”

“Because that’s where it belongs!” Sparks yelled in reply. “You’re the one who’s always going out drinking, you’re the one that wastes all our money on those fucking golf clubs—”

Still arguing, the couple exited the meeting room and walked out of the room, with Miranda Right following, trying to interject a comment or a suggestion every few sentences. The group entered the large circular lobby of the firm, which featured a water fountain statue of Lady Justice in the center, with groupings of chairs and magazines for visitors. The screaming voices of the arguing ponies echoed loudly off of the walls, causing the heads of visitors and staff alike to turn.

“Sir, you need to leave,” a security guard said as he approached Boltstrike and tried to take him by the foreleg. Boltstrike responded by turning and shoving the security guard with his magic. The guard flew backwards and crashed into some chairs, knocking them all over and garnering some surprised cries from the visitors.

The surrounding security guards drew back, some of them half-drawing their sidearms. Sparks and Boltstrike stood back to back, glaring around them at their startled adversaries.

“What’s going on in there?” Red Herring wondered aloud, looking up at the sound of the shouting voices coming from inside the firm.

“Stay here,” Trace said. “I’m going to go check it out.” Shrugging his shoulders to adjust the strap on his shoulder holster, he started to walk up the sidewalk to the front door.

Watching from around the corner, Phillip pulled out his own monoculars and zoomed in on the front of the firm. Through the front windows, he could see the standoff between the two visitors and the security guards. His attention was drawn by the golf club bag that was slung over the stallion’s shoulder. He squinted at the bag, trying to figure out what his subconscious mind was trying to tell him.

Then, with a sudden swooping sensation in his stomach as though he had missed a step walking downstairs, he realized that whatever shape that those bags were concealing, they definitely were not golf clubs.

His heart leaping into his throat, Phillip dropped the monoculars and started to sprint up the street towards Trace. “TRACE!” he yelled. “TRACE! GET DOWN!”

With a soft snap, Daring pushed the drive cam out of the way with the punch rod, allowing her to unlock the small safe door and swing it open. The safe inside the painting was tiny, and contained only one item: a rolled up scroll, cracked and yellowed with age, the ink on it barely legible. Snatching up the scroll, Daring tucked it into her shirt and quickly walked to the door, knocking softly twice.

After a moment, Leaf Dance opened the door. “I got it,” Daring said. “Let’s get out of—”

“Come on,” Leaf Dance grunted, seizing her foreleg and pulling her out of the office. He started to pull her down the hallway.

“What the fuck?!” Daring shouted, trying and failing to wrestle her foreleg free from his grip. “What are you doing?!”

“Change of plan,” Leaf hissed, pulling her along. “I’m escorting you to the front office.”

“Why?” Daring asked, but Leaf didn’t answer. She followed along with him down the hallways past several staring ponies, making a show of trying to escape every so often, but he kept his grip on her.

Finally, they reached a second floor balcony that overlooked the lobby. Peeping over the edge of the safety barrier, Daring saw Sparks and Boltstrike standing in the middle of an odd standoff. Her eyes went to the golf bag on Boltstrike’s back. “The hell are the golf clubs—?” she started to mutter.

“TRACE! GET DOWN!”

The familiar voice made Daring’s heart stop for a moment. Looking up, she spotted Trace Evidence standing outside the firm, turning around to face a stallion in a green vest and a gray hat sprinting towards him.

Sparks and Boltstrike saw them, too. Both of them looked at each other and nodded. Bolt lit up his horn and pulled out two of the objects from the bag on his back, their cloth coverings falling away as he tossed one to Sparks.

Daring’s heart dropped into her stomach. She recognized the unnatural gray-brown coloring, the metal stocks and box-like magazines. BARs.

Tucking the stock of her weapon into her shoulder, Sparks turned and opened fire. The windows shattered beneath her onslaught; Phillip and Trace both dived for the ground, covering their heads as bullets ricocheted off the ground around them. At the same time, Boltstrike opened fire at the security guards around them; with every burst of gunfire from his weapon, a guard dropped to the floor, a series of bullet holes stitched across their chests and oozing dark red blood. Ponies around them screamed and ran for cover; Miranda ran for cover with his tail between his legs, but Boltstrike caught him with a burst in the back of the skull. He dropped to the ground, the remains of his head spreading all over the formerly pristine floor in a pink and red goo.

Daring collapsed as suddenly as a puppet who had their strings cut. She frantically crawled away and hid around the corner of the balcony, not even noticing as the scroll fell out of her shirt. Leaf snatched up the scroll and tossed it down to Sparks, who caught it without looking.

Outside, Daring caught a glimpse of Red Herring flying in and snatching up Trace, dragging him out of the line of fire as Phillip ran after him. Sparks chased them off with another burst of gunfire, which fortunately missed.

With a wail of sirens, two cruisers turned the corner and roared up the street towards them. Boltstrike grinned and lit up his horn, firing a spell at the barrel of his machine gun. The end of the barrel began to spark and fizz like a sparkler. Boltstrike raised the machine gun and fired at the first cruiser. The bullets streaked out of the gun, leaving behind crackles of blue lighting as they raced through the air, thunderclaps echoing painfully in everypony’s ears. The bullets punched through the bulletproof glass of the cruiser’s windshield: the cruiser swerved and crashed into the other one, causing them both to spin off the road and crash into the clock that stood on the corner.

Boltstrike’s triumphant laugh was cut short by two distinct barks from a revolver. He collapsed with a bellow of pain, clutching his now bleeding shoulder and dropping his weapon.

From around the corner came Bumblebee, Prowl, and Flash. Bumblebee led the way forward, peering through the viewing port of his ballistic shield and holding his revolver out in front of him. Prowl was right behind him, aiming her Trotson over his shoulder, while Flash brought up the rear, his shotgun shaking in his hooves as he stared over the sergeant’s head.

Sparks quickly placed a magical shield between herself and the wounded Boltstrike and opened fire at the group, but Bumblebee responded by crouching down, placing his ballistic shield between himself and his teammates; the bullets bounced harmlessly off the metal. Prowl looked over Bee’s head and opened fire with her Trotson. The shield crackled and buzzed as Sparks struggled to hold it up. The officers closed in on the pair.

Up above them on the balcony, Leaf Dance reached into his backpack and extracted a bottle of cheap beer with a rag stuffed into the neck. Lighting the rag with a lighter extracted from his pocket, he stood up straight and wound up to throw the deadly projectile at the officers.

“No!” Daring screamed, instinctively snatching up her kusarifundo. She snapped it out at Leaf’s hoof as he began to throw it, intending to entangle his foreleg, but she missed. With a great crash, the Dragon's Breath cocktail shattered, spilling burning liquid all over Leaf Dance. The stallion screamed and flailed as his body was devoured by flames in moments, leaving him a wailing funeral pyre on the floor, twitching horribly as life left him.

Hearing the screams, Sparks glanced up towards the balcony, then grabbed Boltstrike and lit up her horn. In a flash of orange light, the two thieves vanished.

Panting, Daring looked up over the balcony at the scene beneath her. The lobby was now populated by the dead bodies of security guards and of Miranda Right, the marble floor painted in hues of red. The scent of burnt ozone, cordite and the coppery odor of drying blood hung in the air. The three officers split up and began to search the lobby, clearing the area.

For some reason, as if compelled by an unseen instinct, Flash looked up. His eyes locked onto Daring’s and he paused. Daring shivered, then turned around and ran. She sprinted back down the empty hallways all the way to the back door, which she shoved open with her shoulder. Spreading her wings, she took flight, rocketing up into the sky. Rain began to pour from the sheets of gray clouds that covered the sky, mixing with the tears in her eyes that half-blinded her.

She didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t care. All she knew was that she must get away, from everything and from everyone, including herself.

Case Three, Chapter Seven: Responsibility

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More than an hour after the first gunshots had been fired, the scent of cordite and blood hung heavy in the air around Miranda and Sons, refusing to retreat beneath the onslaught of rain that poured down from the dark gray sky. The street outside was clogged by cruisers and ambulances, their red and blue lights spinning wildly. Officers in heavy rainjackets kept back the murmuring crowd of civilians that fought and jostled to get a better look at the remnants of the carnage and endured the constant barrage of questions and commentary from reporters in stoic silence. The two crashed cruisers stood where they were, still tangled together around the clock. Smoke rose from the wreckage, hissing angrily at the rain. Two firefighters in turnout gear carefully sawed at the bullet-ridden door, trying to get to the bodies within.

Trace and Red stood in the middle of the street, staring at the wrecked cruisers, not even acknowledging the rain.

“Officer Bull Dozer,” Trace said. “Officer Twisted Ivy. Sergeant Aurora. And Officer Oak Wilson. Four good, hardworking, honest ponies with families. Four more names to put up on the wall.”

“They’re fucking dead,” Red growled, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through his nostrils. “These shitholes are fucking dead.”

“Save the anger for when you need it, partner,” Trace said quietly, laying a hoof on Red’s shoulder. Red took a slow, shaky breath and nodded grimly. The two of them turned and walked into the firm itself, pushing through the frames of the revolving door. The broken glass crunched beneath their hooves as they proceeded into the lobby.

“Careful, detectives!” Twilight Sparkle called to them as they entered, carefully marking bullet casings scattered on the floor with small, floating bubbles of purple magic. “Watch where you step, please.”

Red and Trace both exchanged a look, then began to slowly maneuver their way into the center of the lobby. Officers stood around the perimeter of the room, some simply staring in silence, some conversing with each other in quiet tones, passing around information, scuttlebutt, and theories.

Captain Cold Case was standing in the middle of the corpses. Four security guards lay where they’d fallen, their blood already fully coagulated into dark brown stains on the floor. Miranda Right was sprawled a few feet away. Cold Case regarded the pink and red stain that his head had been reduced to, spread out over roughly a foot wide diameter, her face impassive.

“I checked with the surveillance center,” she told the two detectives without looking up. “The guard who was on duty, Jimmy Eye, is gone, and he took the memory crystal—the crystal that stores all the images and playbacks.”

“He can’t be that bright if he gave himself away like that,” Trace commented. “He shouldn’t be that hard to find.”

“He’d better not be,” Cold growled, glaring at her two charges. “I want a lead on these cop-killers by this evening. Not tomorrow, not before I go to bed. This. Evening.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Red and Trace both nodded before moving on. As one, their eyes traveled up towards the balcony that overlooked the lobby. The head of a stallion in a gray trilby was just visible over the gate.

Phillip stared silently down at the burned corpse on the floor in front of him, watching as Doctor Mortis scanned the crackled, dark red flesh. His eyes, sunken into his skull and surrounded by dark shadows, went to the shattered remnants of the beer bottle that lay scattered on the floor around the body.

“Well, I don’t think I need an autopsy to figure out the COD,” Doctor Mortis commented, gently manipulating the corpse’s neck with her magic to tilt his face up towards her. She studied the burn marks that adorned half of his face with curiosity. “Interesting, isn’t it, the varying patterns of the burns? In any case, it looks like he was about to throw a Dragon's Breath cocktail at our officers, but something broke the bottle and he got hit with it instead.” She looked up, sticking her lower lip out in thought. “So the only question is, what broke the bottle?”

“Uh...Phil?” a voice asked plaintively. Phillip looked up to see Flash Sentry approaching him. The younger stallion glanced around to make sure that nopony was too close, then stepped up to whisper to Phillip.

“When we first came in...I saw Daring up here. On the balcony,” he said, nodding to the spot where Phillip was standing. “She ran away when I saw her, but...she looked scared.”

“Where’d she go?” Phillip asked quietly.

“This way,” Flash said, pointing. “She was long gone by the time we got up here.” Flash glanced around again, then turned back to Phil. “I didn’t want to say anything to the other officers ‘cause...well...I heard Cold talking before. She wants to bring Daring in. And when Cold says bring someone in, she means…”

“Sentry!” Prowl barked from the lower floor. “Get back down here. We need your help cataloging this evidence.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Flash called down. Giving Phillip a final regretful look, he bounded over the banister and flew down to the ground floor.

Phillip was only aware of a painful throbbing in his chest right next to his heart, a pain that he couldn’t just chalk up to exhaustion. He slowly turned and walked down the hallway, following the trail that Flash had pointed out. Following the exit signs, he eventually found his way to the back exit. Pushing through the door, he exited out into the back alleyway. The rain hammered down on his back, soaking his mane and his vest again; the cold wind embraced him like a long-lost lover.

Phillip glanced down at the cobbled ground in front of him. Between his front hooves was a pegasus feather, a pale gold in color, having fallen when its owner took off. He picked it up and studied it; the throbbing in his chest grew worse.

“Where are you, Daring?” he whispered.

Captain Cold Case exited the firm, turning up the collar of her coat against the rain. As soon as she exited, the reporters fired another volley of questions at her, demanding answers to motives, identities, and prospects of the future. She stoically ignored all of them, walking over to the wreckage of the cruisers. She watched in silence as the firefighters finally peeled the door off and set it down on the floor, allowing them to access the bullet-ridden corpses inside. Bull Dozer was slumped against Aurora, nearly smothering her with his bright yellow bulk, his eyes half-closed. The bullet holes that had ripped through both of their bodies were surrounded by blackened tissue; dried blood covered the formerly pristine blue uniforms. Aurora’s white and red mane shielded her face.

Cold Case closed her eyes for a moment and reached for the clay pipe in her pocket, but her reverie was broken by a shout of “Captain! Ma’am!”

Cold turned to see Wheellock rushing up to her. Wheellock skidded to a halt a few feet from her, splashing her forelegs with rainwater.

“Callbox, ma’am,” Wheellock panted, pointing to a nearby telephone pole. “It’s the Chief.”

Sighing, Cold Case walked over to the pole and approached a blue box with a blinking blue light on it that was attached to the pole. Opening up the box, she reached inside and extracted a telephone hoofset. “Sir?” she asked into the phone.

“Four of our own dead, Captain,” Chilled Tumbler’s voice spoke through the hiss of static in her ear. “And an upstanding member of our community.”

“I’m fully aware of that, sir,” Cold Case replied icily.

“Was Finder there?” Tumbler asked.

“Yes,” Cold Case confirmed. “He’d been watching the firm for hours when we arrived.”

“And Do?”

“Negative,” Cold said. “But Finder looked worried and upset. Should I bring him in for questioning?”

There was silence on the line (save for the hissing, grumbling static) for several seconds, then Tumbler answered, “No. We can still use him. Keep a close eye on him. And if it turns out that he or Daring is associated with these cop-killers, bring them both in. Dead or alive.”

“Understood, sir,” Cold Case nodded and hung up the phone. Closing the callbox door, she turned and walked back into the firm, her eyes focusing on Red Herring and Trace Evidence.

Daring clung to the cloud that she had alighted upon, shaking and panting. Tears ran freely from her eyes, mixing with the rain that was falling from the cloud.

“Sparks…” Daring whimpered. “Why?”

The images from the heist flashed before her mind like a slideshow, repeating over and over. The BARs emerging from the golf bag. Sparks opening fire at Trace and Phil. Boltstrike grinning as he fired his magically-enhanced bullets at the cruisers, which exploded into flame. Miranda Right’s head exploding into pink goo. Leaf Dance writhing and screaming as flames enveloped his body, the scent of burning meat filling her nostrils.

Daring’s body trembled and she pitched forward, vomiting. The contents of her stomach spilled through the cloud beneath, and for a split second, she hoped that they wouldn’t land on some unsuspecting pony’s head. She retched and heaved until her stomach was empty, then heaved a few more times; she wept until her eyes were aching and puffy and dry, then sobbed dryly until her throat was sore. She barely noticed the fact that the curse mark was burning up her entire foreleg, making the limb numb and heavy.

She curled up into a ball on the cloud, shivering. What was she going to do now? She couldn’t go back to the hideout...and even if she could, she had no idea where it was, Sparks having teleported the group to the firm that morning. And she couldn’t go back to 221 Honeybee Bakery. Phillip would never trust her again after this.

“It wasn’t my fault!” she protested, shouting at herself. “I didn’t know they were...I didn’t…”

She hugged herself, tightening her forelegs around her torso. As she did so, she felt something dig against her chest. With a quiet grunt of confusion, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. It was faded and the ink was running slightly, but the message was still legible:

Gentle Guide: 244 Siren Boulevard

Gentle Guide. He might have been a corrections officer, in charge of her discipline while she was at Frostback, but he was also kind and fair. And he had said that she could look him up if she needed help.

Pocketing the card again, she spread her wings and swooped through the cloud layers, taking flight through the rain. With every beat of her wings, she prayed to the Holy Mother, if She was listening, that Guide’s promise was still valid.

Gentle Guide lived in a two-story red cottage with a white tiled roof on a dead-end street in the Industrial District. It, like most of the other houses on the street, showed signs of serious wear and tear, with fading and peeling paint on the walls and the boards on the porch sagging in the middle as though in fatigue. But unlike most of the other houses that surrounded it, 244 Siren Boulevard showed definite signs of life; the windows were clean, the lawn was well-trimmed, and there were beds of flowers strategically planted over the lawn. A small oak tree stood in the backyard, the brown leaves just beginning to outnumber the green. Rainwater slicked off the leaves and onto the grass. The lights in the windows were on.

Flying overhead, Daring scanned the street beneath her. The rain had chased the ponies into the comfort of their homes, but she spotted a silver pole with two surveillance crystals standing atop it at the head of the street. One of the telescope-like tubes was aimed up the street. She frowned, then banked around again. Swooping almost to the low cloud cover, she dived straight down and landed in the oak tree, the leaves rustling as she entered their cover. Peeking out through the leaves, she checked one more time to make absolutely sure that it was clear, then slipped out and landed on the ground with catlike silence. The crystalline blue eye was not facing her.

Stealing up to the back door, she knocked three times and stepped back. A few moments later, the curtains in the door window shifted, then there was the sound of a latch unlocking and the door opened, revealing a thestral with a dark purple coat, a snow white mane, and sea blue eyes. It took a moment for Daring to recognize her old CO: she was used to seeing him wearing the black uniform of Frostback Prison, so seeing him wearing a bright purple hooded sweatshirt with “Ponyville Manticores” emblazoned across it in gold lettering with the face of a manticore glaring back at her was a bit of a shock.

“Daring?” Gentle Guide asked, looking her up and down in astonishment. “You look terrible.”

“I feel worse,” Daring said, trying to keep her branded hoof off the ground to lessen the burning pain. “Can I come in?”

Gentle Guide hesitated for a moment, then stepped back and held the door open for her. She stepped inside, dripping all over the hardwood floor, and followed him into the living room.

The little room had bright red carpeting on the floor and was warmly lit by a pair of standing lamps. A pair of well-worn but still slightly squishy sofas, one dark red and the other lime green, stood on either side of a short coffee table, upon which sat a fruit bowl loaded with fresh bananas, plums, oranges, apples, peaches, and more. A television set stood in the corner, next to a small bookshelf.

There was the sound of hoofsteps and Daring looked up to see a thestral climbing down a set of stairs in the hallway. The thestral had a light yellow coat and red hair that was so dark it was almost black. He rubbed one pale green eye sleepily. His cutie mark was a beehive and a glass jar of honey.

“Honey? Whazzgoinon?” the stallion said through a yawn.

“We’ve got a guest for a while, Sweet Nectar,” Gentle Guide said, guiding Daring to sit down on the green sofa. Sweet Nectar blinked at Daring a couple of times, then sighed quietly and walked into the kitchen. The sound of clattering and water being poured soon came from around the corner.

Gentle Guide climbed onto the red sofa and sat straight-backed upon it. He fixed her with an emotionless, steady gaze. “All right,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

Daring took in a deep breath, and the entire story soon spilled out of her. Silvertongue’s baiting them into the case, their investigation, the discovery that Bright Sparks was the leader of the thieves, Silent Step’s death, her argument with Phillip, leaving to go with Sparks, the raid on the firm. When she reached the details of the murders, her voice began to shake slightly and fresh tears stung at her eyes.

Nectar came back in the room while she was wrapping up and handed her a green mug filled with warm tea. Accepting it with a nod, she took a long sip. The bitterness of the tea was mixed with the heavy, syrupy sweetness of a healthy dose of honey, and it went a long way towards calming her down (though she still thought it could’ve used a splash or two of whiskey).

“So why did you come here?” Gentle Guide asked when she was finished with her story.

Daring stared into her mug, sniffing at the honey-scented steam. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she murmured.

Guide pondered this for a moment, then stood up and walked over to stand next to her. He bent down a bit so that he could look her in the eyes from her level.

“Tell me the truth,” he said quietly, his tone and expression still devoid of emotion. “Did you know that they were planning a hit?”

“No,” Daring replied. “And I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I had.”

“Not even for Sparks?” Guide asked.

Daring shook her head firmly. “Not even for my sister.”

Guide did not answer for several seconds. He glanced up towards Nectar, who had been standing in the doorway, watching their conversation in silence. Nectar blinked at Guide, then shrugged in a noncommittal way.

“Guide, you have to believe me,” Daring said softly, trying to keep the pleading tone out of her voice.

“I do,” Guide replied, nodding.

Daring shivered and clutched the teacup like it was a lifeline. “I don’t want to go back to prison…” she half-whimpered.

“I’m sorry, Daring,” Guide said sympathetically. “But it’s not up to me. What is up to you is how you handle this. And right now, you have two choices. You can keep running, or you can make this right.”

Daring looked up at Guide and saw compassion in his eyes, but also wisdom; it was like looking at still ocean waters, untouched by waves and wind. She took in a deep breath and started to stand up.

“I need to go back home,” she said.

“And do what?” Guide asked in a hypothetical tone.

“Make it right with Phil,” she said, trying to ignore her stomach clenching and twisting inside her as she spoke.

“Good,” Guide nodded.

Daring hesitated, then looked down at the floor and asked, “Will you...will you come with me?”

Gentle Guide did not answer for a moment, then smiled and patted her shoulder. “Yes.” He paused for a beat, then leaned in. “At least finish your tea first,” he whispered. “Nectar prides himself on it, and his feelings are a little sensitive.”

Daring looked over at Nectar, who was still standing at the doorway. He raised an eyebrow at her. She managed to smile faintly at him and drank the rest of the tea. It was warm and sweet, and by far the best tea that Daring had ever had. The refreshing liquid helped her stomach unclench a bit.

“Thanks,” she said as she set the empty mug down. Nectar beamed and nodded.

“Ready?” Guide asked.

Daring nodded. The two of them proceeded out of the back door, back into the rain and winds, and took off, heading westwards towards the center of town.

The blue cottage was still standing right where it was supposed to be, as though it had always been there and always would. The lights for the lower floors were on, like glowing eyes in the growing darkness.The two alighted on the front porch, sheltering beneath the small roof.

Gentle Guide knocked at the door and stepped back. They waited for several long seconds of silence, then Daring faintly heard a grunt from inside. Glancing at Guide, she pushed the door open and they entered.

The green fishing vest and gray trilby were hanging up on the coat rack next to the door, dripping onto the floor. Daring’s heart thudded heavily against her ribcage as she proceeded down the hallway into the living room.

The record player in the corner was playing a blues record; the low bellowing of a solo trumpet was mixed with pops and scratches that told of the record’s age. Phillip was sitting on the sofa, knees to his chest, staring at a half-empty bottle of Kanga-Rum on the coffee table. His mane was in even worse disarray than normal; his coat, only recently dried, was as spiky as a hedgehog’s, and a dark shadow was growing beneath his jaw. He looked up at their approach. His gray eyes focused on Daring, and her stomach shriveled when nothing, not a single sign of emotion, was betrayed by his eyes or his face.

Daring stopped at the threshold of the room as suddenly as though she’d walked into a glass door. They stared at one another from across the room, neither daring to blink, like two gunslingers waiting for the other to make a move first.

“You look like shit,” Daring finally said softly.

Phillip’s reply was to blink a few times. Daring thought she saw something shining in his eyes for a brief moment.

“I’ll take this,” Gentle Guide said, snatching the bottle off of the table and walking into the kitchen. “You both need some coffee. You have a lot to talk about.”

He disappeared out of sight. Daring slowly entered the room, keeping her eyes on Phillip, and sat down on the couch opposite him.

“Where were you?” Phillip croaked, his voice soft and feeble.

Daring reached over and shut off the record player, bringing the music to an abrupt halt. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak, the entire story spilling out of her. She told Phillip of how Bright Sparks had invited her to the church, her being brought to the hideout, the plans for the heist, and her role in it. She watched and listened to herself speaking as if she had suddenly become an outside viewer; her body seemed to fold in on itself as she spoke, and she stared at the floor instead of looking at Phillip. Her voice came out in a flat, dead tone, as though she sought to separate herself from her emotions. When she came to the part where Sparks and Boltstrike had opened fire, her speech slowed and was punctuated by swallows that made her shoulders heave.

She had just gotten to the part where she had flown away when motion caught her eye. Phillip had raised a hoof to stop her and was glaring down at her imperiously.

“Daring, look me in the eyes,” he commanded, and she found that she had to obey. She locked her gaze onto the two stormcloud gray irises.

“Did you know that they were planning a hit?” he asked. There was no anger in his voice, but every syllable rolled like thunder.

Daring shook her head. “No. I swear I didn’t!”

Phillip’s expression didn’t change; he continued to glare at her with his cold gray eyes. She trembled, unable to look away.

“You can not believe me if you want to,” she said, her entire body shaking as though she’d been dropped into a freezing ice bath. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You can call the police if you w-want...and I won’t blame you because...I...I…”

Phillip’s expression softened slightly and he started to lean forward. “Daring…”

The moment was interrupted by a knocking at the door, causing the two to look up in shock.

“Finder!” a familiar voice barked from behind the door. “Open up. We need to talk.”

“Red and Trace,” Phillip hissed. “Go upstairs and hide. Now.”

Nodding, Daring took off and flew up the stairs, silently floating into her old bedroom, which was still the same as she had left it. She crouched down behind the bed, her breathing quiet. From downstairs, she heard the front door open and close, followed by two sets of hoofsteps and voices.

Gentle Guide walked into the room after her and stood in front of her, shaking his head. “I thought we were going to make this right,” he stated.

“Gonna be hard to do that from inside a cell at Frostback,” Daring pointed out.

“Daring, you turned yourself and the others in a year and a half ago because you were willing to take responsibility for your actions,” Guide admonished her. “Did you suddenly turn into a coward?”

Daring glared at him. From downstairs, she could hear Phil, Trace and Red’s voices.

“You keep running and hiding, eventually all this is gonna catch up with you,” Guide continued, undeterred by the glare. “You have to face it sooner or later.”

Daring softened her glare, unable to argue with him.

Suddenly, the voices from downstairs became raised, prompting Daring to pause.

“Sent her undercover? You think we’re dumb enough to believe that shit?” Red shouted.

“That’s the truth,” Phillip replied in a harsh voice. “She—”

“She and her friends fucking murdered four cops and a bunch of other ponies!” Red snapped. Daring flinched as though she’d punched in the face. “So we’re bringing her in, and that is final!”

“Phillip, don’t make this worse than it already is,” Trace said firmly.

“She’s not here,” Phillip said.

Red snorted. “Yeah. Sure.” There was a beat. “Trace, I say we take him in. He’s getting himself in enough shit already.”

Daring felt her heart leap up into her throat, then slowly settle back into its proper position. Standing up, she pushed past Guide and proceeded down the stairs into the living room. Trace Evidence and Red Herring, both of them wearing rain-soaked trenchcoats, were facing Phillip; the detectives had their backs to her as she descended. Phillip was staring at them both, his eyes darting desperately from one to another.

“She’s just a thief,” Red said, spitting white hot anger with every syllable. “And you’re protecting her!”

“She is not just a thief!” Phillip shouted back. “She—”

“I’m here,” Daring announced. The stallions all turned around and saw her, their eyes widening.

In an instant, Red Herring drew his Filly M1912 and pressed the muzzle against the middle of Daring’s forehead. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” he snarled, his shoulders heaving as he breathed.

“Red, no!” Phillip shouted, drawing his baton with a snap of his wrist.

Trace reacted immediately, firing a stunning spell into Phillip’s face. Phillip staggered, shaking his head, and Trace followed up by grabbing his foreleg in both hooves, taking control of his upper arm and wrist, and quickly twisting to bring Phillip facedown to the floor.

“You can’t take her in!” Phillip shouted, struggling desperately to escape. “She—!”

“Phillip. Stop,” Trace said firmly, pressing down on the armlock and lighting up his horn. Phillip ceased struggling, staring up at Daring in panic.

“If you want to, if you think it’ll make you feel better, you can shoot me,” Daring said, looking Red in the eyes. Her voice did not waver, her gaze did not once flicker from his eyes. “I probably deserve it, to be honest. But please, hear me out.”

Red didn’t move or react in the slightest, but he also didn’t shoot her, which she took as a good sign.

“I swear on the Holy Mother, if She’s listening, as my witness: I did not know that they were planning a hit. I thought it was just a heist. We were going to go in, get what we were looking for, and get out.”

“What were they looking for?” Red asked quietly, as though struggling to control himself.

“A scroll,” Daring explained. “The second half of the scroll that they stole from Monopoly’s safe box at the bank. It’s some kind of spell.”

“Why do they want it?” Red asked.

“I don’t know,” Daring stated. “To keep it out of Monopoly’s hooves, primarily.”

“Who are these ponies? Why did you go work with them?!” Red shouted, the gun in his hoof shaking. Phillip let out an incoherent cry of fear.

Daring closed her eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the fresh pains that shot up her foreleg, like acid had been injected into her veins. “Because the leader of the thieves, Bright Sparks, was my friend. I thought that...I thought that she was a good pony. A trustworthy pony.” She looked down at Phillip. “Phillip disagreed...and he was right. I shouldn’t have trusted her. I shouldn’t have gone with her. I shouldn’t have turned my back on my real friend.”

Phillip seemed to tremble a little. Daring turned back to face Red, who was still aiming his gun at her face.

“I made a stupid mistake. And I deserve to be punished for it. But I swear, I didn’t kill those ponies, and I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I knew that’s what they were planning.” She blinked, her eyes burning, her hind legs starting to shake a little like willow trees in the wind. “But that doesn’t matter, so all I can say is...I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

The tears began to fall again, a couple of them sliding down her face and dripping onto the floor. She blinked, but never wavered her gaze from Red’s face.

He growled and pressed the gun harder against her skin. Daring’s knees almost gave out, but she still stood and stared back at him.

"Red, she saved your life!" Phillip protested, his voice high-pitched with desperation.

But Red did not fire, nor make any other move. Slowly, he turned and faced his partner. “Do we trust her?” he asked Trace.

Trace looked down at Phillip, raising an eyebrow. Phillip looked at Daring, then up at Trace. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I trust her.”

Trace looked up at Red and nodded. Red looked at Daring, then closed his eyes. “Gah...dammit,” he grumbled, holstering his weapon. Daring let out a slow sigh, finally allowing herself to relax; her hind legs felt like they’d been turned into rubber, and she had to fight to stay on her hooves.

“So what do we do now?” Red asked.

“We don’t tell Cold, for starters,” Trace said, getting off of Phillip.

“Not worried about her,” Phillip said, rubbing his foreleg as he got up. He looked at Daring. “Can you lead us to their hideout?”

“I don’t know,” Daring admitted. “I have no idea where it is.”

“Any detail you can give us can help,” Phillip said.

Daring thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Well, I damn well am going to do whatever I can,” she said.

Trace and Red both looked at each other, then at Daring and Phillip. “You’d better come up with something, and fast,” Red grunted. “Or we’re all in deep shit.” With a grunt, he gestured for Trace to follow him out.

“Good luck,” Trace said, exiting with his partner. The door opened and shut, then there was the sound of a car engine starting up and driving away, rainwater hissing beneath the tires.

Daring staggered over to the couch and collapsed upon it, panting and shaking. Her body felt as though she’d been carrying a boulder on her back and had just managed to throw it off. Phillip walked over to the couch and climbed up next to her. He wrapped a foreleg around her shoulders and gently squeezed her to him. She pressed up against his side, waiting until her trembling and breathing came back under control.

“You okay?” Phillip asked.

“I’m fine,” Daring nodded.

Gentle Guide, who had watched the entire scene from the threshold, yawned. “I need to get back home. Nectar will be getting worried, and I volunteered to work a shift and a half tomorrow. Good night.” He started to walk towards the door to the back porch.

“Guide,” Phillip called. The thestral paused at the door.

“Thank you,” Phillip said. “Thank you for bringing her back.”

Guide smiled and winked. Opening the door, he stepped out into the night and flew away, shutting the door behind him.

Daring sighed, suddenly realizing just how tired she was. “We should go to bed,” she sighed, laboriously climbing up off the couch.

“No,” Phillip said, looking at the floor. “Daring, you were right before. If we’re going to trust each other, there can’t be any secrets between us.”

He swallowed, licked his lips, then looked up and faced her. “It’s time I told you about Lucky Dice.”

Case Three, Chapter Eight: Rebuilding Bridges

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Phillip shifted his weight on the couch and sighed through his nostrils. His eyes darted up momentarily towards the kitchen, and Daring knew that he was thinking of that bottle of Kanga-Rum right then.

“It was 1948, the Moon of Snow...a year and a half ago, when you were just starting your sentence,” Phillip began. “I was a Detective Sergeant in the force; Cold was my senior partner.”

“Your partner?” Daring asked, raising her eyebrows. “Geez, no wonder she hates you so much.”

Phillip gave her a questioning look, but shrugged it off and continued, staring at the wall instead of looking at her. “We had spent the last five months investigating Lucky Dice, a local mobster. Drug smuggling, gun running, counterfeiting, extortion, money laundering, murder...all of it. We spent entire days sorting through the evidence, figuring out what we could make stick and what we couldn’t.

“It was all going to pay off, though; we’d finally gotten the wanker into the docket on thirty-six charges. We were right there in the courtroom, waiting for the judge to start…and then Dice’s lawyer stepped up.”

Phillip paused, sucking in a slow breath. Daring noticed his hoof twitching and clenching, as though he was imagining grasping somepony’s throat.

“The lawyer motioned to dismiss all charges...said that a lot of the evidence was inadmissible in court,” Phillip continued, a distinctly bitter taste in his voice. “Prosecutor protested...they all went into the judge’s chambers…” His breathing became heavier and accelerated, his eyes narrowing into points, and Daring realized that he was far away now, back in that cold courtroom with snow assailing the windows, waiting and watching for the judge’s decision.

“And when they came back out,” Phillip finally said. “The judge said all charges were dismissed. This fucking bastard got off on a fucking bullshit technicality. Fifteen ponies!” he suddenly shouted, causing Daring to jump slightly. “Fifteen ponies that he’d personally killed, and he just got off completely fucking free!”

He had to take a couple breaths to calm himself, and when he continued, it was in a tone so quiet that she almost had to strain to hear him.

“Cold was pissed...I was pissed...the families of the vics were hurting…I, I needed to do something, because it felt like I was burning up inside, and if I didn’t do something, it’d kill me. So after my shift, I just went on a walkabout, trying to think of what to do...and without meaning to, I ended up at his apartment.”

He paused, his hoof still clenching at the cushion beneath him. “I came up, knocked at his door. He came to the door, smug as a cat, drinking a fucking martini. We started arguing. I told him I didn’t give a damn what the judge said, I knew what he’d done, and I wasn’t going to rest until I got him for it, made him pay for everypony that he’d hurt.”

Phillip paused again, breathing heavily as though he were running uphill. His posture sagged slightly; his eyes, still narrowed, were now focused on the floor. His ears slowly flattened themselves against his head. Even from a profile view, Daring could see the unmistakable signs of fear in Phillip’s posture and face.

“He laughed at me. Told me I was a stupid old stallion, that there was nothing that I could ever do to him; he'd played the system once, he could do it again. He just kept laughing...And then he started reaching for a gun on the table...”

Phillip began to shiver like the temperature of the room had dropped to below freezing. His eyes were no longer narrow; instead, they were slowly starting to widen, sparks of mingled fear and anger dancing in their whites.

“I saw red…” he whispered. "I remember jumping on him. I didn't know if I wanted to kill him or just hurt him, but...he grabbed a knife and came at me...and..." He took in a breath, his hooves trembling. "I tell myself it was an accident, but...next thing I knew, I was standing over his body...and there was blood all over my hooves in my face."

Daring drew in a breath, suddenly drawing away from him. He turned his face away from her, his eyes closing and his face twisting in an expression of revulsion.

“I panicked. Washed myself off, dumped the body in the Maresippi.

“But Cold suspected what I’d done. So did Tumbler. He called me into his office the next week and told me that I had two options: either I retire, and it all went away quietly, or I stayed on the force, and they’d try me and convict me of murder.”

He swallowed, blinking slowly. “So I took the coward’s option. Turned in my badge, walked out. Became a PI.” He sighed. “Cold never forgave me. And I can’t ever forgive myself.”

There was a long silence, then Daring asked, “Why can’t you?”

“I lost control,” Phillip said. “I beat a pony to death, all because I was angry. And then I couldn’t even face up to what I’d done.” He slowly turned to look at Daring out of the corner of his eye. “Not like you. You...you spent a year in prison to atone for what you’d done in the Family. You came back here after everything, and stood up and said, ‘I did this. Do with me what you will.’ I couldn’t...I couldn’t do that.” He began to rub his hoof up and down his foreleg, his body now becoming extremely still. He looked down at the floor, and Daring saw tears beginning to run down his face.

Daring hesitated for a few seconds while Phillip cried silently, then reached out and took his hoof in her own. He froze for a moment, turning to look at her in mute astonishment.

“This may come as a shock to you,” Daring said quietly, holding her gaze steady in his eyes. “But you are not the only pony in this room with blood on their hooves.”

Phillip blinked and raised his eyebrows slightly, prompting her to continue.

“I mentioned how the Family used assassination,” Daring continued, an involuntary shudder running up and down her spine at the mention of the name. “It wasn't often, but...all of us killed ponies. Even...even me." She shuddered. "Mojo told us that we took his orders no matter what and threatened us and beat us when we didn't do what he said. My...my first one was a smuggler in Tall Tale. Mojo took me out there, handed me a pistol, and told me not to fuck it up...or else." She shivered and swallowed, feeling a fresh wave of bile rising up her esophagus. “I knew it was wrong, but…” She trailed off, squeezing his hoof. "Sparks and I hated it, but the others...they all got used to it. A lot of them even liked it."

“Why’d you stay?” Phillip asked quietly.

Daring swallowed again. “Because, Mother damn it, I was scared. Scared of Mojo or somepony else killing me, scared of going to prison, scared of myself, scared of losing my home and family…” She blinked several times, trying to alleviate the burning that was growing in her eyes. “It took me two years to work up the courage to turn them in. Two years…" She was silent for a moment, then looked up. "My point is, I've known killers. I've lived with them. And you...you're not a killer. You're a good stallion." She lowered her head again. "I'm a killer," she spoke.

"Not anymore," Phillip whispered back.

Daring swallowed. "Sparks was my one friend during that time," she said. "The one pony beside me who tried to keep her hooves as clean as she could. And now, I don’t even have her.”

Phillip squeezed her hoof back and gently pulled her in close, placing his chin atop her head. “You have me,” he whispered.

Daring’s heart palpitated in her ribcage and a smile crossed her face. She nestled against his chest, staring straight ahead blankly. His breathing rustled through her mane like the wind; his hoof was warm in hers, squeezing gently as if to reassure her that he was still there, that he would not let go.

“I’m sorry I left,” she whispered, her eyes burning more than ever. “I shouldn’t have...I wasn’t…”

"No, I'm sorry," Phillip interrupted quietly. "I should have trusted you more. I shouldn't have driven you away."

"You were right not to trust me," Daring whispered. "I..."

"Shhh," Phillip whispered, gently nuzzling the crown of her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home now.”

She smiled and nuzzled his chest, faintly noting his scent: rum, cold rain, and cologne. They remained like that for several seconds of silence. The burning in Daring’s eyes faded away.

“We need to get back to work,” Phillip finally said, getting up off the couch. “We have to find out where Sparks and her crew are hiding out, and soon.” He turned to face Daring. “Tell me everything you remember you saw.”

Daring started to relate every detail she could recall from the hideout. The stairs to the second floor, the white curtains in the living room windows, the two-story white and tan condo across the street, the stars that she saw from the creaky back porch. The rain that battered the windows eased up slightly as hours passed by.

“So the house faces south?” Phillip said.

“I’m sure of it,” Daring nodded. “And there’s something else: it’s in the Industrial District.”

“How can you be sure?” Phillip asked.

“I could smell the smog when I went outside,” Daring stated.

“Ripper. That could be useful in the future,” Phillip nodded, pacing. He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, then turned and faced her. “The takeout wrappers.”

“What about them?” Daring asked.

“Logos. Brands. Name them,” Phillip ordered.

Daring closed her eyes and thought for a few seconds of silence. “Railway Sandwiches,” she said. “Dice Pizza. House of Tong…”

Phillip nodded. “Reckon they’d go to places nearby. If we can find someplace close to all of those restaurants, we might find their hideout.” He started to turn towards a phone book on the table behind him and walked towards it, stumbling as he did so.

“No,” Daring said firmly, grabbing his tail. “It’s late, and we’ve both had a really long day. We’re going to bed.”

Phillip turned around and blinked at her, raising his eyebrows.

“Not the same bed, you ninny,” Daring rolled her eyes. Phillip let out a relieved sigh and wiped his face with a hoof.

The two of them trotted upstairs, wearily surmounting the steps and pausing at their respective doors. Daring hesitated, her hoof on the doorknob, and turned to look at Phillip. He looked back at her, blinking heavily, his head lowered in exhaustion.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

“No worries, sheila,” Phillip nodded, smiling softly. “G’night.”

She smiled back at him and entered her bedroom. Everything was exactly how she left it: the reddish-brown carpeting and light brown walls, the tangled blue sheets at the hoof of the bed, the bedside table with the clock.

She walked over to the bed and flopped down upon the cloud-soft mattress. She was asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

The heat and light of the sun shining through the window pulled Daring from her slumber. She groaned and woke up just enough to drape a foreleg over her face, trying to hide from the world for a little while longer. However, her own mind rebelled against her, refusing to allow her to go back to sleep. A little later, her stomach joined in the mutiny, growling and grumbling in hunger.

With a groan, Daring tossed the sheets off and pulled herself out of bed, shaking her mane out of her eyes. Yawning, she exited the bedroom and walked past Phillip’s room; she could hear him snoring from inside. She walked into the bathroom and took a warm shower. The warm water pounding down on her back and the heavy steam eased her muscles and tension. She sat for several long minutes in the shower, just allowing the water to roll off her back and shoulders.

Exiting the shower and toweling herself off, she went downstairs to begin preparing breakfast. First things first: she started the coffee machine and placed a fresh pot underneath it. Then she peeked into the fridge and immediately stopped. Sitting in the middle of the fridge, right in the midst of the food, was a plastic bag filled with pony's ears, each of them cleanly cut off.

"Well, at least he moved on from the eyeballs," Daring muttered to herself as she pulled a carton of eggs and some slabs of hay bacon out of the fridge and a couple bagels out of the pantry and started making eggs benedict. The scent of frying eggs and toasting bread soon filled the air in the kitchen.

Just as Daring was placing the first batch of eggs on the table, Phillip appeared, yawning and rubbing his semi-closed eyes. Smiling, Daring grabbed the cup of black coffee that she’d already poured and slid it down the counter towards him. He grasped it on his third try and raised it to his lips, gulping down half of the contents in one go.

“Thank you,” he muttered as the caffeine gradually brought him up to full alertness.

“No worries,” Daring smiled, tussling his mane. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“Reckon I’ll head down to the precinct,” Phillip said, digging into one of his eggs. “See what evidence Suun, Twi and Doc Mortis have dug up.”

“Cool,” Daring nodded. There was a brief pause while they both ate, then Daring added, “So you and Cold were partners a long time ago, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” Phillip nodded, his mouth full.

Daring smirked. “So I gotta know...did you fuck her?”

Phillip choked on his breakfast and bent over the table, coughing and thumping his chest. “No,” he said bluntly, glaring at her as scarlet coloring rushed up his ears.

Daring laughed. “Ah, I’m just messing with you, don’t worry.”

Phil huffed and continued eating. “This is good,” he commented.

“Thanks,” Daring said. “We all took turns cooking in the Family…” She trailed off, her hunger evaporating like water on a hot tin roof.

Phillip chewed silently for a moment, then pushed a plate of eggs towards her. “Eat. You need your strength.”

“Thanks,” Daring nodded, eating the eggs.

Phillip finished his breakfast before she did and dropped his plate off in the sink. “I’ll head out now. Be back when I have something.”

“Okay,” Daring nodded. Phillip started to walk into the hallway, but she stood up and called him back. “Hey, where do you keep your potassium nitrate, sugar, and aluminum foil?”

Phillip stopped and blinked at her. “Why?”

“An old Family recipe I know,” Daring said. “I thought it might be a good idea to cook it up. It might be helpful later.”

Phillip thought for a second, then nodded. “Good thinking. Sugar and aluminum foil are in the pantry; might have some fertilizer you can use for potassium nitrate.”

“Great!” Daring nodded. “I should have enough for both of us ready when you get back.”

“Ripper,” Phillip said, swinging his vest onto his shoulders and placing his trilby atop his head.

“And Phil?” Daring called, walking up to face him.

“What?” Phil asked, pausing. He stared back at her, his head tilted at a curious angle; the silence between them became roaring in just a moment.

Daring waited for just a moment, then reached out and tapped his nose with her hoof. “Good luck boop!”

Phillip stepped back, his eyes widening for a moment, then gave Daring a deadpan stare. She snickered.

“Go on, get outta here,” Daring said, pushing him out the door. “We’re wasting daylight!” And with a final wave, she shut the door behind him.

Phillip sighed and turned to head down the street towards the precinct at a brisk trot. The day was cool, even with the sun shining brightly in the blue sky, and the air felt good against his coat. Despite everything going through his mind, Phillip found that for some reason, he couldn’t help but smile.

Reaching the precinct on hoof in just over twenty minutes, Phillip pushed through the door of the precinct and entered the front lobby. The desk sergeant, a chubby red earth pony with green hair, gave him a brief nod as he entered. He nodded back as he walked past through the doors to the inner offices.

Proceeding down the hallway, Phillip pushed the door to the stairs open and descended down into the basement laboratory. The familiar sound of classical music punctuated with static greeted them as they proceeded into the lab proper. The only occupant was Twilight Sparkle, who was currently bending over a microscope.

“G’day, Twi,” Phillip called.

Twilight jumped and turned around. “Phil!” she cried. “How are you?”

“Been better,” Phillip grunted.

“Do you need help with something?” Twilight asked.

“We might have a lead on the suspects’ hideout,” Phillip said. "Need you to map out locations of fast food restaurants in the Industrial District and plot out possible locations that they might be hiding in...please,” he added.

Twilight’s eyes widened and shone like small stars. “A probability complex! I can do that!” She pulled a map of Ponyville out of a nearby shelf and unrolled it, then grabbed a phonebook.

“So what were the restaurants you needed to know?” Twilight asked, flipping the phonebook open to fast food restaurants.

“Railway Sandwiches, Dice Pizza, and House of Tong,” Phillip said. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to find the addresses of any restaurants in the Industrial District,” Twilight explained, already placing small dots of purple magic on the map. “When I do that, I can then use a probability matrix to determine potential hideouts.”

“You learned how to do this at the Royal Academy of Magic?” Phillip asked. “How does probability go into magic?”

“You’d be amazed; geothaumatic energies and the use of locations in creating complex spells, particularly ones that might affect a lot of ponies, involve a lot of calculating probabilities and analyzing populations,” Twilight said. “All it involves is adjusting my formulas a bit.” She plotted a line between two of the dots, then expanded the line to cover a small area in between them.

“Where’s Daring?” Twilight asked without looking up from the map.

“At home,” Phillip replied.

Twilight looked up, her eyebrows shooting up into her bangs. “Is she all right?”

“She’s apples,” Phillip stated.

“Um…” Twilight said slowly, tilting her head to the side.

“She’s fine,” Phillip translated.

Twilight paused, frowning. “Is she...are you sure that she’s fine?” she asked.

Phillip was silent for a moment, studying her face, and he realized what she was trying to say.

“She made a bad decision,” Phillip said. “But it’s all right now.”

“I found a feather that had to have been hers at the firm...did she…” Twilight started to ask, her expression haunted. “She didn’t…?”

“Her hooves are clean here,” Phillip nodded.

Twilight took a breath and sighed, smiling. “Good. I’m glad that she’s on our side.”

“So am I,” Phillip nodded. “Where’s Suunkii?”

“He’s in the morgue with Doctor Mortis,” Twilight replied, turning back to the map.

“Thanks,” Phil nodded and exited the lab. He walked down to the end of the hallway, through the open door of the morgue, and entered the cold, metallic room. Doctor Mortis and Doctor Suunkii were standing over one of the dissection tables; Phillip recognized the heap of burnt meat atop it as the dead thief from Miranda and Sons.

Doctor Mortis looked up as he entered and her eyebrows shot up with surprise and delight. “Hello, Phillip!” she said, waving enthusiastically. Doctor Suunkii looked up and greeted Phil with a more languid gaze.

“G’day, docs,” Phil said. “What’s the story, Mortis?”

“Our new friend and I had a very long conversation last night, and I was able to tease out a few details,” Doctor Mortis explained, looking over the burnt corpse with kind regard. “You know, I’m always amazed that criminals try to use fire to destroy bodies. It doesn’t work very well at all! Most fires don’t burn hot enough or long enough to really do enough damage; you’d need a full barrel of oil and two hours to completely burn a body to ashes and then—”

“Doctor Vitae Mortis, I do not think that Phillip Finder is here for a lecture,” Suunkii interrupted, giving his compatriot a flat look. “Please inform him of what you have found.”

“Ah, right,” Mortis nodded. “Well, while his cutie marks were badly damaged, I did find something to help me get an ID on him. Look here.” She handed Phillip a magnifying glass and pointed to a section of the foreleg where the skin had been partly burned away. Phil bent down and examined the skin. Just at the borderline of the charred burn marks were the remnants of a tattoo, the ink faded as though somepony had tried to remove it: the bottom half of a stylized N.M.D.

“He was a Nightmare Moon Disciple,” Phillip concluded.

“Yes, and he didn’t want other ponies to know that,” Mortis nodded. “That tattoo, combined with the remnants of his cutie mark and other physical details, including dental work--he’s got a beautiful silver crown on his second lower right molar, do you see it?--I was able to identify him as Leaf Dance. His brother was Silent Step, the pony at the bank robbery that our sniper killed.”

“If I may,” Suunkii interrupted. “We are still operating under the assumption that these robbers are connected to the shooters who targeted and assassinated members of the Nightmare Moon Disciples, correct?”

“Their use of BARs at the firm attack suggests that,” Phillip grunted.

“Then why would Leaf Dance, a member of that same organization, join up with them?” Suunkii asked.

“Maybe he got a better offer,” Phillip said.

“There’s one other thing I noted,” Mortis put in. “Mister Dance here was recently attacked by a dog. Look here.” She pointed to a series of small purplish marks on the back of the body’s left hind left leg. Phillip examined them with the magnifying glass and identified them as bite marks, in the distinctive shape of a dog’s jaw.

“A Gerwhin shepherd, I’d say, based on the shape of the marks,” Doctor Mortis commented. “Bruising suggests that it was only a day or two old at death.”

“Odd,” Phil muttered, squinting at the bruises. “Looks like the dog was missing a tooth or two.”

“Good eyes!” Mortis nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, the dog that bit him was missing two of its front teeth.”

Phillip thought for a few moments, then frowned. “Thanks, docs,” he said, turning to go.

“Phillip, a moment,” Suunkii called. Phillip paused. Suunkii nodded to Mortis, who took the hint and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

“You should know that there is no precise evidence that links Daring Do to the crime scene at Miranda and Sons,” Suunkii announced, fixing Phillip with his trademark inscrutable gaze. Phillip did not answer.

“However, Twilight Sparkle did find a small light gold pegasus feather in the back alley behind the building,” Suunkii continued. “And there were scattered witness reports of a pegasus mare with a strange hat.” He tilted his head at Phillip, frowning.

“Phillip, I must know this for certain: do you trust her?” he asked.

Phillip bristled a little bit, but let out a slow breath through his nostrils. “Yes,” he said, his posture and his tone backing up his calm conviction. “Yes, I do.”

Suunkii studied Phillip for several seconds, then sighed and closed his eyes. “If you were any other pony, Phillip Finder, I would call you a fool,” he said. He opened his eyes and fixed them upon Phillip’s. “But I know you, my friend. You are many things, and a fool is not one of them. I will trust your judgment on this.”

Phillip smiled. “Thank you, Suun.”

“But I warn you,” Suunkii added. “Should you cross the line, you will find me a dangerous enemy.”

Phillip stared at Suunkii for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Right,” he said quietly. “I’ll, er, get back to work.”

“Good luck to you both, Phillip Finder,” Suunkii said, turning back to the examining table. Phillip exited the morgue as quickly and quietly as he could, closing the door behind him.

He looked up to see Twilight running towards him, carrying the map of Ponyville in her magic. “I did it!” she cried excitedly, showing him the map, which was still marked with purple magical pins and circles. “I plotted out some areas on the map here where the thieves’ hideout might be.”

“Thank you, Twilight,” Phillip nodded, pocketing the map. To his surprise, Twilight suddenly wrapped him up in a tight hug. He stiffened in surprise. Twilight must have sensed the awkwardness because she let go very quickly.

“Stay safe,” Twilight advised him quietly and walked away. Phillip sighed and started to walk away.

“Finder,” a voice as cold as an oncoming blizzard spoke. Phillip paused, then slowly turned around. Captain Cold Case was standing behind him, glaring at him. Behind her was Chief Chilled Tumbler, his eyes narrowed.

“I was just making a report to the chief about our progress on the robberies,” Cold Case stated. “And I had to tell him that we had very little progress. I dispatched Trace Evidence and Red Herring to track down leads on Leaf Dance. So far, we have found nothing.” She glared at Phillip, her eyes as frosty as the bottom of a frozen lake.

“Finder, we pay you to get results, not to laze around on your ass,” Tumbler growled. “You’d better fucking have something on these cop killers.”

“Daring and I might,” Phillip said calmly, facing the blizzard unflinchingly.

Cold’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Where is she?” she hissed.

“Safe,” Phillip replied. “And getting ready to help me find the thieves.”

Cold snorted. “I personally interviewed witnesses from Miranda and Sons. Witnesses who told me that they’d caught glimpses of a pegasus mare in a funny hat fleeing the scene. Don’t tell me that she wasn’t involved in this.”

“She is,” Phillip answered flatly. “She’s involved in identifying and stopping them.”

“Really,” Cold said dryly. “Then she won’t mind coming in for some questions.”

“Cold, four good officers and seven other ponies are dead,” Phillip stated, his voice quiet and cutting. “We do not have time for this. This is how it’s going to work. When I find them, I will let you know.”

Cold looked like she was going to argue, but Chilled Tumbler cut her off. “You’ll let us know the second you find something,” he said, giving Cold Case a quiet sidelong glare. Cold Case scowled back at him but did not protest.

“One condition,” Phillip stated, looking directly at Chilled Tumbler. “You bring them in alive.”

“What?” Cold Case snapped.

“Enough ponies have died already,” Phillip said. “Nopony else needs to. Not even them.”

Cold Case hissed. “Oh, you arrogant, self-righteous—”

“That is the deal,” Phillip cut her off, turning on his heels and walking away.

“Trying to make up for past mistakes, Finder?” Chilled Tumbler called after him, the sneer evident in his voice.

Phillip paused and looked over his shoulder at them. “No,” he answered. “I’m trying to do the right thing.” He turned and walked up the hallway without another word. Ascending the staircase, he exited the police precinct and started to trot back up the street, headed back towards home.

He didn’t see the grayscale rainbow swooping down out of the sky until it was too late. Something seized him beneath his forelegs and the ground was yanked away from his hooves. His cry of surprise mixed with a familiar shout of laughter right next to his ear.

“Sorry!” Daring Do said, banking around to carry them towards the southeast. “I finished up and got impatient, so I started flying around to look for you.”

Phillip wriggled a little to try to get comfortable in her grip, watching the city flying past beneath him. “You could’ve warned me before you grabbed me like that,” he grumbled.

Daring laughed. “Admit it, you missed this while I was gone.”

Phillip didn’t answer, but a small smile touched his lips for a moment. He had. He really had.

Case Three, Chapter Nine: Negotiations

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The two landed in the middle of the Industrial District, finding themselves back amongst the sea of wooden condos with their dull colors, standing alongside narrow, uneven sidewalks. The air was heavy with smog and the scent of grease and the few ponies that stood loitering on the corners or on their porches looked up at their invasion.

“Where are we going first?” Daring asked, looking around.

Phillip glanced down at the map that he’d borrowed from Twilight, studying the myriad markings of purple magic, then checked a street sign hanging over their heads. “Gearstrip Street. This way,” he said, pointing.

He led the two of them down several streets, through twists and turns that took them past several houses and small stores in varying states of repair. Finally, they reached a familiar home: a blue two-story house with two boarded-up windows, the property surrounded by a chain-link fence. Daring’s eyes fell on the “Beware of Dog” sign.

Right on cue, the big black Gerwhin Shepherd leaped at the fence, which rattled beneath its weight. It barked and growled at the intruders, slobber flying from its snout.

Despite expecting it, both Phillip and Daring instinctively jumped back. As if acting on its own, Phillip’s foreleg swung around to push Daring back behind him. She looked down at his foreleg, then smirked at him. He lowered his foreleg, his ears turning slightly red.

“Well, I’m glad to see an old friend,” Daring commented, staring at the dog. “But what are we doing here?”

“Look closely at the teeth,” Phillip said.

Daring looked at dog’s mouth, studying the teeth; a task which proved to be particularly difficult when the dog was barking at them. But after a few moments, she noticed an unusual feature: the dog was missing two of its front teeth on its top jaw.

“Leaf Dance was bitten by this dog,” Phillip stated. “It’s possible we might find a lead here.”

“So we have to get past the dog. Great,” Daring sighed.

“Can you keep him busy?” Phillip asked.

“Sure,” Daring nodded, taking flight. She flew over the fence and began to fly circles over the dog. “Hey, boy! Come and get me! I’m nice and juicy!”

The dog growled and began to leap up at her, jaws snapping in a bid to grab her. Daring began to lead the dog away from the gate, flying low enough to keep the hound’s attention on her, but high enough that he couldn’t reach her. The dog followed her towards the backyard.

While the dog was distracted, Phillip pushed open the gate in the fence and proceeded up a short brick pathway to the front door of the house. He knocked sharply. A few moments later, the door opened a crack and an old light green stallion with a leathery, weather-beaten face leaned out the door.

“What d’you want?” he sneered at Phillip. “Ain’t it obvious I wanna be left alone?”

“Won’t take a moment,” Phillip said. “Just need to ask you a question. Your dog bit someone recently.”

“Jessie bites a lot of ponies. That’s why I bought him,” the old stallion growled.

“You remember a gray earth pony, indigo mane, cutie mark of a pair of oak leaves?” Phillip asked.

The elder stallion thought for a moment, then nodded. “The dumb bastard got too close to the fence. Jessie jumped him, got him right in the leg.”

“You see which way he went?” Phillip asked.

“I see him walking past my house probably twice a day, most days,” the stallion replied. “He lives somewhere down that way.” He pointed towards the east.

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded, turning away and allowing the homeowner to close the door again. “C’mon, Daring.”

Daring flew high up out of the dog’s range and blew a raspberry at it, then followed after Phillip.

“Gonna change my appearance a bit before we start looking,” Phillip said, ducking into an alleyway. He took his vest off and flipped it around to reveal the bright blue interior. He put it back on and stuck his hat inside it.

“So you said that Leaf Dance was an NMD?” Daring asked, watching him don his disguise.

“Yes,” Phillip replied as he pulled out what looked like a pair of stickers that showed a simple black horseshoe and placed them on his flanks, covering his cutie marks. "Looks like the shootings were to try to force them to surrender and come to their side."

Daring was silent for a moment, watching Phillip take out a yellow hair tie and use it to tie his mane back into a ponytail. “Wouldn’t be the first thing that Sparks lied to me about, then,” she grumbled, helping Phillip gather his mane back.

Phillip swallowed as she secured the hair tie. “Daring, I’m sorry that—”

“Don’t,” Daring harshly cut him off. “I don’t need to hear it. Let’s just find them before more ponies get hurt.”

Phillip nodded and pulled out a pair of thick glasses, donning them to complete his disguise. “Take to the sky. I’ll search on the ground.”

Daring nodded and flapped up into the air, flying high above the streets. Phillip emerged from the alleyway, glanced down at the map, then started walking in the indicated direction.

Twilight had marked the area between Seventy-Three Way and Maple Grove Street as a possible hideout location, and the dog owner had pointed them in that direction. The pair of detectives reached the area and began to search. Phillip jogged up and down the streets, studying the houses on the streets as he passed by; Daring flew far over his head, scanning the ponies below.

Phillip jogged down one street, then turned the corner to proceed down the next one. He ran at a steady pace, scanning the houses that he passed. None of them seemed to match the description that Daring had given him: no two-story houses with a creaky porch on the back and white curtains in the windows across from a white and tan condo.

Daring scanned the ground underneath, trying to keep the clouds beneath her and the ponies below as much as possible. Her mind was racing, the same things flashing before her eyes like a kaleidoscope: Bright Sparks with her pickles, Boltstrike firing lightning and thunder from his BAR, Phillip’s exhausted, pitying look, the cold touch of Red’s gun barrel against her forehead, and most prominently, the scent of blood and cordite in her nostrils as she stared down at the twisted bodies of Miranda Right and the security guards. She shivered and her stomach twisted inside her.

“Dammit, Sparks, why?” she whispered. “You weren’t a killer.”

She was silent for a moment, her stomach continuing to squirm and sending bile up into her throat, then took a breath and steeled her gaze. “But you are now,” she muttered. “You crossed that line. I’m sorry, sis, but I have to stop you.”

Something beneath caught her eye. She looked down and spotted a pony walking past Phillip; a bulky, bald earth pony with a dark brown coat. Sledgehammer! she thought, the name flashing before her mind in recognition. Pausing in midair, she observed Sledgehammer pass by Phillip and turn the corner. She began to fly after him, watching where he went.

Sledgehammer walked down the street for some distance, then turned up Maple Grove street, walking at a quicker pace with his bald head lowered. Even before he turned up the pathway, Daring spotted the house he was heading for: a plain, two-story light yellow house with white curtains in the first-floor window, across from a tan condo.

Sledgehammer rapped out a rhythm at the pale blue door, which opened after a moment and allowed him entry. Darting away, Daring flew back to Phillip, who was just rounding the next corner. She swooped down just low enough so that he would see her and waved her forelegs to get his attention. He looked up and she pointed towards Maple Grove street, gesturing for him to follow.

He nodded and jogged down the street, rounding the corner and heading up Maple Grove Street. Daring hovered over the hideout and pointed down at it. He jogged past, studying the house out of the corner of his eye, then rounded the corner at the end of the street. Daring flew over and landed in front of him.

“You sure?” Phillip asked, breathing hard from his run.

“Positive,” Daring nodded. “I saw one of them going in there.”

“How many are in there?” Phillip asked.

“Ten, eleven ponies,” Daring replied. “We know they have the BARs and the Dragon’s Breath cocktails, and we’ve both seen what Boltstrike and Bright Sparks can do with their magic.”

“We need backup on this,” Phillip said, looking around and spotting a blue police gamewell attached to a telephone pole nearby. “I’ll call Trace and Red.”

“I’m going in there to talk to her,” Daring declared.

Phillip whirled around and stared at her, open-mouthed. “Do you have kangaroos loose in your top paddock?” he snapped.

“She deserves a chance to surrender peacefully,” Daring said firmly. “And I have to give her a chance to explain. I just want to know why.”

Phillip stared at her for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Just wait. And be careful.”

Daring nodded and watched as Phillip rushed over to the gamewell, yanking the door open and holding the phone up to his ear.

“Finder. Connect me to Evidence and Herring,” he said into the phone. There was silence for a minute, then another voice spoke into the hoofset.

“Did you find them?” Trace Evidence asked.

“Yes,” Phillip said. “I can tell you and Red where they are, but on one condition.”

“What?” Trace asked, clearly regretting the question.

“You take them alive if you can,” Phillip said.

“What?” Trace asked coldly.

“I know that you’d like to just blow the hell out of all of them,” Phillip said patiently. “But enough ponies have died already. And if they’re alive, we can still get more info out of them.”

“You’re gonna be a pain in the ass about this, aren’t you?” Trace sighed.

“Yes, I am,” Phillip said flatly.

“You’re going in there no matter what, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s way too many of them for you to take on your own, isn’t there?”

“Probably.”

Trace was silent for several moments of contemplation, then sighed. “No promises if they start shooting at us,” he grunted. “Where are they?

“Thirty-five Gearstrip Street,” Phillip said. “Bring some officers that we can trust; call them by phone, not by radio.”

“Why?”

“Trust me on this,” Phillip said.

“All right, if you say so,” Trace said, and the line clicked off.

Phillip hung up the phone and walked back to Daring, who blinked at him in confusion. “Why’d you tell him the wrong address?”

“You remember what Roger Breaker, the dispatcher, told us?” Phillip said. “They can track the cruisers and plainclothes vehicles. Cold Case will probably rain down hell the moment she sees where Trace and Red are; I know how she thinks, we worked together for years.”

Daring blinked. “You do realize that she’ll be raining down hell on some innocent family’s home, right?”

“Empty house I saw when we landed,” Phillip said.

“So we get to make Cold look like an idiot?” Daring asked.

“Basically,” Phillip nodded.

Daring grinned. “Cool.”

“Wait for Trace and Red at that place. Bring them over here on hoof,” Phillip instructed, turning his vest back the right way and putting on his hat. “I’ll watch the house.” He jumped over the backyard fence of a nearby house and began to slink his way towards the back of the hideout.

Daring flew up into the air, heading back towards Gearstrip Street. She perched down on a cloud and watched patiently.

A few minutes later, a familiar Hayson Commander pulled up to the corner, followed by a cruiser and a police motorcycle. Trace and Red exited the Commander as Prowl and Bumblebee jumped out of the cruiser and Flash Sentry swung his legs off the bike.

Daring whistled and Prowl looked up, her ears twitching. Their eyes met and Daring flew off, heading back towards the hideout. Prowl shouted indistinctly and began to fly after her, with the others chasing after.

Daring landed at the end of Maple Grove Street and paused. Prowl flew down and hovered a few feet over her head, glaring at her. Flash Sentry joined her, followed by Red and Trace.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Prowl growled at Daring.

“Helping you find a bunch of cop killers and thieves,” Daring replied flatly.

Prowl glared challengingly at Daring for a few moments, then turned and looked at Trace Evidence. “Are you sure we can trust her?” she asked.

Trace looked at Daring. “We can trust that she and Phil are going to go in there no matter what. We might as well make sure that they don’t kill themselves.”

“And on the upside,” Daring added, looking at Red. “You catch them, you get the credit.”

Red raised his eyebrows ever so slightly as Bumblebee ran up, panting and huffing.

“Where are they?” Trace asked.

“There,” Daring said, pointing at the hideout several yards behind her. “I’m going to go in to try to talk them out.”

“Are you nuts?!” Flash shouted. “How do you know they won’t just kill you?!”

“I don’t,” Daring admitted. “But I know Bright Sparks. She was my friend once. She’ll at least listen to me.”

“Until she decides to shoot you,” Red said.

“You’d just love it if she did that, wouldn’t you?” Daring snapped at him. Red blinked and looked down at the ground at his hooves.

“At least take a gun or a bulletproof vest or something,” Prowl offered.

Daring shook her head. “I have what I need.” She turned around and walked towards the blue house, leaving the officers behind.

“Prowl, Sentry, you two take position above,” Trace instructed the two pegasi. “Bee, hold position out here in front with me. Red, head around to the back.”

“Yes, sir,” Prowl nodded, flying up into the air with Flash. The two of them began to hover over the house, staring down at it. Red Herring flew up after them, then swooped down to perch in one of the trees that marked the back property line, hiding amidst the golden and brown leaves. Trace and Bumblebee stood on the sidewalk out front, watching from the cover of a parked truck as Daring walked up to the front door.

Daring paused at the door, taking in a deep breath. She reached up and patted her pocket. The weight of the gift that she’d made back at home was comforting to her. She reached into her pocket and momentarily gripped the kusarifundo.

“Here I go,” she whispered and pushed the door open. To her surprise, it opened up with no resistance. She entered slowly, closing the door behind her.

The house seemed empty and silent, but she could detect the faint sound of voices from downstairs. She descended the stairs, moving slowly and carefully, pressing her weight down on the edge of the steps to minimize creaking. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she descended; she fought to keep her breathing steady and slow.

She reached the basement to find the thieves, ten in all, gathered around the table, deep in serious discussion. Bright Sparks was sitting at the head of the table, her chin resting on her hoof as Boltstrike spoke.

“—had to get rid of Jimmy, the idiot thought that he could sell us out for a better deal."

"None of this would've been necessary if we'd just gotten in and out quietly," Red Licorice stated.

"Ponies need to know where we stand: on the throat of anypony who treats good citizens like dirt, including cops," Boltstrike snarled. "Now that we’re officially cop killers, we’re in even deeper shit than before. They’ll be on guard with us, but that also means that we’ve made the first move. If we’re going to keep this advantage, we have to…”

Boltstrike trailed off slowly, looking up. Everypony slowly looked up from the table and stared in a mixture of astonishment and suspicion as Daring entered the room.

“Daring?” Bright Sparks asked, her eyes widening as she stood up and walked over. “Where have you been?”

“Sparks, for the sake of everything, I’m going to be completely honest with you,” Daring said flatly. “The cops have this place surrounded. I’m giving you one chance to surrender peacefully.”

Bright Sparks eyes almost popped out of her head. The other thieves all drew back from the table with cries of shock and disbelief. Boltstrike’s horn lit up in a fury of white sparks and he glared at Daring.

“Sparks, out of the way!” he snapped.

But Bright Sparks stepped between Boltstrike and Daring, blocking whatever attack he was preparing. “How could you do this?” she shouted at Daring, the anger in her voice and her expression nearly alien to Daring. “You betrayed us all!”

“You brought this on yourself when you murdered those ponies,” Daring said calmly, trying to ignore the fact that her knees were shaking.

“Miranda Right worked for the mob!” Bright Sparks snapped. “He kept those thieves and killers out of prison with his legal maneuvering and lying and bribing—”

“And what about the officers?” Daring asked, aware that the other ponies were standing and watching with hungry anticipation, like wolves surrounding a lame elk.

“Y-You know what cops are like in this city!” Sparks shouted, even as flickers of doubt shone in her eyes, lifting her right foreleg off the ground slightly. “They’re all corrupt and killers! They killed Silent Step!”

“And how can you be sure of that?” Daring replied, her own voice raising to match her own rising anger. “What if they were just regular ponies trying to do their job and go home at the end of the day? And what about the security guards that you fucking shot just because they were in the way?”

Bright Sparks hesitated for a second, casting her gaze downwards, then glared at Daring. “They were in the way,” she replied. “That’s why they died. It was self-defense.”

Daring felt her mouth drop open as her heart fell into her stomach. “Sparks, this isn’t you,” she said softly. “You didn’t use to be like this…you weren’t a killer.”

“I wasn’t,” Sparks said. “But that was before. When I was just a scared pony trying to survive. When I was weak.” She straightened up, glaring down imperiously at Daring. “But things are different now. Now, we all fight for more than ourselves. Now, we are soldiers in a war. And in a war, you kill your enemies! I want my child, and all of this city’s children, to live in a city without the mob ruling over them! Do you really think that playing nice is going to get us that?!”

Daring looked up at Bright Sparks, who glared down at her, nostrils flaring as she breathed, and realized that she was looking up at a stranger. “Well, if that’s what makes you feel better about yourself, Mojo,” she spat.

Sparks stepped back slightly, flinching as the accusation struck her, then glared. “I’m sorry, sis,” she said. “But if you’re not with us, you’re against us. Kill her!”

She stepped aside, allowing Boltstrike to fire his spell at Daring. The white magic trail streaked towards her, crackling and roaring as it carried its curse.

In one movement, Daring reached a hoof into her pocket and extracted a small round black object. She threw it down on the floor, and the sudden impact detonated the smoke bomb that she’d made as she threw herself to the ground to avoid the spell. There was a loud clap of thunder and the room was suddenly filled with a cloud of thick black smoke. The thieves staggered, coughing.

Extracting her kusarifundo from her pocket, Daring got up and charged through the smoke, spinning one of the weighted ends to gain momentum. The enchanted contact lenses that she wore protected her from the smoke’s harmful effects and allowed her to see more clearly. She focused on Boltstrike, who was still choking on the fumes. She swung the kusarifundo with a shout that tore itself out of her burning throat; the weight slammed into Boltstrike’s temple and he dropped like a stone, out cold.

But then a bolt of orange magic struck Daring in the chest with the force of a battering ram and she flew backward, crashing into the wall. Dazed, feeling the pain of cracked ribs, she looked up to see Bright Sparks glaring at her, her horn sparking; Daring saw the faint green glow of enchanted contacts in her eyes.

“Kill her!” she screamed, pointing. Sledgehammer charged at Daring, his glaring eyes red and streaked with tears, and seized her by the throat, slamming her against the wall. Daring’s vision blacked out momentarily and she dropped her kusarifundo. She looked up to see Sledgehammer drawing back a hoof as large as an anvil, preparing to cave her skull in.

But then there was a loud, familiar whistling sound and something struck Sledgehammer in the back of the head, causing him to stagger and drop Daring. Sucking in a quick breath, Daring lashed out with a roundhouse kick to Sledgehammer’s knee, driving her hoof through the blow. There was a snap like the breaking of a rotten tree, and Sledgehammer fell to the ground, bellowing in rage and pain. Daring looked around frantically for her kusarifundo and spotted it on the ground a couple feet away. She dived for it, snatching it up in her hooves.

Daring looked up at the other end of the room. Phillip had entered the room as soon as her smoke bomb had detonated; it was his boomerang that had saved her. Right now, he was engaged with Red and Black Licorice, who were swinging blindly at him.

He can handle himself, she told herself. Where's Sparks—?

A roar gave Daring just enough warning: she ducked just in time to avoid another spell from Daring. A flicker of movement behind her made her step back, narrowly avoiding Gear Shift swinging the butt of a BAR at her head. She wrapped the kusarifundo around the barrel of the gun and pulled Gear in close, driving her elbow into the side of his head and her knee into his stomach. Gear collapsed, coughing and wheezing. Daring somersaulted to avoid a third spell from Sparks, then flew at her, spinning her kusarifundo. Sparks erected a hasty shield in front of herself.

Not this time! Daring banked hard, using her wings to guide her in a sharp turn around the shield. She turned and kicked off the wall, punching a dazed Dusty Tail in the face as she passed by him and flew over Sparks' shield, tackling her to the ground.

"Enough, Sparks!" she shouted. "I don't want to hurt your kid. Just—"

"Get off!" Sparks’ horn lit up and Daring quickly rolled off her to avoid the concussion spell that would have sent her flying into the ceiling. Both mares scrambled back to their hooves, glaring at one another. Daring gripped her weapon tight in both hooves; the rope was stretched taut, almost to the point where she felt it might snap.

Sparks lunged, her punches fast and controlled, but with enough rage behind each one to crack her jaw. Daring ducked and weaved, then spotted her opening in a hook that Sparks overcommitted to. Sidestepping the blow, she snapped the kusarifundo out to crack some of Sparks' ribs, then stepped behind her as she looped the rope around Sparks' neck. Bright Sparks gagged and choked as Daring stepped in close, grasped both ends of the rope, and threw Sparks over her shoulder.

But as Sparks fell towards the ground, her body was suddenly surrounded by an orange glow and she stopped in midair, hovering a few feet off the floor. At the same moment, Dusty Tail seized Daring from behind, wrapping his forelegs around her and lifting her off the ground. Daring kicked and squirmed, but Dusty’s grip was as tight as an iron vise. A quick glance over to the other side of the room revealed to Daring that Phil was currently engaged in hoof to hoof with three other thieves; he blocked a low kick from one of them, but got punched in the face and knocked to the ground for his trouble.

Her face twisted in rage and pain, Sparks got up and punched Daring in the stomach; her breath exploded from her lungs with a loud whoosh. "You traitor!" Bright Sparks yelled at her.

Daring coughed and wheezed in a breath. "Least I'm better looking than you," she taunted. Sparks snarled and punched at Daring's face.

At the last second, Daring ducked, causing Sparks to punch Dusty in the face. There was a very loud, satisfying crunch as Dusty’s nose broke and he released Daring, staggering back and howling in pain. Daring snap kicked Sparks in the crotch, causing her to double over with a wheeze, then ducked beneath her foreleg and pushed her into Dusty Tail. A quick spinning back kick sent both ponies crashing to the floor.

But then she heard a distinctive clicking noise behind her. She turned to see that Gear Shift had gotten up and was aiming his BAR at her, a blood-smeared grin plastered across his face. The barrel of the gun was a black hole in the world, promising death. She prepared to throw herself out of the way, knowing that it was too close for her to dodge.

A single gunshot sounded like a crack of lightning and she almost flinched. Gear Shift cried out and dropped the BAR, clutching his shoulder; blood oozed out from beneath his hoof.

“Nopony move!” Red Herring barked, smoke rising from the barrel of his Filly M1912 as he entered the room. Trace, Flash, Bumblebee, and Prowl were right behind him, the officers quickly spreading out and taking control of the room. The thieves who were surrounding Phillip immediately backed away, raising their hooves.

“What the hell took you so long?” Phillip asked, panting and wiping blood from his lip as he got up off the ground.

“Don’t act like you’re happy to see us,” Trace said with a roll of his eyes.

“Give me a reason, cop killer. I’m begging you,” Red snarled to Gear Shift. Gear Shift slowly lowered himself to the floor, placing his hooves atop his head, glaring all the while.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Flash Sentry announced to the room. “Anything you say can and will be used—”

Daring’s eyes focused on Sparks, who had gotten back up on her hooves. Her former sister stared at her, emotions tumbling through her eyes like debris in floodwaters; fear, anger, pain, and then, cold steely determination. Her horn lit up with an orange glow.

“Stop her!” Daring shouted, spreading her wings and racing forward, but it was too late. With a flash of orange light, Bright Sparks vanished; Daring’s hooves grasped nothing but air.

“You coward!” Boltstrike screamed at the place where she’d disappeared from. “Running and hiding like a little bitch!”

“He said you have a right to remain silent,” Red Herring interrupted him, aiming his sidearm at Boltstrike’s head. “If I were you, I’d feel free to exercise that right.”

Boltstrike snarled at him. At that moment, there came the sound of sirens from outside, announcing the late arrival of more police. Trace, Red, Prowl, Bumblebee, and Flash placed the thieves in hoofcuffs and escorted them up out of the basement and out onto the street outside, Trace carrying the crippled Sledgehammer in his magic.

A half dozen cruisers were parked outside the house, their lights spinning. Officers were crouched next to their vehicles, their weapons trained on the arrested ponies: as one, they moved forward and began to push them into their waiting cruisers.

Daring noticed Red and Black Licorice shivering as they were guided into a waiting cruiser. They huddled close to one another in the backseat. She forced herself to turn away, looking up at Phillip instead. He returned her gaze with a weary downward look that emphasized the growing bags beneath his eyes and the etching crow’s feet.

“You must think you’re so clever,” a voice like an oncoming blizzard spoke. Daring and Phillip turned to see Captain Cold Case glaring at them.

“We found them, and we got almost all of them alive,” Daring shot back. “You wanted a side of fries with that?” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Phillip trying to hide a smirk.

Cold’s eyes narrowed in a display of unamusement. “You let the leader get away.”

“By accident,” Daring replied.

“A likely excuse,” Cold snorted. “Your interference ends here, thief. Detective Evidence, Detective Herring, arrest Do and Finder.”

Daring froze, then instinctively started to crouch down to spring into the air, her wings spreading open a bit. Cold’s horn lit up and her trenchcoat parted a bit to reveal her holster.

But Phillip grasped Daring’s foreleg, stopping her. She followed his gaze towards Red and Trace to find that neither of them had moved; they stared at the ponies with unreadable, mask-like expressions.

“I said, arrest them,” Cold Case repeated.

“On what charges, ma’am?” Trace Evidence asked flatly.

“Interfering with a criminal investigation,” Cold Case replied, never taking her eyes off of Daring.

“Ma’am, he and Daring are consultants. We pay them to interfere with our investigations,” Trace replied dryly.

Cold Case turned to glare at Trace Evidence. “Also accessory to murder, lying to the police…”

“And your evidence for that?” Trace replied flatly.

Cold Case froze for a moment, her eyes widening momentarily, then narrowing. “Are you disobeying me, Sergeant Evidence?”

“No, ma’am,” Trace replied. “I’m just saying, that I have been on this case since the very beginning, and without their help, we wouldn’t have gotten this ending.”

“We could try arresting them for being pains in the ass, but I don’t think that’s a crime,” Red Herring deadpanned.

Daring felt her jaw drop. “Did...did he just tell a joke?” she whispered to Phillip. He slowly nodded, apparently unable to believe it, either.

Cold stared at them for several seconds of silence, then growled, “You’re not going to arrest them, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” Trace said, glaring at her with a warning in his eyes. "Are you?"

Cold turned and glared at Daring. She stepped forward, within reach of her. Daring forced herself not to flinch.

“Don’t think you’ve won,” Cold said icily. “This city doesn’t need two rogue vigilantes like you running free, ignoring the law and violating the trust of the civilians.”

“Yes, because your cops have that covered pretty well,” Daring replied flatly.

Cold’s eyes flashed in anger, but Phillip stepped in between the two mares, protectively pushing Daring backward with his foreleg. “If we’re done here,” he said coldly.

Cold glared at him for a moment, then turned and walked away without another word. Phillip lowered his foreleg with a slow exhalation.

“Thanks, mates,” Phillip said to Trace and Red.

“You can thank me by paying for my psychiatrist appointments after this,” Red grumbled, turning and walking away. Trace hesitated for a moment, looking as though there was something he wished to say, then sighed and followed his partner to one of the cruisers.

Phillip and Daring turned to walk away, but a voice called them back. “Uh, Phil?” They turned to see Flash walking up to them, his eyes directed at the ground.

“I’m sorry that I let the leader get away,” he mumbled, still not looking up.

“Not your fault,” Phillip replied gently.

“Yeah, that was my fault,” Daring replied. “I should have anticipated that.”

“But I was there,” Flash protested, looking up. “I should’ve—”

Phillip stepped forward and laid a hoof on Flash’s shoulder, halting his speech. “Listen, jackaroo. You can beat yourself up with should’ves, could’ves and would’ves, or you can do better next time. Right?”

Flash nodded.

“Aces,” Phillip nodded, clapping Flash on the shoulder. “You did good in there,” he added.

“Thanks,” Flash grinned.

Phillip paused for a moment, then added. “You didn’t tell Cold Case that you saw Daring at the firm. Why?”

Flash hesitated, glancing over at Prowl and Bumblebee; both of the other officers were standing next to their cruiser, occupied with the prisoners. He turned back and stepped in close, dropping his voice.

“Because I...I trust you, Phillip,” he replied. “You want to do this city right, even if ponies don’t agree with you. And if I trust you…” He looked over at Daring. “I guess that means I trust you, too.”

Daring blinked in slight surprise. “I...thanks,” she stammered.

“Yeah, thank you,” Phillip said quietly. “Really.”

Flash nodded and managed a smile. “Sure. Um, I should probably get back to the others,” he said, nodding to the other officers.

“Hoo roo, then,” Phillip said. Flash turned and walked away. Daring and Phillip both turned and started to make their way towards a trolley stop several blocks down.

As they walked, Daring was suddenly acutely aware of just how tired she was; her legs ached and her eyelids were heavy. But an image floated in front of her gaze: Bright Sparks’ face, just before she had teleported away. Every detail of her expression was burned into the forefront of Daring’s mind, and a realization slithered across her body like a cold wind. She hated her. Bright Sparks, whom she had been proud to call a sister, hated her.

“You okay?” Phillip asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Daring said, forcing herself to hold her head up despite feeling like she had a ball and chain wrapped around her neck.

She felt his gaze focusing on the side of her head like a pair of spotlights and sighed. “No,” she admitted, allowing her head to drop.

His foreleg slipped across her shoulders and he squeezed her to his side as they walked. She nestled her head against his chest as a light rain began to fall, raindrops pattering against their backs and dripping from the brims of their hats.

“Did we do the right thing?” Daring asked softly.

Phillip was silent for several seconds, then sighed. “I think we did the best we could,” he replied.

Daring frowned but didn’t say anything. They reached the trolley stop, a bench with a clear plastic roof, and sat down upon it, side by side, his foreleg still around her shoulders as the rain on the rooftop above them murmured musically. The trolley arrived fifteen minutes later, and they sat next to each other all the way home. Neither of them spoke a word.

Case Three, Chapter Ten: Alliances and Trust Regained

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The rain and mist remained over Ponyville for the next several hours like an unwelcome guest, reflecting Phillip’s mood. He stood on the back porch of his home, leaning against the banister, a lit cigarette in his hoof and a shot glass and a bottle of Kanga-Rum in front of him.

He took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke that quickly dissipated into the cold, rainy air. The sun, partly hidden behind the clouds, was dipping towards the horizon and the shadows were becoming longer and colder. “Ahh,” he grunted, dousing the cigarette on the banister and flicking it away. He knocked back the entire shot of the rum, then turned and walked back inside.

Daring was sprawled on the couch, snoring quietly, her mane draped over her face; she’d flopped down on the couch as soon as they’d gotten home and was asleep in minutes. When Phillip entered, she groaned in her sleep and shifted, grasping at the blanket that Phil had draped over her.

Phillip glanced up at the clock and saw that it was past five o’clock. He walked over to the couch and gently shook Daring’s shoulder. “Wake up, you bludger,” he said softly.

Daring opened up her light rosy eyes and blinked sleepily up at him. “What time is it?” she murmured.

“Past five. You’ve been sleeping for hours,” Phil said.

Daring sat up and stretched, yawning. “I’m hungry,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Good. I’ve got that set at the Apple Pie tonight. You coming?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Daring said, pushing the blanket off her and standing up. “Not like I have anything better to do right now,” she muttered.

“Well, Pinkie will be glad to see you back, at least,” Phillip said with a small grin as he hefted his saxophone case onto his shoulders.

“Heh,” Daring laughed quietly. “I’m sure she will be.”

Donning their vests and hats, the two ponies stepped out into the street and walked down to the curb just in time to catch the trolley, leaping up onto the car as it slowed down. They found a pair of seats next to each other in the middle of the car and sat down, silently observing the other passengers.

A unicorn mare on the bench across from Daring looked up from her newspaper and made eye contact with her. The mare’s blue eyes slid down to Daring’s cutie mark, then to her right hoof. Her eyes locked onto the crude red lines and she slowly slid away from her.

The brand began to burn, a faint itching that grew into pain, burrowing into Daring’s skin. She started to glare at the other mare, withdrawing her hoof from out of sight. But then she felt a touch on her other hoof and looked down to see that Phillip had placed his hoof over hers and was squeezing lightly. She looked over at him; he was still staring straight ahead stoically, but she detected a small glimmer of a smile on his lips.

The burning in her branded hoof faded away. She smiled back at him and settled back in the seat, closing her eyes and enjoying the clicking and clattering of the trolley beneath her.

A few minutes later, Phillip shook Daring’s shoulder and she opened her eyes to find the Apple Pie in Your Eye approaching them, the blue and yellow lanterns on either side of the door piercing the approaching darkness. Phillip reached up and pulled the bell to signal the trolley to stop, and the trolley halted with a soft squeal of brakes. Both of them exited the trolley car, Phillip swinging his case onto his shoulders, and walked into the tavern.

The tavern was in its usual state of activity, with a constant low level of talk emanating from the patrons around the tables. Several ponies looked up at their arrival; Daring felt their gazes fix upon her, saw their eyes narrow and smelt their suspicion in the air, and suddenly quailed.

But just as she was hovering in the midst of her indecision, there came a loud squeal and a familiar pink object bounded into view, flinging its forelegs around Daring’s neck. “You’re back, you’re back, you’re back!” Pinkie Pie cried joyfully, her voice and her springy, cotton candy-scented mane assaulting all of Daring’s senses at once. “I was so upset when I heard that you and Phil had a fight, because I know you’re great friends, but I told Phillip to go looking for you, and he found you and—!”

“Pinkie, let her breathe,” Phillip said quietly, gently pulling Pinkie Pie off of Daring.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Pinkie Pie said, smiling apologetically at Daring.

“Don’t jump on me like that!” Daring replied gruffly, glaring at her.

“I’m sorry!” Pinkie Pie cried, looking genuinely upset. “I was just so happy to see you again and—”

Daring started to snap at Pinkie, but Phillip placed a hoof on her shoulder. She turned to face him and he gave her a look that was like ice water on a fire. She let out a slow breath and turned back to Pinkie.

“Just...I’m glad to see you again, too, Pinkie,” Daring said. “Just don’t surprise me like that again, all right?”

“Okie-dokie-lokie!” Pinkie sang, immediately cheering up. “C’mon in, we’ve got more than enough room for everypony!” She gave Daring one more quick hug, a more gentle one-armed embrace, then bounced into the tavern to chat with some other patrons.

Daring turned to Phillip. “I shudder to think what she’d be like drunk,” she whispered.

Phillip just half-grinned and nodded to Daring’s hoof. Daring looked down to find that at some point during their conversation, Pinkie had slipped her a plate with a slice of peach pie on it, and she was now holding it in her hoof. She blinked slowly at the dessert. “How the fu—?”

“Don’t question it,” Phillip said, shaking his head as he led her deeper into the tavern. “You’ll just hurt your head.”

Daring followed behind Phillip, watching the other ponies around her. A few other ponies looked up as she passed and nodded respectfully, their suspicion alleviated by Pinkie’s display. Daring allowed herself to relax and nodded back.

They reached the bar, which was only loosely populated, and sat down next to Coloratura, who was speaking to Applejack. Both mares smiled at them when they sat down.

“Good to see you again,” Applejack said to Daring with a nod.

“And you,” Daring nodded back. “How’s Steamed Carrot?”

“She’s doing well,” Coloratura replied, glancing back towards the kitchen door. “Steamed! Come out here for a moment, please.”

The swinging doors to the kitchen peeked open for a moment and a chubby blue pegasus with frizzy red hair drawn up in a bun peeked out. Her bright green eyes widened in pleasure when they focused on Phillip and Daring. “Hello!” Steamed Carrot cried, bouncing forward and giving both Phillip and Daring a brief hug. “How have you been?”

“Not that bad,” Phillip nodded. “You?”

“Well, can’t complain,” Steamed Carrot said modestly, idly arranging some bottles on the bar. “You got me this wonderful job here, and Pinkie Pie’s been letting me stay in one of the spare rooms upstairs until I find a place for myself.”

“We’ve been having a sleepover every night!” Pinkie Pie called from some distance away.

Steamed Carrot let out a quiet laugh. “Yes, yes we have,” she said. She paused for a moment, then looked up. “Hey, can I get you two anything? On the house!”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—” Phillip started to protest.

“I insist!” Steamed Carrot said.

Phil and Daring glanced at each other, then looked at Steamed. “What do you recommend?” Daring asked.

“Oh, I’ve just made up this wonderful zucchini boat recipe that I’ve been dying to try!” Steamed said, her excitement palatable. She bounced up and down a bit, her eyes shining. “With onions and grilled oats and drizzled with mozzarella!”

“That sounds great,” Daring nodded.

“Coming up!” Steamed Carrot chirped, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Daring heard a soft sigh and turned to see Rara staring sadly at the kitchen doors.

“I’m still trying to convince her to try singing on stage, but she spends every workday inside that kitchen, not talking to anypony," Rara said. "I wish I could get her to open up more."

"Is she seeing anypony?" Daring asked.

"Yeah, a psychologist," Applejack confirmed. "She's been getting a lot better."

"Good to hear," Daring nodded.

“We’ll keep an eye on her, don't worry,” Applejack promised. “We stick together for our friends.”

“Hear, hear,” Rara agreed.

There was the sound of the door opening and closing again. Daring and Phil both looked up and stared in surprise at the two stallions in trenchcoats that were walking through the door.

Trace Evidence and Red Herring walked up to the bar and stopped in front of the detectives. “Hey,” Trace said flatly, his expression as unreadable as always. Red looked rather odd, probably because he was looking at Daring and he didn’t look like he had a rancid dead skunk shoved under his nose.

“G’day,” Phillip said warily. Daring stared coolly back at Red, trying to read his expression.

“You did good on that case,” Trace said.

“We did,” Phillip corrected, nodding to Trace.

Trace laughed quietly. “I guess we did. All but one of the thieves captured alive and no casualties.”

Daring slowly turned around. “AJ...a bottle of cider, and two glasses,” she said.

“Sure thing,” AJ said with a grin, ducking beneath the bar and coming back up with two glasses and a bottle of cider with a label of an apple on it. She poured out the two drinks as Daring slapped down a couple of bits onto the bar.

“Gentlecolts,” Daring said, sliding the glasses of slightly foamy liquid over to the seats next to her.

Red and Trace looked at each other, then sat down and accepted the glasses. “This doesn’t put you on my Hearth’s Warming card list,” Red pointed out as he sipped at his drink.

Daring snickered. “Fair.”

“You ever get tired of carrying Phil around everywhere?” Trace asked.

“Nah, he loves riding me,” Daring replied with a smirk, flicking Phil’s flank with her tail. Phillip glared at her, his ears turning red as the mares all snickered.

“Ooo-kay,” Trace said, covering the moment by taking another sip. “You should think about getting a car.”

“Oh, here he goes,” Red said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Trace continued. “If it were me, I’d suggest the Hayson Commander.”

“Because you drive it,” Red pointed out.

“I drive it because it’s a damn good car,” Trace countered. “I mean, the Diplomat 600 is a flashy car, but it doesn’t get as good a performance.”

“I got the thing because it was cheap and it ran well,” Red replied.

“But for how much longer?” Trace asked. “You know, I bet if Lug Wrench and I took a look at it—”

“Oh, hell no, you and your drinking buddy are not tinkering with my car!” Red said.

“What do you mean, tinkering?” Trace protested. “He’s great with cars! Even taught me a few things.”

“Trace, I didn’t think anypony could teach you anything about cars,” Red smirked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Trace asked.

Rara reached out and tapped Phil on the shoulder. “Um, maybe we should get ready to start the show?” she asked with a rather forced grin.

“Okay,” Phil nodded, picking up his carrying case. He and Rara both pulled away from the bar and walked up onto the stage. Phillip began to unpack his instrument while Rara set up the microphones and began to warm up her voice.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard Phil play,” Trace commented.

“He’s really good,” Daring said, taking up a fork and digging it into her slice of peach pie.

As soon as she did so, there was a loud popping sound and a bunch of confetti flew out of the pie slice, settling down on Daring’s head and shoulders like falling leaves. She blinked in surprise, staring down at the no-longer-innocuous dessert.

“Is that normal?” Trace asked, distracted from his conversation by the noise.

“I think so,” Daring sighed, brushing the confetti off her. She dug into the slice and took a bite. The warm flavor filled her mouth, easing a lot of tension in her shoulders that she wasn’t even aware of until it melted away.

Phillip took up his saxophone and nodded to Rara. Rara nodded back and took her position at the piano, playing the soft and mellow intro to Buffalo Summer, accompanying the piano music with the tinkling of chimes that she deftly stroke with her tail. Phillip raised the reed to his lips, closed his eyes, and began to play, the saxophone music floating out of the bell as if carried on a light summer evening breeze. The tavern quieted as every head turned towards the stage, every pony pausing what they were doing to listen to the music. Daring rested her forelegs on the bar and closed her eyes to listen, allowing her tail to sway in time to the rhythm.

The phone behind the bar rang. Applejack turned and picked up the hoofset, holding it to her ear. “Apple Pie in Your Eye,” she said, then her eyes widened. “Who?!” She listened in disbelief for a few moments, then turned to Daring and held out the hoofset. “It’s for you.”

Daring slowly reached out and took the hoofset, holding it up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Miss Do,” a familiar voice like silk spoke into her ear.

A grin spread across Daring’s face but did not make it up to her glaring eyes. “Heya, Chuck,” she replied. “What’s up?”

Charlie August Silvertongue’s voice gave a very soft, obviously fake laugh. “Ah, your wit is most entertaining, Miss Do,” he replied. “I was calling to congratulate you on you and your partner’s success with this case.”

“You needn’t have bothered,” Daring replied, her tone falsely honeyed.

“Oh, but I wanted to commend the two heroes,” Silvertongue continued. “I also wished to inform you that I am willing to give you a great monetary reward for your services to this city; fifty thousand bits, to be paid immediately to the account of your choosing.”

Daring was silent for two seconds, ostensibly contemplating the offer. Then she spoke, “Chuck, I know exactly what I want you to do with all that money.”

“Do tell,” Charlie said.

“You can take all fifty thousand bits and shove them all up your asshole, one at a time,” Daring said sweetly and started to hang up.

There was silence for a couple of seconds. "Very well: then I will happily donate the money to a charity for victims of crime, in your name," Charlie said. "A fair trade, I believe."

"It wasn't a trade, Chuck," Daring replied. "We were doing what was right; you had nothing to do with it."

"We can still trade," Charlie stated matter-of-factly. "Consider this gesture my promise to remain silent about the fact that your partner is a murderer, in exchange for your cooperation."

A flash of heat raced up Daring’s spine, causing it to suddenly straighten, and all her muscles tightened. “Don’t talk about Phil like that,” she growled into the phone.

“Lucky Dice's blood is on his hooves,” Charlie continued, still in that matter-of-fact tone. “When he was still an officer—”

“I know,” Daring interrupted him. “He told me everything he did, and you know what? I don’t give a fuck. Phil is a good pony, one of the best stallions I’ve known. Yeah, he fucked up, but so have I. So talk to somepony who cares.”

“There are many ponies who do care, Miss Do,” Charlie continued. “Many ponies who are in a position to make both of your lives very miserable. I told you when I first met you at the museum: in this city, you either bend or you break. And I am—”

“The only asshole in the world that can fuck itself,” Daring snapped back and handed the hoofset back to Applejack. Applejack jammed the hoofset back onto the receiver with a small smirk. Daring sucked in a breath and lowered her forehead onto her hoof, letting out her breath in a low hiss. Her heart hammered out a rapid tattoo against her ribs.

“You okay?” Trace asked. Daring felt him raising a hoof to place it on her shoulders.

Daring took in a deep breath through her nostrils and let it out quickly through her mouth. “You know what?” she said with a smile. “Silvertongue’s not worth getting pissed about.” She pulled out a couple more bits and slapped them on the table. “AJ, another glass, and the bottle.”

“You got it, sugarcube,” Applejack smiled, putting the requested items back up on the bar and pouring Daring a foaming drink. Daring took it and raised it towards Red and Trace.

“Cheers,” she said.

“Cheers,” both stallions said, clinking their glasses against hers before downing the contents.

Daring turned to the stage just as Phillip and Coloratura finished the song. The tavern patrons applauded as the last notes floated away into the air. Phillip opened his eyes and spotted Daring. She raised her glass in salute to him. He nodded back, a small smile displayed on his features.

Phillip then turned and whispered something to Rara. She looked at him, looked at Daring, then smiled and nodded. She stepped forward and took her place at the microphone.

“Good evening and thank you, everypony,” she declared, her amplified voice echoing through the room. “It’s good to see you all enjoying yourselves tonight, and Phillip and I hope that you enjoy tonight’s musical selection. For our next piece, we’d like to warm your hearts with one of Neighry Ponilow’s favorites!”

She retook her place at the piano while the patrons applauded again. Once the applause died down, Phillip closed his eyes again and placed the reed in his mouth. He blew a soft, sighing intro, paused for a moment, then summoned a buzzing melody that mixed with Rara’s counterpoint as she began to sing:

“You know I can’t smile without you,
I can’t smile without you,
I can’t laugh and I can’t sing…”

Daring blinked in surprise and looked at Phillip. He half-opened his eyes and looked back at her, smiling again. She smiled back and closed her eyes, resting her head on the bar and letting the music flow across her like warm water down her back.

“See, I told you,” Red whispered to Trace. Trace grumbled and passed Red a couple of bits.

“Thanks,” Red smirked, pocketing his prize.

“Shut up and drink your cider,” Trace muttered.

Charlie August Silvertongue stared at the phone for several seconds, the dial tone humming incessantly through the speaker. He laughed quietly and placed the phone back down.

“A real charmer, that one; I like her, I really do,” he said to the assembled ponies. He leaned back in his chair. “Now, what were we discussing?”

On the seat next to him, Monopoly scowled at him and adjusted the reading glasses perched on his snout. Across from the table, a tan earth pony mare with wavy gray hair adjusted her glasses and frowned, her expression the very picture of unamused. The three ponies sat upon cushioned chairs in a sizeable, well-lit sitting room around a dark maple table. On one wall was a painting that depicted a group of settlers standing around the banks of the Maresippi River; on the opposite wall was a window that looked out onto the cars outside passing through the town circle, their headlights making the hanging mist glow faintly.

“Before you interrupted, we were discussing Mister Monopoly’s Phoenix Housing Project,” Mayor Mare said, looking down at the sheaves of blueprints on the desk in front of her.

“I do not see why you are concerned,” Monopoly said calmly, taking the glasses off and cleaning them off with a cloth that he pulled out of a pocket of his suit. “Consider what Phoenix is for; providing affordable, up-to-date housing for the ponies that live in the slums of the northern Everfree District, most especially the ones who have recently lost their homes. Consider the money that you will save in healthcare and criminal justice expenditures once this project is complete.”

“I am concerned most of all about the money we are not saving right now,” Mayor Mare replied coldly, tapping one of the blueprints. This paper displayed a map of a neighborhood, with several blue triangles marked across it. “The construction alone is already going over budget with the delays and these fires. I cannot conscience this city paying for more than it has to...especially if the federal government claims eminent domain for their oil pipeline.”

"Let me worry about the oil pipeline," Monopoly waved her off. "All I require is that you uphold the contracts that we agreed upon."

The Mayor narrowed her eyes. "You should have told me about the pipeline beforehoof," she said. "Now that we are looking at a potential eminent domain takeover--"

“With respect, Madam Mayor,” Silvertongue interrupted. “That is not the topic at hoof right now. Right now, we are discussing you paying for Phoenix, as you promised both us and the citizens of this fair city.”

“Not anymore, we are not,” Mayor Mare said firmly.

Monopoly opened his mouth to protest, but Silvertongue raised a hoof. The mayor’s eyes flitted to him, color slowly starting to drain from her face.

“You wouldn’t want to rescind your support from Phoenix,” Silvertongue stated. “You would lose much of your political support; you won the vote with the Everfree District ponies. If you were to go back on your promise to help them with their new homes, it'd be disastrous for you. And for this city: I share the opinion of much of this city that you are the best Mayor Ponyville has had in years, a Mayor that can be credited for several years of relative peace."

He leaned forward slightly. "And if, on top of that, a certain rumor began to spread that you were a part of an anarchist group in your youth, accompanied by some rather incriminating photos and letters leaked to local newspapers, why...that could conceivably ruin your career. Trust me, neither of us wants that to happen, Margaret.”

Mayor Mare swallowed and stared at Silvertongue for several seconds, then swallowed and looked back down at the blueprints. “I will need to discuss it with the city council…” she murmured.

“Take your time,” Silvertongue replied. “You will see the improved construction schedule, as promised. Won’t she, Monopoly?”

“She will,” Monopoly agreed quietly.

Mayor Mare nodded and stood up, retreating into an office behind the sitting room. She closed the door quickly behind her and there was the sound of the lock turning.

“Well, that went well,” Silvertongue said, standing up. “Shall we go?” He turned and exited the room, with Monopoly following behind. They entered the hallway outside; Zugzwang and Secure Lock, who had been guarding the doorway, fell into step behind them as they proceeded through City Hall.

“Are you certain of this, Monopoly?” Silvertongue asked quietly as they walked.

“The thieves stole most of my assets, and they have the Lazarus Ritual,” Monopoly grunted. “I need to recover my finances. I had plans for Phoenix already; this has just accelerated them.”

“As long as you continue to give me my cut, Monopoly, I will support you,” Silvertongue reassured him.

“Just as long as your gift works the way it’s supposed to,” Monopoly replied. “And what about Finder and Do?”

“I'm sure you can handle them,” Silvertongue said with a smirk as they pushed through the front doors of the City Hall and out into the cold, wet night.

Case Four, Prologue: Playing With Fire

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The night was cold. Underneath a burnished yellow half-moon, an icy wind blew from the Everfree Forest across the streets of the northeastern outskirts of Ponyville. The cold breath made the litter that dotted the sidewalks and pothole-ridden streets flap and rustle as they danced across the ground. The houses in the neighborhood were all standing far too close to one another, as if huddling together for warmth; every block was packed with homes in varying states of disrepair. Every window was dark; almost a third were boarded up. The houses were decorated in hanging lights of orange, dark blue, and purple; some homes had plastic skeletons and cardboard headstones in their front lawns or white sheets with crude faces scrawled upon them hanging from their front porches, a clear sign that Nightmare Night was upcoming.

A pickup truck, its silver paint scratched and tarnished over years of abuse, trawled down the street, passing underneath the one working street lamp, which flickered and hummed incessantly. A pile of rags in an alleyway behind the lamp shivered as a cold wind blew through the alley and grunted quietly. The two ponies in the truck’s cab ignored the homeless pony as they drove past.

“That’s the street,” the mare in the passenger seat said, pointing. The driver turned down the street, not even bothering to signal. They passed underneath a billboard hanging from the side of a brick multi-story building that creaked in the wind. The billboard displayed Monopoly, dressed in a pressed white suit and tie and fixing the ponies beneath with a winning smile. Behind him was a row of brand new houses, their sunshine yellow walls and red trim freshly painted and shining in the sun.

“Phoenix Housing Projects,” the sign declared in bold golden letters. “Affordable Housing for a Brighter Tomorrow! Coming Soon!”

The two ponies drove past the billboard and further down the street until they reached an intersection on the left. The intersecting road led to a boulevard surrounded by several smaller single-story condos. The neighborhood was lit by a single, rusting street lamp sitting on an island in the middle of the boulevard.

The driver, a bulky slate gray earth pony stallion with thick, dark blue bangs with red highlights and a cutie mark of a matchbook, parked the truck on the curb and exhaled slowly. “You sure that it’ll be all ready?” he asked his passenger, nervously adjusting the black and yellow jacket that he wore.

The passenger pulled out a cigarette lighter and flicked it open. The small yellow flame bloomed into existence, penetrating the darkness of the cabin and illuminating the mare’s face. The stallion flinched and quickly turned his head away. One of the reflective stripes on the sleeve of his jacket glowed faintly in the light.

“Let me put it this way,” the mare wheezed with a grin, her burnished smoky black eyes fixated on the small, dancing flame. Her voice carried a growly Southern accent, but the rough rasp around the edges of every syllable spoke of years of smoke and tar damage to her lungs. “It had fucking better be all ready for us, or we know who to smoke next.” She turned and gave the driver a lopsided grin, plucking a gas mask from the floor of the cab and tossing it to him. “Now get to work.”

The stallion slowly pulled the gas mask over his head and sealed it to his face with a hiss, never taking his eyes off the mare’s face. His breathing slow and heavy through the mask, he slowly opened the truck door and exited, then collected a small backpack from the seat behind the driver's. Closing the doors but leaving the engine running, he walked up the sidewalk towards the neighborhood.

The mare in the cab watched her partner leave, the flickering flame reflecting in her eyes. A smile danced across her face and she licked her lips. She squinted as she watched the stallion creep up to the back door of a condo with faded blue paint and a hideously grinning doll version of Nightmare Moon hanging from the porch ceiling, swaying back and forth in the wind. He crouched at the back door for a few seconds, then popped it open and entered the home.

The mare sat and waited. The night was silent save for the chirping of crickets, the rustling of autumnal leaves and the grumbling of the engine. She couldn’t see through the dark windows of the house, but she could already imagine what was happening. Right now, the stallion was tiphoofing through the quiet house, a few feet away from the sleeping family, his muffled breathing echoing in his ears, guiding his way forward with the thin beam of a small flashlight. He would crouch down on the floor, squinting in the darkness, and spot his target. A little twist and the job would begin.

Now came the waiting game. A soft hiss, like an angry serpent, punctuated the quiet of the room as the gas began to flow. Her partner wouldn’t be able to smell the odor of rotten eggs from the added sulfur as the poison began to flow; the sleeping ponies would be too far into dreamland to notice their oncoming death.

The mare’s hoof slowly traveled down her belly towards her hips as her eyes fixated on the lighter flame. He'd let the gas build up for a minute or two, letting the tension grow, then would come the fun part: a cigarette stuck in a matchbox and lit to form a fuse. Crude, but sometimes the simplest methods were best. She saw the stallion retreat out the back door and stand a safe distance away.

Her breathing became faster as she imagined it: the small flame sitting in the darkness, burning down on the cigarette towards the matches that waited, as though with bated breath. Meanwhile, the gas kept building and building, edging closer and closer to that big climax…

“Oh, come on, baby,” the mare panted, licking her lips hungrily and swallowing, the lighter flame dancing and shuddering as her body convulsed.

For a moment, she feared that the climax was not going to come, that the work had all been for nothing. Then, with a tremendous roar, the gas ignited. Windows in the back of the house burst open, glass flying everywhere as if fleeing the wall of flames that leaped out the windows. The light of the flames illuminated the neighborhood, smoke beginning to pour up into the night sky. The fire began its merry chorus of snaps, crackles, and pops, the walls and ceiling rapidly surrendering to the all-consuming flames.

Then, a beautiful counterpoint was joined to the music: screams. Three—no, four voices, including two young fillies, their voices rising in panic and terror, then in pain as the flames found them. The mare with the lighter gasped in delight as she imagined the scent of boiling flesh and searing bones, the writhing and twisting in agony, her mind running free in ecstasy. The fire spread throughout the entire house, and to the mare’s delight, a sudden wind began to blow, carrying the sparks to the next house and igniting the wall.

She barely noticed the stallion running back to the truck and climbing into the cab, yanking his gas mask off. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, grabbing the wheel.

“Wait!” the mare snapped, gritting her teeth, her panting coming fast and ragged. “I ain’t finished.”

There was a loud wail of agony from inside and a figure pushed through the back door. The teenaged mare, her entire body clothed in fire, writhed and flailed, rolling on the ground in a desperate bid to extinguish the flames. She let out one last piercing scream for help that rocked the air, then was still, save for some final twitches as life left her.

The mare in the truck gasped and rolled her eyes back into her head, shivering in ecstasy. A smile spread across her face and she clicked the lighter shut.

“Alrighty then,” she grinned and settled back into her seat. “Let’s get outta here.”

The driver shifted the truck into gear and they drove off into the night. Behind them, a section of the burning house’s roof collapsed, bringing an abrupt end to the screaming, while the melody of the flames continued to sing out into the night.

Case Four, Chapter One: Cold Trail

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Phillip Finder panted as he sprinted up the sidewalk, the cold air of the gray morning biting at his tongue with every breath. His head was covered by the hood of his dark blue sweatshirt. Emblazoned on the breast of the sweatshirt was a white facsimile of the coat of arms of Ponyville: a shield decorated with an apple tree sitting in a field, the sky above it half night and half day. The shield was flanked by a unicorn on the left, an earth pony on the right, and a pegasus with their wings spread on top. Beneath the shield was a scroll with the motto, “Domus Pro Omnibus,” “A home for all.” Underneath the coat of arms were the words “PONYVILLE POLICE DEPARTMENT.”

He jogged around a couple of passing mares and found himself charging right at a hot dog cart manned by a griffon. The griffon looked up and let out a squawk of alarm, his eyes widening as he realized that Phillip was going too fast to stop in time.

Phillip spotted a parked car sitting on the curb and adjusted his trajectory so that he was running right at the hood. With a grunt, he vaulted up onto the hood, leaped onto the roof and performed a forward flip over the hot dog cart. He tucked and rolled as he hit the sidewalk, popping back up onto his hooves and running onwards. The griffon’s jaw dropped, as did the hot dog he was preparing.

“Hey! I just waxed that!” the irate owner of the car shouted after Phillip, whose reply was to put on speed.

Phillip vaulted over a short fence to cut around a corner and jogged up Honeybee Bakery Street, weaving around other pedestrians. The familiar blue of 221, with its hanging sign advertising his services swinging in the breeze, was fast approaching. His lungs burning and his legs aching, he put on a final burst of speed, racing towards the goal. But just as he reached ten feet of the threshold, a grayscale rainbow descended from the sky and landed on the top step.

“I win again!” Daring said, grinning victoriously through her panting. Sweat glistened on her uncovered brow and in her windswept, tousled mane; over her light green cargo shirt, she wore a blue-purple neck warmer that complemented her golden coat.

Phillip slowed to a halt and glared at Daring. “It’s never a race,” he grumbled walking up to the front door and pulling out his key.

“That’s what losers say,” Daring smirked, stepping aside so Phil could unlock the door.

“Keep that up and see how much I kick your arse in sparring later,” Phillip said, opening the door and entering.

“Maybe that’s what I’m looking forward to,” Daring purred, following him into the house.

Phillip rolled his eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Daring smirked, then raised a wing and smacked Phillip on the flank with it, causing him to jump and let out a surprised whinny.

“What was that for?!” he shouted, turning around and staring wide-eyed at Daring as his ears burned red.

“There was a fly,” Daring said.

“Don’t touch my butt!” Phillip said.

“But that’s what sexy butts like yours are for,” Daring replied without a trace of shame in her voice.

Phillip growled and turned away. “I hate you,” he grumbled.

“Hate you, too,” Daring called after him, hanging up her neck warmer on the coat rack.

As she was about to enter, there was a knocking at the door. Daring turned and opened the door to find a unicorn mare standing on the other side. The mare was wearing a long blue scarf that complimented her creamy white coat, and a black purse hung around her shoulder. Her reddish-brown mane was just beginning to show signs of graying and lines were starting to etch themselves into her face around her light yellow eyes. Her cutie mark was a pair of bright lilies imposed upon a cloud.

The mare squinted at Daring, then looked up at the hanging sign over the door. “Are you...Phillip Finder?” she asked tentatively.

"No, I’m his partner," Daring replied. "Hey, Phil! Client!” she called into the house.

“Send her in!” Phillip called back.

Daring nodded to the mare, who entered without hesitation. The two proceeded right into the sitting room, where Phillip was waiting on one of the two chairs.

“Ma’am,” Phillip greeted her. “Please sit down.” He gestured at the sofa across from himself. The visitor sat down on the sofa and began to settle herself down while Daring hopped up onto the other chair next to Phillip and began to look over their new client.

The mare extracted a white hoofkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes with it. Engraved on the hoofkerchief were a facsimile of her cutie mark and the initials LV in pink cursive. Daring heard the jingling of keys from inside her purse when she extracted the fabric, as well as the light brown dirt that clung to the underside of her hoof. A gardener? Did she drive here? Daring’s eyes were then drawn to the wedding band around her hoof. It was a simple golden ring, but the front of it was encrusted with white and purple diamonds. Wedding bands that were meant to be worn around the hoof did not come cheap on their own, and she observed two small silver sections in the ring where it had been resized. The mare was definitely not hurting for money.

“What’s your name?” Phillip asked.

“Lily O’Mountain,” the mare replied. “I’m here because my husband, Gold Dust, went missing.”

“How long has he been gone?” Phillip asked.

“Two days,” Lily answered. “He’s never gone for more than a night.”

“You called the police?” Phillip asked.

“Yes,” Lily nodded. “But they didn’t give me much hope. I spoke to a detective there, Detective Evidence. He said to speak to you.”

Daring’s eyebrows raised slightly and she looked over at Phillip. Phillip didn’t look back at her. “When was the last time you saw your husband?” he asked.

“Two days ago, on the fifteenth of Hunter’s Moon, at about 7:30 in the morning,” Lily replied. “I had just seen him off to work; he works for Phoenix Life and Home Insurance, up in the northern part of town. He didn’t come home.”

“Does he have any family or close friends in Ponyville that you know of?” Phillip asked.

“A few, but all of them said that they hadn’t seen him either,” Lily replied, her voice and her hoof trembling. “He was just...gone. He would never just leave me…” She brought her hooves up to her mouth and let out a quiet whimper.

Daring leaned forward and gently grasped Lily’s hooves, bringing them down to her lap. She looked into Lily’s light yellow eyes, bright with worry, and smiled reassuringly.

“We will do everything we can to find him and bring him home,” she promised. “Do you have a recent photograph of Gold Dust?”

“Oh, yes, here,” Lily said, plucking a photograph out of her purse and handing it to Daring. The picture showed Lily standing in front of a house with a tall unicorn stallion. The stallion had a pale golden-brown coat and bright yellow hair to include a bushy mane and a full beard. He smiled at the camera, his brown eyes twinkling. He was wearing a light green suit and tie and his cutie mark was a pan of gold.

“Did your husband mention anything unusual or start acting odd before he disappeared?” Phillip asked.

“No…” Lily started to say but stopped to think. “Actually, before he left he mentioned that there was something he needed to talk to his coworkers about.”

“Did he say specifically?” Phillip asked.

“No, just that he thought there had been a mistake at work,” Lily replied.

Phillip frowned in thought. “I’ll need some other details from you, please,” he said.

He had Lily list off her husband’s favorite foods (barbecue and pizza), favorite hangouts (Lucky Lane’s bowling alley), and other notes that filled out his life, made Gold Dust more than just a name and a photograph.

“He had just bowled a turkey when he turned to me,” Lily was saying, smiling sadly as she adjusted the wedding ring around her hoof. “He reached into the bag for his ball and pulled out these two rings and slipped this one around my hoof...he was so awkward and sweet about it, he kept stuttering and stumbling over his words…” She blinked heavily, her smile wavering.

Daring took her hoof in both of hers again, rubbing it as if for warmth. “I promise, we will find out what happened to your husband,” she reassured her.

Lily’s smile wavered and she gripped Daring’s hoof back. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she said. “Here, let me give you my phone number and address.” She scribbled down a number and an address in the Industrial District on a sheet from her notebook and handed it to Daring.

“We’ll call you as soon as we have something,” Phillip said, shaking Lily’s hoof.

“Please do it soon,” Lily said as she exited. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you!” She waved goodbye and walked out the door, closing it behind her.

“What do you think?” Daring asked. “Maybe he really did run off and—”

“Daring, I keep telling you, making theories without evidence is a critical mistake,” Phillip interrupted, raising a hoof.

“Right,” Daring nodded. “It’s still a possibility, though.”

“Describe her,” Phillip stated.

“What? Oh, uh…” Daring said, tilting her head back to think. “White unicorn, red-brown hair, yellow eyes. Cutie mark of a pair of lilies with clouds. Wearing a black purse and a blue scarf.”

“Hobby?” Phillip asked.

“Gardening, judging by her hooves,” Daring said, a note of pride in her voice. “And she drove here.”

“How can you tell?” Phillip asked.

“I heard her keys jingling in her purse,” Daring said.

Phillip shook his head. “Could’ve just been her house keys,” he said.

Daring felt herself deflate slightly. “Oh...I didn’t think of that,” she admitted. “I was just thinking about how she got here, and I heard the keys, and I made that jump.”

“You’re still right, though,” Phillip added. “I saw marks on her shoulder from a seat belt, and I didn’t hear a taxi driving up. She parked a ways up the street and walked down here.” He paused, then added, “Don’t worry too much, sheila. Easy mistake, jumping to a conclusion like that. Learn from it, all right?”

“Okay,” Daring nodded.

“Attagirl,” Phillip said, tousling her mane affectionately. “Now, let’s start with Phoenix Life and Home.”

“I know where it is,” Daring said. “It’s in the northern part of Ponyville.”

“Aces,” Phil said, swinging his vest off the coat rack and onto his shoulders. He dropped his trilby onto his head as he exited the door, sliding his ears through the holes in the brim. “We’ll probably catch a taxi down the street…” He paused and turned back slowly, his eyes widening. Daring was looking at him with a grin and a gleam in her eyes.

“Taxi? Just this once? Please?” Phillip pleaded quietly.

“Hmm…” Daring said, tapping her chin in thought. “Nah.” With a laugh, she snatched Phillip beneath his forelegs and flew up into the frosty air, heading north.

“Trace was right,” Phillip grumbled, shifting in Daring’s grip and watching the ground speeding past several feet beneath him. “I’m using the money from this to buy a car.”

“You’re no fun at all,” Daring snickered. “Can a car do this?” She rose up into the air, performing a few fast, tight loop-de-loops, tightening her grip on Phil’s chest and laughing.

“Daaarrrriiiiiing!” Phillip screamed, clutching his hat to his head and clamping his eyes shut as tightly as he could.

“Oh, relax, I’m not going to drop you!” Daring laughed. “Learn to live a little!”

“Living involves not dying!” Phillip protested, still keeping his eyes shut and trying to hold his lunch in his stomach.

Phoenix Life and Home Insurance was a grandiose building in the Financial District, the northern part of Ponyville, not far from the August Gallery of Art. The front of the building was adorned with a brass fresco of a phoenix rising from a gust of flames; the revolving door underneath it was adorned with fiery orange.

Phillip and Daring pushed through the door and entered a lobby decorated in red, black, and orange. Two potted plants with fiery red leaves stood on either side of the doorway. A blonde receptionist sat behind a desk with “Phoenix Life and Home” painted on the black marble in foot-high gold lettering.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” she asked, giving the detectives a wide smile.

“Detectives Finder and Do,” Phillip greeted her. “We’re looking into Gold Dust’s disappearance. Where’s his office?”

“Number 308,” the receptionist said. “Take the elevator to the third floor, then turn right and proceed down the hallway. It’ll be on your left.”

“Thank you,” Phillip said. The two of them proceeded to a waiting elevator and entered the booth. The doors closed behind them and Phillip pressed the button for the third floor. He turned and noticed that Daring was staring at the back wall.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I read somewhere that if you do this in an elevator, it’ll make everypony uncomfortable,” Daring said.

“Well, stop it,” Phillip said.

“See? It works,” Daring smirked. Phillip rolled his eyes.

With a ding, the elevator stopped on the third floor and the two of them exited, turning right and walking up the carpeted hallway. They paused at a doorway marked 308. Daring tried the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. “Well, that makes things easier,” she commented, entering the office.

The small office featured a simple wooden desk and a set of red cushioned chairs. Several stacks of papers sat on the desk, accompanied by a telephone and a framed photograph of Gold Dust and Lily, standing in front of what Daring assumed was their house. A shelf sat on the wall to the right, groaning under the weight of binders and books on insurance laws. Behind the desk was a window that looked out to the north; they could see farmland in the distance, past the brick, concrete, and steel of the city.

“What are we looking for?” Daring asked, scanning the room with her eyes; ceiling to eye level, eye level to knees, then knees to floor, just like he’d taught her.

“Anything that might have led to his disappearance,” Phillip said. “Anything out of place.” He walked over to the desk and began to sort through the drawers on the left side, starting from the bottom. Daring joined him and started searching the right drawers, also starting from the bottom.

Inside the drawers that Daring searched through were nothing but writing materials—pens, pencils, tape and staplers—and papers filled with legalese that she didn’t bother trying to comprehend. “Do you really think that this has anything to do with anything?” she asked, staring in incomprehension at a page of information about what she could only deduce was an insurance payout for a car accident.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m looking,” Phillip said, flipping through a packet of documents. He frowned, then looked up at the shelf. Plucking a binder from the shelf, he flipped through it, frowning.

“Pages are missing," he declared, lifting the binder up to show scraps of paper where documents had been hastily ripped out.

"Hey, what's this?" Daring said, pushing aside a folder to reveal a newspaper clipping from the Foal Free Press. "'Discussions for Everfree Oil Pipeline Continue in Canterlot,'" she read aloud, running a hoof down the article. "Something about an oil pipeline being constructed through the Everfree Forest."

“Excuse me, what are you doing here?” a voice asked from the doorway. Daring and Phillip looked up to see two stallions standing in the doorway. One was a small, skinny light green unicorn stallion with light blue hair and a mustache and a cutie mark of a stack of papers with a red pen; the other was a tall, rotund autumnal brown earth pony with a shaggy mane of golden hair and a steel safe for a cutie mark.

“We’re detectives,” Phillip answered, standing. “Who are you?”

“I’m Safe Deposit,” the earth pony said in a slow, deep voice. “This is Red Mark. We worked with Gold Dust; we’re both in the offices next to this one.”

“We haven’t seen him for a couple of days now,” Red Mark said. “Is he all right?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Daring said, walking up. “You said you saw him a couple days ago?”

“Yes, he was leaving the office,” Red Mark said. “He said he had to meet with somepony.”

Safe Deposit snickered. “Yeah, meet with lane number 8 and ten pins. I heard his bowling horseshoes in his briefcase as he was leaving.”

“Lucky Lanes?” Daring asked.

“Most likely,” Safe Deposit nodded. “If he had a flaw, it’s that he loved bowling a little too much.”

“Or maybe he loved the beer there a little too much,” Red Mark chuckled, nudging Safe. Safe snickered.

“Is that so?” Daring asked, a grin crossing her face. “The beer there pretty good?”

“More like the mare serving it,” Safe Deposit smirked. “Pretty little thing, makes a point of always being there whenever he was.”

“Really?” Daring asked, raising her eyebrows. “What’s she like?”

“Her name’s Clover Petal,” Red Mark said. “Bright green coat, blue and white hair, cutie mark of a four-leafed clover.”

“Placed on one of the finest flanks in the Financial District,” Safe Deposit smirked.

“What about Gold Dust’s wife?” Daring asked.

“Now, don’t get me wrong; Gold Dust loved Lily,” Safe Deposit said. “But, sometimes, there are things you just can’t get from your wife.”

Daring nodded. “Did he mention anything else unusual before he vanished? Or do anything weird?”

“Not that I can remember,” Red Mark said. “Well, except, he was working longer hours than normal recently. Was kinda vague about what, though.”

“I see,” Daring nodded. She glanced back at Phillip, who gave her a subtle nod. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else,” she said.

“I hope you find him,” Safe Deposit said as he and Red Mark exited.

“Good work,” Phillip said approvingly. “Next stop: Lucky Lane’s. And can we please just walk this time?”

“Ehhh...nah,” Daring smirked.

“I didn’t think so,” Phil sighed as they exited the office.

Lucky Lane’s, which was only a few blocks from Phoenix, featured a flashing neon sign over the doorway depicting a bowling ball striking a set of pins and sending them scattering. Phillip and Daring pushed through the doorway and found themselves in a low-ceilinged room. The carpeting at their hooves was decorated in an abstract design with very loud colors. Twenty bowling lanes stretched out in front of them, more than half of which were being used. The rumbling of bowling balls and crashing of pins mixed with voices, the clinking of drinks, and electronic dinging from the arcade to their left.

“Lane for two?” asked the bubblegum-chewing receptionist at the desk.

“No, we’re detectives,” Phillip said. “We’re looking for one of the bartenders, Clover Petal.”

“She’s over there,” the receptionist said, smacking her lips and pointing.

Clover Petal was standing behind the bar near lane twenty, washing a beer stein, shaking her blue and white mane out of her eyes. Phillip and Daring approached her.

“Detectives Finder and Do,” Phillip introduced himself. “We’re told that Gold Dust was here a few nights ago.”

“Yes, he was,” Clover Petal nodded, a tinge of a Mareish accent around her voice. “He came in here three nights ago and ordered a couple of drinks.”

“By himself?” Phillip asked.

“Aye,” Clover Petal nodded. “He had his briefcase with him. He said he was waiting to meet with somepony. He had a couple of drinks, then walked into the alleyway out back through the fire door. That was the last I saw of him.”

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded and started to walk towards the fire door.

“Is he all right?” Clover asked.

Daring gave her a pitying look. “We’ll find out,” she said and followed Phillip through the doorway.

The alleyway outside was tight, with only enough room for three ponies to stand side by side in it. A slightly overflowing dumpster stood next to the fire door. The asphalt at their hooves was splattered with stains of varying colors and textures. The brick wall in front of them had been recently repaired; a small patch of bricks was more brightly colored than the surrounding bricks, and the lines of mortar between them were thicker and brighter.

“You can’t really expect to find anything here,” Daring said, looking around at the filthy alleyway.

Phillip studied the walls of the alley, then walked over to the brick wall in front of them. “Here,” he said, pointing.

Daring squinted. “All I see is puke stains.”

“Look here,” Phillip said, pointing at a spray of dark droplets along the wall. “This is castoff blood spray, from somepony swinging a weapon. And these droplets here,” he continued, pointing at more round droplets on the ground. “That’s blood from somepony on the ground, getting their head bashed in.” He mimed swinging an object at somepony lying at his hooves, demonstrating how the blood would fly back onto the wall from each backswing.

Daring’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…?” she asked.

Phillip paused, sniffing. “Do you smell that?” Without waiting for an answer, he started to walk down to the end of the alley.

Daring followed him, sniffing the air. At first, she didn’t smell anything, but as they approached the end of the alley, something familiar tugged at her nostrils. The scent of decay. The malodor of death.

They reached a sewage channel at the end of the alleyway and looked down over the edge. Daring gagged and lurched, fighting to keep her stomach contents in her stomach.

“Find a callbox,” Phillip instructed, his voice quiet.

Daring turned and ran back out of the alley, leaving Phillip standing at the edge of the channel, staring down at the bloated, waxy corpse floating in the dark green water beneath him.

“Gold Dust, I presume,” he whispered.

Case Four, Chapter Two: Not Welcome to the Neighborhood

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Daring managed to find a police callbox sitting on a sidewalk curb a half block away from the alley and put in a call to report the dead body, then went back to the front of the alleyway to wait. About twenty minutes later, a cruiser pulled up to the alley, followed by a white van with “PPD Medical Examiner” painted on the sides in black paint. Both vehicles paused at the entrance to the alleyway.

Doctor Vitae Mortis jumped out of her van almost before it stopped moving. “Where is it?” she asked Daring eagerly, looking about as if she thought that the corpse was hiding behind Daring.

“You’re sick, doc,” Daring grumbled as Officer Wheellock and Sergeant MacWillard exited the cruiser. The griffon set to work sealing off the alley with “CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS” tape, while Wheellock entered the alleyway proper.

“It’s down this way,” Daring said, gesturing for the two mares to follow her. Wheellock and Mortis followed her down to the sewage line at the end. Phillip was still crouching at the edge, staring down at the floating corpse.

“Oooh, looky what we got here!” Mortis chirped, looking down at her prize. “That adipocere formation is a thing of beauty, isn’t it? Officer, get some good pics of the body for the record.” She pulled a camera out of her saddlebags and thrust it towards the officer, never taking her eyes off the body.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Wheellock stammered, her face blanching as she stared down at the bloated, pale, waxy thing that used to be a pony. She fumbled with the camera for a few moments, then started taking pictures. After the sixth one, she realized that she’d left the cap on the lens.

“So, what’s the story here, Phil?” Doctor Mortis asked, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Found him floating here,” Phillip explained. “Suspect he’s been there a couple days. Think he was clobbered by somepony with a brick in the alley here.” He indicated the bloodstains on the wall.

Doctor Mortis cast a quick spell over the discolorations in her silver magic. The stains glowed a faint scarlet-purple color for a moment. “Definitely blood,” she nodded. “Good eyes, Phillip. Officer, have you got enough pics? Right, then, let’s get our friend out of the drink and get a good look at him.”

Using their magic, the two unicorns carefully lifted the body out of the sewage and placed him on a body bag that Mortis stretched out on the ground next to them. The doctor carefully turned the body over so that it was face up. Bits of the body’s flesh were missing, eaten up by decomposition or ripped away by sea creatures. Where the corpse’s face should have been was a mess of gray-green bone and rotting muscle; a pair of crabs clung stubbornly to the flesh, trying to pick off some last scraps of meat.

“That’s going to haunt my nightmares,” Daring said, having walked up to watch the examination. Wheellock took several steps backward, gulping loudly. Noticing his partner’s distress, MacWillard walked up and whispered into her ear. She nodded, looking grateful, and took his place guarding the scene. MacWillard stood and watched the examination with a neutral expression.

Phillip bent down and studied the body’s flanks. The cutie marks were faded, but there was enough left to recognize them as a pan of gold.

“This is him,” he confirmed with a nod. “Gold Dust.”

“Damn,” Daring breathed, looking away.

Doctor Mortis’ eyes were drawn to the red stains on the back of Gold Dust’s head. She carefully tilted his head up to examine the back of his cranium with the aid of a magnifying glass. “Hmm...looks like multiple contusions to the back of the head,” she said. “Yup, that one there, right on the back of the skull, that was the moneymaker there. Looks like some brick dust in there, too.”

“What I figured,” Phillip nodded.

“What do you mean?” Daring asked, being careful to not look at the body.

“Gold Dust comes out here to meet with somepony,” Phillip said, walking over next to where the bloodstains on the wall were. “Meeting goes bad. Dust turns around.” He turned on his hooves. “Other pony grabs a brick from the pile here and hits him.” He pretended to snatch up a brick and strike an invisible pony in the back of the head. “Keeps hitting him until he stops moving.” He mimed hitting a pony who was lying on the ground several times. “Drags him over to the river and dumps him.” He turned to Daring. “Begs the question. Who was he meeting, and why didn’t they get along?”

He looked back into the sewage water, squinting. “Doc. Something down there,” he said, pointing.

Doctor Mortis leaned down and squinted. “Ah, yeah, I see it,” she nodded, her horn lighting up. A black briefcase was pulled out of the dark green slime and placed on the ground next to them.

“Latch is broken open,” Phillip noted as MacWillard started snapping pictures. “Killer may have wanted something inside it.”

Once MacWillard nodded that he was finished, Doctor Mortis opened up the briefcase. Inside were a few papers, all of them so waterlogged that they were impossible to read.

“Killer might’ve taken something out of that,” Phillip noted.

“We can restore these at the laboratory,” Doctor Mortis said.

Phillip tilted his head down in thought for a moment, then turned to Daring. “We should check the house with that payment,” he said to her.

“You think that might be the reason he’s dead?” Daring asked.

“It’s a detail that stands out. Worth checking on,” Phillip nodded. “Address was in the Everfree District.”

Daring nodded. “Okay, let’s go, then,” she said.

Giving a nod to the officers and coroner, Phillip ducked beneath the crime scene tape and held it up for Daring. She followed him underneath the tape and the pair started to walk down the sidewalk. Daring walked slowly, with her head down, staring at her hooves.

“You okay?” Phillip asked.

“How do you do it?” she asked quietly.

“Do what?” Phillip replied.

“Be immune to it,” Daring answered, looking up at him. “When I saw that body, I was trying not to puke...like I always am whenever we find a corpse. You just stared at it. Like it was a…thing. Like it wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t a pony,” Phillip finished. Daring frowned but nodded.

“When I look at the body...it reminds me of all the ponies I’ve had to kill,” Daring said slowly. “It’s like, for a moment, I can see who they were, who they could have been before...before somepony took it all away. Like Gold Dust...I was watching Lily, she practically worshipped the ground he walked on. Even if he might have had a fling with that bartender—which I don’t believe, by the way—he was still a guy whose wife loved him.” She bit her lip. “And now, everything that he used to be is just...gone. And all that’s left is a waxy, bloated, stinking corpse. And it’s just…” She swallowed. “It just seems wrong to me.”

Phillip looked at her for a few seconds, then reached over and draped a foreleg over Daring’s shoulders, squeezing her to his side.

“I still remember my first body,” he told her. “Kid got himself killed in a drug deal gone bad. He was only fifteen years old. Hoofball star, looking at a full scholarship to college. Devoted to his marefriend. Had a little sister that he adored. Dead because he made a dumb decision. I couldn’t sleep a wink that night; kept seeing his face in front of me every time I closed my eyes.” He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “He’s still there. They all are.”

“All of them?” Daring asked, her eyes widening.

“All of them,” Phillip nodded. “Their faces. Where and when they died. Who killed them and why. I will always remember them. I’ve just gotten used to it over time.” He took a shaky breath, then continued, “We can’t bring them back, Daring. All we can do is try to give them some justice.”

Daring let out a low grunt and turned away. Phillip gave her another squeeze. “Being squeamish is nothing to be ashamed about, sheila. Doesn’t mean that you’re weak or anything.” He was silent for a moment, then Daring felt his breath tickle the side of her head as he gave her ear a brief nuzzle. “Proud of you,” he whispered.

Daring smiled and nuzzled him back. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Now, come on. We’ve got a lead to follow up!”

And with that, she grabbed Phillip beneath the forelegs and carried him up into the air, ignoring his cry of protest.

The neighborhood the address was in was a slum on the northeastern outskirts of Ponyville. Most of the houses that Daring and Phillip passed over were in varying states of disrepair, and litter was scattered over the uneven, badly paved roads. A group of ponies in tattered coats, their manes spilling from beneath their hats, stood around an oil barrel on a street corner, holding their hooves out towards the fire inside.

Daring looked up and spotted a billboard hanging over a building. “Hey, isn’t that Monopoly?” she asked.

Phillip studied the billboard, noting the name “Phoenix Housing Project” written in bright golden letters. “Yeah. Building a housing project for some of the poor ponies here. Mayor's backing it up. Heard it’s going over budget.”

Daring scowled at the smiling facsimile of the businesspony’s face staring blankly at her. “Must be nice to have such positive publicity,” she growled. “Did I tell you what Sparks and I stole from him? What he had in that safe deposit box?”

“Yes. A ‘last-resort’ spell of some sort,” Phillip said, already looking away from the advertisement.

“Maybe Trace or Red could…” Daring’s thoughts trailed off, then she scoffed. “Yeah, right. What could they do?" She scowled and flew on. “It's not right."

“No, it isn’t,” Phillip agreed. He looked down at the street beneath them. “That’s the address down there,” he said, pointing.

Daring looked down and blinked. Phillip’s hoof was pointing not at a house, but at a pile of charred and burnt wreckage that sat in between two two-story houses as if trying to make itself seem inconspicuous. The skeleton of the house stuck out from the assorted wreckage and ashes like cremated bones; the entire roof had collapsed, only the back wall was left standing, and all that was left of the windows were the frames.

“You sure you got the right address?” Daring asked, lowering them both to the sidewalk. She glanced up and noted a pair of security crystals standing atop a metal pole on the sidewalk curb, mere feet from them. One of the unblinking blue eyes swiveled around to stare at her. She flinched and turned away, lowering her head and tilting the brim of her hat over her face.

“I’m sure,” Phillip nodded, studying the wreckage.

“Shit, that must have been some fire,” Daring whistled through her teeth.

“The flames lit up the block all night. You should have seen it, ‘twas quite a sight,” a voice said behind them. Daring and Phillip both turned around to see a couple walking up the sidewalk behind them. The speaker was a tall zebra with a shaggy brown and white mane and deep blue eyes, dressed in a gray rain jacket with the cutie mark of what might have been a drum or an hourglass. His partner was a pegasus with a yellow-white coat, bright red hair, and the cutie mark of a five-pointed star with wings. The pegasus was wearing a tattered hoofmade scarf with red, brown, white, and green stripes.

“Was anypony hurt?” Daring asked.

“The family of five all got away,” the zebra reported. “Monopoly gave them a place to stay. They’re staying now at Hotel Sun, til the housing project is finally done.”

“Monopoly? Really?” Daring asked skeptically.

The zebra nodded, then turned to Phillip, who was frowning. "Friend, your confusion is apparent. Perhaps you think my speech is aberrant?" he asked.

"Never understood why some zebras rhyme and some don't," Phillip shrugged.

The zebra smiled. "This question has been asked by many, so no offense do I take, not any. These rhymes are used by my ancestral line, a mark of mystic families like mine. For rhyming practice we take many hours, to ensure our words would have proper power."

"Suunkii must be of a different zebra tribe than him," Daring added. "That's why they talk differently."

"I see," Phillip nodded, then turned back to the zebra. "Anything else you can tell us about the fire?"

He started to answer, but the pegasus grabbed his foreleg and stopped him. “Wait, I recognize him,” he said, nodding to Phillip. “He works with the cops.”

The zebra paused, glaring at Phillip. "To you, we've got nothing to say. Now you and your friend be on your way." With that, the two stallions turned and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

“The fuck was that all about?” a bewildered Daring asked Phillip.

“I’m afraid that police are not looked upon favorably here,” another voice said, this one female. Daring and Phillip turned to see a butter yellow pegasus with long pink hair walking up towards them, laden with bags on her back and shoulders.

“I recognize you,” Daring said. “You’re one of Twilight’s friends, right?”

“Yes. My name is Fluttershy,” the mare nodded. “She’s told me about both of you already. What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“We’re looking into a murder,” Phillip answered. “We think there may be a link to this fire.” He gestured at the wreckage.

“Oh, my,” Fluttershy breathed, looking shocked. “Who was it?”

“An insurance agent,” Phillip said. “What can you tell us about this fire?”

Fluttershy grunted and shifted to adjust for the weight of the bags. “I can tell you once I’ve dropped these off,” she said. “I live just down the road.”

“Here,” Phillip said, striding forward and taking a couple bags in his mouth.

“Oh, thank you, that’s very kind,” Fluttershy nodded, looking grateful.

“‘O ‘urries,” Phillip said through the bags in his mouth.

Daring took up a couple bags herself and Fluttershy led the way down the sidewalk. “The ponies that lived there were Sunbloom, his wife Dancing Wind, and their three foals. They all got away unhurt, and as you heard, Monopoly is putting them up at the Hotel Sun until they finish the new housing project.”

Phillip dropped the bags on the ground momentarily so he could speak clearly. “What was the cause of the fire?”

“A gas leak,” Fluttershy replied. “They were just fortunate that one of the foals was awake. This is my place,” she said, pointing to the house they were approaching.

The house was a simple cottage that stood on its own block. The house carried the look of a building that had started to fall under its own weight and age but was still cared for lovingly; parts of the walls had been freshly painted, while other parts were faded and peeling. The windows were clean, but the shutters were faded and falling apart, and the roof was sagging in the middle. There was a small garden in the front yard that featured flowers of all colors of the rainbow surrounding a medium-sized pine tree. Fish swam in a small pond of clear blue water next to the tree. Behind the house, open grassland stretched away towards a thin copse of trees. A well-worn dirt pathway led up to the door; the sign next to the pathway read “Doctor Fluttershy: Veterinarian and Animal Caretaker” in flowery pink script.

“You’re a doctor?” Daring asked with mild surprise.

“University of Baltimare, magna cum laude,” Fluttershy said with pride. Almost immediately afterward, she smiled shyly and lowered her head as if trying to hide behind her mane. “Oh, I, um, don’t mean to brag…”

“That’s something worth bragging about,” Daring commented as they walked up the pathway to the door. Her face glowing from behind her mane, Fluttershy unlocked the door and let them in. They passed through a modest hallway, through a simple waiting room with cushions on the floor and a few magazines, and into a living room.

The room had a coffee table, an old but comfy-looking couch, more cushions on the floor, and a bookshelf with several books on nature, medicine, and philosophy, with an entire shelf devoted to romance novels. A large window allowed the ponies inside to view another garden in the backyard. Hanging from the ceiling were several wooden perches and small catwalks; scattered around the floor were chew toys, balls, and other things for animals to play with. Several animals were scattered across the room, including two dogs, three cats, several birds, a trio of rabbits, and, to Daring and Phillip’s surprise, a skunk. All of them converged on Fluttershy as she entered, letting out happy barks, meows, chirps, and various other noises.

“Hello, little friends!” Fluttershy said, instantly brightening at the sight of her charges. She dropped the bags on the floor, revealing them to be mostly food and medicines. “Who’s hungry?”

The animals all crowded around her. Fluttershy began to pour food into metal bowls, chattering happily to all of them.

“You take care of all of these guys?” Daring asked, staring in astonishment.

“I take in pets from all over the city,” Fluttershy replied, petting the skunk, who nuzzled her hoof. “And I also take care of injured or abandoned animals until I can find a nice home for them.”

“This all must cost you a fortune,” Daring commented.

Fluttershy frowned a little. “Well, I do some odd jobs on the side: photography, cashier work, delivery, that kind of thing. It does help…” She trailed off, pouring kibble into a bowl for the dogs.

Something touched Daring’s foreleg. She looked down and stiffened in shock: a black, yellow, and red striped snake was slithering out from underneath a cushion, rubbing against her skin.

“Yeeeeek!” she screamed, leaping up into the air. She flew over to the couch and perched on top of the back, keeping her wide eyes on the snake.

“Oh, Snuggler is just a harmless pearl snake,” Fluttershy said, smiling at the snake as she extracted a dead rat from a small bag and gave it to Snuggler. “See? Red next to black, friend of Jack.”

“Snakes are not my friend,” Daring spat, glaring at the snake as it unhinged its jaws and started to swallow the rat whole.

Phillip, whose thin mouth and quivering shoulders gave away the fact that he was trying not to laugh, turned to Fluttershy. “The fire,” he said.

“Yes, right,” Fluttershy nodded. “The fire was last week; it started in the middle of the night. By the time that firefighters responded, it was too late to save the building, but the family got out safely. And, as I told you, Monopoly put them up at a hotel with the others.”

“What others?” Phillip asked.

“Other ponies who have lost their homes from the fires,” Fluttershy explained. “There have been about six other fires in the past few weeks; just the latest in many these last couple moons.” She paused, then added quietly, “Not all of them made it out.”

“SIx?” Phillip asked, his eyebrows shooting up into his bangs.

Fluttershy nodded. “All of them were accidents,” she said. “Monopoly paid for the survivors to be taken care of.” Her mouth twisted in a frown. "I'd say that that was nice of him, except for the houses that burned down are all ponies who refused to sell their land for that housing project."

“And this hasn’t been in the news because?” Daring asked, not taking her eyes off the snake.

“Because accidents in this neighborhood aren’t worth the news,” Fluttershy said quietly, checking a bowl of water in the corner.

Phillip thought for a moment, then asked, “Tell me about the Phoenix Housing Project.”

“It’s a new set of housing for some poorer ponies,” Fluttershy explained, deciding to look down at her charges instead of at the detectives. “Monopoly is funding it, but they’ve been running behind schedule. I heard that the city is paying for construction to get it back on schedule.”

Daring looked up at Fluttershy for the first time since the snake had appeared, and Phillip could tell that she was fighting down a comment about Monopoly’s honesty and charitable feelings. He gave her a warning look and she backed down, turning her gaze back on the snake that was now curled up contentedly on a cushion.

“Have there been any other fires recently?” Phillip asked.

“There was one last night,” Fluttershy said. “The Duskwind family on Twenty-Seven Apple Tree Way.” She blinked and looked up for the first time, her lower lip shaking. “None of them made it.”

Phillip raised a hoof as if to reach out and try to comfort her, but stopped, hesitated, and lowered his hoof. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ll go and check it out.”

“I believe the police are there already,” Fluttershy said, turning away again and pawing at the bookshelf.

Phillip and Daring stood in an awkward silence for a few seconds, then Daring cleared her throat. “Well, we should...probably be going now,” she said. She flew off of the couch, keeping her eyes fixed on the snake as she slowly flapped over to the door.

“Appreciate the help,” Phillip nodded to Fluttershy. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

Fluttershy nodded. “I hope that some ponies will be willing to help you,” she said.

Daring snorted. “Yeah, we already met two of your helpful neighbors,” she said.

“It’s not just that they’re rude,” Fluttershy said. “It’s that...well…” She sighed, then looked up. “Poor ponies like the ones that live here are always treated badly by the police,” she said. She took a deep breath, then began to speak very quickly.

“I knew a neighbor who was caught for using a small amount of red poppydust. Everypony in court called him a criminal; he was sentenced to prison for eighteen months, and when he comes out, he’ll be even worse off than he was before he went in—he’ll still be poor, he’ll still be addicted, he still won’t have a good education or a good chance at anything. Another pony who lives in the Financial District, a rich pony; he crashed his car into a tree and was found with several bags of red poppydust in the car. He got six months of probation and was sent to a rehabilitation program. The whole thing was just washed away like it never happened.”

Fluttershy paused, taking in another deep breath. Phillip and Daring both noted that her posture had changed: she’d started standing up taller and straighter, and was looking right at them with a fierce glow in her bright blue eyes.

“Whenever the police come here, it seems like all they do is harass our neighbors and friends without any cause,” she continued in a bolder tone. “I’ve seen ponies get pulled off the sidewalk and patted down just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. They don’t trust us, they don’t respect us; all they do is push these good ponies around because they have badges and guns.” She fixed Phillip and Daring with a look that was just on the border of being a glare. “The police are supposed to protect us. So who protects us from them?”

Phillip and Daring stood in silence for several seconds. Fluttershy’s anger deflated quickly and she turned away, hiding behind her mane again as if in shame.

“So if you don’t like cops,” Daring finally asked. “Why are you helping us?”

Fluttershy peeked out from behind her mane. “I don’t really approve of your methods,” she said. “But I’d like to believe that you’re trying to help.”

“We are,” Phillip said, fully aware of just how feeble that sounded.

One of the dogs that Fluttershy was feeding walked up to her and nudged her foreleg. She sat down on a cushion and patted it absentmindedly. “If you don’t have anything else to say, I would appreciate if you could leave,” she said in a quiet tone. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Phillip nodded and turned to exit. Daring followed. They both walked out of the house, back down the pathway to the sidewalk, and started up the road towards Apple Tree Way. Daring kept her gaze fixed on the concrete at her hooves as she walked; as she passed by a discarded, crushed soda can, she gave it a kick and sent it skittering up the sidewalk.

“Do you feel as shitty as I do right now?” she muttered.

Phillip didn’t answer verbally. Instead, he just draped a foreleg around her and pulled her close to his side. Neither of them spoke for the remainder of their journey.

Case Four, Chapter Three: Amongst the Ashes

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They finally reached Apple Tree Way, a boulevard to the northeast of the city that ironically was completely devoid of any apple trees. The site of the fire wasn’t hard to identify: not only was the house a mass of scorched wood and smashed glass, but it was surrounded by police and fire vehicles. The usual crowd of curious pedestrians stood in a semicircle around the crime scene tape, studying the scene.

Passing around a silver pickup truck, Phillip and Daring pushed through the crowd and approached the tape. A stocky blue unicorn stallion was manning the tape. Behind him, the two detectives spotted Red Herring speaking to another pony.

“Red!” Phillip called.

Red Herring looked up and spotted them. “Let them through,” he called to the officer, whose nametag bore the name “Creek Dancer.” Creek Dancer frowned but lifted the tape up to allow Phillip and Daring to pass underneath.

“Do you just follow Trace and me everywhere?” Red asked with a small ironic sigh as Phillip and Daring approached.

“Think this might be related to a case,” Phillip said.

Red turned to the pony he’d been talking to. “Phil, Daring, this is Burning Embers. He’s a lieutenant from the local fire station. He's forgotten more about fires than most ponies will ever know.”

Burning Embers was a tall, skinny unicorn stallion with a dusty coal brown-black coat. His smokey gray mane and tail were both cut short, and he was clean-shaven. He was wearing a firefighter’s turnout jacket and boots, the logo of the Ponyville Fire Department printed on his left chest and his back. He nodded to Phillip and Daring, brushing his mane out of his bright green eyes. “Hello, detectives,” he greeted them in a slow, melodic voice.

“Sir,” Phillip nodded. “What can you tell us?”

“So far, looks like just another gas fire,” Embers shrugged. “I just wish we could have gotten the call sooner...we couldn’t save any of them.”

“I’m sorry,” Daring said, lowering her gaze momentarily.

“The bodies have already been taken to the morgue, but I don’t think we’ll be needing a COD on them,” Red reported. “We’ve been trying to get some witness statements from the neighbors, but they don’t want to talk to us.”

“Yeah, we’ve met some of them,” Daring said bitterly.

“Mind if we look around?” Phillip asked, already peering around the site of the wreckage.

“Help yourself,” Red said with a roll of his eyes.

Daring started to follow Phillip around the house, her eyes sweeping over the burnt structure. She studied the scorches across the walls, the glass that had been shattered.

“Fire was started by an explosion,” Phillip noted, skirting around a pile of broken glass on the ground.

“I agree,” Embers nodded. “It seems to have started in the kitchen and spread throughout the house. The only way it could’ve spread that quickly is if half the place was filled with gas.”

“Another gas leak?” Daring asked.

“It’s a Phosphero brand heater,” Embers said with a contemptuous grunt. “Those things are breaking down half the time. I’m going to be encouraging the families of these victims to start suing.”

A flash of color in the ashy blackness caught Daring’s eye. She approached through a section of crumbling wall and bent down to examine a small flicker of white in the black. Brushing aside a couple of burnt scraps of wood, she revealed a small white stuffed bunny. Its white coat and blue bow were covered in dust and ash and its beady black eyes stared up at her as if in death.

Something reached into Daring’s chest and yanked on her heart, nearly pulling it out from behind her ribs. She reached down and picked up the toy, bearing it with a quiet reverence, like she was afraid it might crumble into dust if she held it too tightly. The little bundle of cloth and sand felt heavier than it should have.

But then she spotted something else next to the doll, partly buried in the rubble. She brushed aside some of the ashes to reveal a length of black metal piping, shaped like a T with a very short arm. The arm of the T was covered by what appeared to be a piece of rubber.

“Hey! Is this important?” she called, waving to Embers.

The fire inspector and Red Herring both walked over to her. “Regulator valve,” Burning Embers nodded. “Good find.”

Red Herring took out a camera and snapped a few pictures of the valve. Once he was done, Embers bent down and picked up the valve with his magic, turning it over and over in front of his face as he held it in a pale orange aura.

“Wait, this is weird,” he muttered, holding the valve up closer to his face and squinting. “Looks like there’s a hole drilled into it. You got a magnifying glass?”

Red pulled a magnifying glass out of his pocket and handed it to Embers, who squinted through it. “Huh, I was right. There is a hole drilled in there.”

“Why would somepony do that?” Daring asked.

“I don’t know,” Embers admitted. “I’ll need to take a look at it at the station.” He pocketed the valve.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, Phillip found the wreckage of a small metal box that had once been on the outside of the wall. Bending down, he squinted at the remnants of the painted “Phosphero” label on the box. He opened up the box and frowned. “Isn’t there supposed to be a service log in here?” he called.

“There’s not?” Red asked, walking over.

“No,” Phillip said, gesturing. The box, which should have held a sheet of paper where maintenance workers wrote down their names and when they serviced the heater, was missing.

“That ain’t right,” Red muttered, snapping some pics of the box.

“Check to see if the other houses were missing the service logs, too,” Phillip suggested.

“Will do,” Red nodded.

At that moment, there was a commotion from the street. “Let me through, I must speak to Burning Embers!” a familiar stallion’s voice called.

Phillip and Daring both looked up, Daring drawing in a breath in a hiss. A large blue earth pony with a blonde mane and the cutie mark of an overflowing sack of bits, wearing an expensive suit and tie was standing at the tape, arguing with officer Creek Dancer.

“I’ll take care of this,” Burning Embers said with a sigh, walking up to the tape.

Daring watched as the fire inspector approached the tape. The businesspony watched impassively as the other pony approached, then abruptly turned and glared at Daring, his face instantly switching from cold and impassive to a brutal scowl. For a moment, the facade that he put up for the public slipped, revealing the cold, merciless killer behind it.

She had to suppress the urge to flinch, to look away. She locked eyes with him and did not allow her gaze to waver. Monopoly blinked first, turning back to Burning Embers. The mask slid back onto his face as easily as if he had thrown a light switch.

“Have you figured out what was the cause of this tragic fire?” Monopoly asked the fire inspector, speaking loudly enough so that the reporters who had arrived in his wake like moths drawn to a flame could hear.

“We believe it was a gas explosion,” Burning Embers replied.

“A gas explosion,” Monopoly repeated, turning to the gathering crowd. “A tragic accident that took the lives of five members of this community that could have been avoided with some basic safety measures...which our victims, your neighbors, couldn’t afford. This is the real truth of poverty: it leads to death. Ponies that live in squalor like these ponies are less healthy, which leads to increased doctor’s payments, and are more likely to suffer deadly or injurious accidents that more fortunate ponies are able to prevent.”

“More fortunate ponies like yourself,” Daring hissed beneath her breath, glaring at Monopoly’s back.

“This is exactly the kind of thing that the Phoenix Housing Project is all about,” Monopoly continued, flashing a winning smile that could’ve gone on an advertisement for toothpaste. “New houses, designed with safety and affordability in mind, that will help the ponies in this neighborhood get a fresh start in life. Without having to worry about repairs or doctor’s bills, and with food and other necessary services located within walking distance, they will have the money and time that they need to focus on what is truly important: taking care of their families and preparing for their futures. Like the phoenix from the flame, they will rise again, stronger and better than before.”

There was a collection of cheers from the surrounding ponies and the flashbulbs of the reporters’ cameras flared like a miniature daytime fireworks display. Monopoly smiled broadly and tilted his head back, pulling Burning Embers in close to his side for a photo opportunity.

Daring felt like a bomb was exploding inside her chest; fire spread from her core all the way up her limbs, her breath caught in her lungs, and her limbs all hardened. The cursed brand in her hoof began to burn with a fierce fire. “Oh, you self-righteous, lying, piece of—!” she shouted, starting forward.

Phillip grabbed her tail and pulled her back towards him. “No,” he growled, firmly pushing her behind him. “That won’t solve anything.”

“You see these ponies?” Daring spat, gesturing at the crowd. “You see the way that they—”

“Not now,” Phillip grunted, covering her mouth with a hoof.

Daring pulled away from his hoof. “You—”

“Not now,” Phillip repeated in a growl, his head lowered and his brow creased in concentration. His ear was cocked towards Monopoly and Embers, who had turned their backs on the crowd and put their heads together, hissing to one another.

“You can hear them?” Daring whispered, rubbing at her burning hoof to try to ease the pain.

Phillip nodded, gesturing for her to be quiet. Daring watched in silence; Monopoly appeared to be muttering angrily to Burning Embers, who was protesting and trying to cringe away from him.

“‘What about the fires at the project?’” Phil whispered, and Daring realized that he was transcribing what they were saying. He cocked his head. “Ember’s saying he still can’t figure it out...Monopoly’s not happy…‘over budget, mayor’s angry,’ he’s pissed...‘I don’t fund your precinct for you not to give me results.’” He frowned, gritting his teeth. “‘Could give police access…’ ‘Can’t trust them…’”

“Get it done!” Monopoly ordered, giving Embers a hearty pat on the back and standing up with a false smile. Embers nodded weakly but managed to smile briefly before turning away and walking back to the burnt remnants of the fire.

Monopoly gave one final wave to the reporters, then pulled away and walked back to his waiting Gray Ghost. The uniformed chauffeur opened up the door for him, allowing him to squeeze his sizable bulk into the backseat, then walked around to the front. He climbed inside, the engine started up, and the brightly polished vehicle sped away, with the reporters firing off a final salvo off questions before being left behind. Burning Embers remained where he was, doffing his helmet with his magic and wiping sweat from his brow.

Phillip turned away from Daring and looked towards Red Herring. “Fires at Phoenix Housing,” he said. “What do you know?”

“Not much,” Red grunted, scowling. “Somepony’s been setting fires at the housing project on and off for the past couple weeks. Last one burned one of the houses completely down. Nopony’s been hurt, but they’ve pushed the project over schedule and over budget.”

“Cops been called?” Phillip asked.

“The security company that Monopoly hired won’t let anypony except the lead detective in,” Red growled, scowling. "Fucking Cerberus."

“Seems to me if somepony keeps setting fires, they’re not doing a very good job,” Daring muttered.

“Lead detective is?” Phillip asked.

“Night Waltz,” Red Herring grumbled, forcing the name out as if it physically pained him to do so.

Phillip blinked. “Thought Night Waltz worked vice.”

“He does,” Red Herring growled. “But our one dedicated arson detective, Ash Wind, allegedly broke his leg in a soccer accident and is on medical leave. Monopoly specifically requested Night Waltz.”

Phillip grunted, then turned. “Daring, we’re going to Phoenix Housing,” he said.

“You think that this is connected somehow?” Daring asked.

“Definitely,” Phillip nodded.

“You won’t get past their security,” Red Herring warned.

“Have to try,” Phillip replied.

Red sighed. “Good luck,” he called.

“Thanks,” Phillip said. He paused and spread his forelegs out slightly. “Daring?”

Daring blinked and stared at him. “Really?” she asked.

Phillip sighed. “Gotta get there fast,” he said. “And you’re pissed. Flying might help.”

Daring stared for a moment longer, then managed to half-smile. Lifting up into the air, she grabbed Phillip beneath his forelegs and took off into the air. Phillip pointed and Daring flew in the indicated direction.

“Smug, disgusting, filthy prick,” Daring growled beneath her breath as she flew, subconsciously beating the air with her wings as if to strike it. “All he has to do is write a check, make a little speech, and ta-fucking-da! He’s the good guy!”

“Daring—” Phil started to say.

“He’s the good guy, and we, the ones who are actually trying to help, are the bad guys! Fucking great!” Daring shouted. She let out a huff, then winced as the pain of her brand stabbed through her hoof once more.

“What ponies think is irrelevant,” Phillip said flatly. “What we do is more important.”

“And what do we do?” Daring asked, looking down.

“If these fires are connected, more ponies could get hurt,” Phillip replied. “Have to figure out what’s happening and stop them. And avenge the ponies who died.”

Daring looked down at him, then nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “I needed that.”

“Welcome,” Phillip said. “Now faster.”

“You asked for it,” Daring said with a grin.

Phillip’s eyes widened, but before he could take back what he said, Daring put on speed, and the duo became a gray and green rainbow across the sky.

Phoenix Housing Project was on a stretch of freshly paved road that branched off of Pear Street and led into a clearing that had been carved out of a section of the Everfree Forest. The grid of roads was still mostly unpaved and only part of the road had houses around it. Most of said houses were still largely scaffolding with insulation on the walls and roofs; only three houses looked completed. A dirt road trundled through the land and into the Everfree Forest proper; a gate blocked off passageway into the dense forest, with a sign on it announcing that the land beyond was being developed for a federal oil pipeline.

From the air, Daring spotted a concrete foundation that was covered with burnt and scorched embers and ashes and was surrounded by ponies, including a set of burly construction ponies in hard hats, a trio of security ponies in blue t-shirts and caps, and a vaguely familiar dark purple earth pony in an expensive black fedora and flashy yellow suit.

They both dropped down from the sky and landed behind the group of ponies, who all turned around in surprise. “What are you doing here?” Night Waltz asked, his eyebrows lifting.

“Investigating,” Phillip replied, adjusting his vest. “How’d this fire start?”

“That’s none of your business,” one of the security guards, a large green unicorn with a thick blue mustache and beard snarled, glaring at the intruders. The logo on the sleeves of his uniform was the head of a black dog, glaring and baring its teeth. “You’re trespassing.”

“And you’re letting these fires happen,” Daring replied shortly. “Seems like you’re being paid too much.”

“Daring…” Phillip hissed, but it was too late. The three security guards, all of whom looked far too big for their uniforms, were already bristling at the insult.

“I’m sure that you’re very concerned about these fires,” Night Waltz replied, brushing ash off his suit. “But believe me, we have things plenty under control.”

“Under control—” Daring started to spit out, but Phillip quickly covered her mouth with a hoof.

“When did this fire start?” Phillip asked flatly.

“Last night, if you need to know,” Night Waltz answered idly. “The security guards alerted the fire department and police, who responded and put it out after fighting it for five hours.”

“Five hours?” Phillip asked, raising his eyebrows. “For a house this size?”

“Couldn’t put it out with water for some reason,” Night Waltz shrugged. “Anyway, since Chief Tumbler specifically put me on this case, I responded this morning. I’ve been sorting through this mess and questioning witnesses. I’ve got this covered, detectives. You can go back to chasing adulterers and insurance frauds.”

“Hired on this case,” Phillip grunted.

“Well, you’re going to have to refund your client, because I’ve got dibs,” Night Waltz said, turning back towards the pile of ashes. “Now, as the gentlepony said, you’re trespassing. Kindly vacate the premises.”

“We’ll leave when we’re good and ready,” Daring replied. The brand began to burn again, like her hoof was being held inches over a bed of hot coals.

“You’ll leave now,” the bearded security guard growled. The other guards and the construction ponies all tensed up, preparing for a fight.

Phillip looked around, then turned to Daring. “We should go,” he muttered.

“What, you’re just going to run off because some mouth breathers threatened you?” Daring hissed, a bit too loudly.

“Mouth breather?!” one of the guards snapped, his wings flaring in anger. He lunged right at Daring. Phillip pushed her out of the way and sidestepped, driving his knee around into the pegasus’ stomach. The guard collapsed to the ground, wheezing and coughing.

Phillip started to turn towards the next opponent, but the bearded unicorn had pulled out a red canister. He sprayed a stream of pepper spray right into Phillip’s eyes. Phil yelled in pain and staggered, shaking his head to try to get the spray out of his already watering eyes. One of the construction ponies seized him in a full nelson and the other worker, along with the unicorn, began to pummel him in the chest and ribs. Phillip went slack, coughing and retching.

“Phil!” Daring cried, instinctively running towards him. The third security guard, a large unicorn with dark, deep-set eyes, reached out towards her with his hoof, his horn sparking. Whipping out her kusarifundo, Daring wrapped it around his hoof and pulled backward while dropping her weight, dragging her attacker down to the ground. Stunning him with a vicious kick to the face, she turned and started to fly towards the ponies surrounding Phillip; her partner was currently trying to blindly push his way out of the circle he was trapped in, every breath a pained grunt.

Suddenly, Daring banked and flew right at Night Waltz, who had observed all of this from the edge of the house’s foundation. Night’s eyes widened in shock as she propelled herself towards him and dove out of her way. She landed and skidded for a few feet across the ashes, glaring at Night Waltz. She started to fly towards him, but a green aura of magic seized her, holding her in place.

The bearded unicorn had grabbed Daring in his magic. He pulled her in close and tossed her to the ground in front of him. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs, and the unicorn promptly gave her a vicious kick in the gut, causing her to curl up into a ball.

Squinting upwards, she saw that the other ponies had surrounded Phillip, beating him down to the ground. He was covering himself with his legs, blood staining the grass around his head. His breath came in rapid wheezes, marked with coughs that made his entire body shake.

“Okay, stop, stop!” Daring shouted, lying facedown and placing her forelegs on her head. “I give up! Just stop before you kill him!”

The bearded unicorn grunted and gave a signal, prompting the others to back away from Phillip. He tried to get up onto his hooves, still coughing.

“All right, that’s enough of this,” Night Waltz declared, idly brushing off his suit with a lint brush that he pulled out of his pocket as he walked over. “Ack, almost made this another trip to the dry cleaners…gentleponies, I’m sure that our two detectives have learned a lesson about putting their noses in places where they don’t belong. Let’s send them on their way,” he suggested with a smile.

With a satisfied grunt, the unicorn guard lifted both of them up in his magic and tossed them several feet down the street. Both ponies struck the ground with a grunt and tumbled across the dirt.

“And don’t come back!” he called after them. The other ponies all hooted with laughter and turned away, returning to their work.

Grunting in pain and clutching her side, Daring pushed herself back to her hooves and staggered over to Phillip. His reddening face was stained with the spray, tears, sweat, mucus, and blood that trickled from a broken nose and split lip; his eyes were shut tightly and he was still struggling to breathe.

“You okay?” she asked, bending down and grabbing his foreleg in both of her hooves.

“Water,” Phillip wheezed, gasping in pain. “Need water.”

Looking around, Daring spotted a pond a few feet away, where the Everfree Forest ceased to encroach on the city. She guided Phillip over to the pond and helped him bend over. Once he managed to pry his eyes open with his hooves, she splashed water on his face to wash away some of the spray; he coughed and gasped when the water struck him.

“Enough,” he panted, shaking his head and fanning his face with a hoof. “Help me walk around, I can’t see.”

Taking his foreleg, Daring began to walk him around in a circle; the air on his face helped wash away the pepper spray. Phillip forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, occasionally spitting or retching. It took at least ten minutes before he could open his eyes.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” Daring said, noticing the way he squinted at her with his red-streaked eyes.

He let out a grunt in response. “That’s a yes,” Daring nodded. “I...well, I don’t blame you. That was my fault.”

Phillip growled. Daring hung her head. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I just…” She sighed. “We’re the ones trying to help, and we keep getting stonewalled. It’s just so...frustrating! I try to do the right thing, and—”

She was cut off by Phillip gently placing a hoof on her lips. Turning, she saw that he was looking up at her, his eyelids shaking as he tried to keep them open as much as he could.

“I understand,” he said softly and coughed, spitting onto the ground. “Just keep yourself in check next time, all right?”

“All right,” Daring nodded. They continued to walk around in a circle. “You feeling any better?” she asked.

“Head still feels like it’s on fire, but I can see a lot better, and I don’t feel like I’m gonna puke anymore,” Phillip said. “We’ll have to come back later to see what we can find.”

“We won’t have to,” Daring said with a grin. She reached into her shirt and pulled out a scrap of burnt wood and a small plastic bag containing a sample of ash from the destroyed house.

Phillip stared at the stolen evidence for a moment, then grinned at Daring. “You bloody brilliant thief,” he snickered, then coughed again.

At that moment, there came the sound of sirens. Looking up, both ponies spotted a police cruiser speeding down another road, red and blue lights spinning.

Without hesitation, Daring snatched Phillip underneath the forelegs and took off, ignoring his yelp of surprise. She flew after the cruiser, chasing it as it weaved its way through the streets of the neighborhood. A few minutes later, the cruiser screeched to a halt at a curb. The officers both jumped out. “Hey, you!” the driver shouted, pointing at a yellow unicorn stallion with bushy red hair and a beard walking down the sidewalk.

The unicorn jumped up and started to run, but the officers ran him down in moments. Roughly seizing him by the jacket, they flung him against a car and began to roughly pat him down.

“What the fuck?!” the unicorn protested, struggling as they placed cuffs on his hooves. “What’re you doing?!”

“Coal Dust, you are under arrest for arson,” one of the officers snarled. They both dragged him down towards the cruiser. The ponies surrounding them stared in shock as Coal Dust was roughly pushed into the backseat of the cruiser.

Still in midair, Phillip and Daring exchanged a glance, then Daring began to fly after the cruiser as it pulled away from the curb and turned south towards the precinct.

Case Four, Chapter Four: The Flames Grow Cooler

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The cruiser stopped at the back of the precinct. From above, Phillip and Daring observed as Coal Dust was extracted from the backseat of the cruiser and marched by the two officers through a set of doors which led into the booking room where new arrestees were taken.

“Go in through front,” Phillip instructed. “We can talk to Trace if he's here.”

Daring nodded and landed in front of the revolving doors at the front of the precinct. The letters that spelled out “PONYVILLE POLICE DEPARTMENT” over the door were still as rusted and faded as they ever were, and the door squeaked as they pushed through it. The front lobby inside was still stuffy, the black and white tile floor unmopped and the fan in the ceiling still creaking slowly. A few ponies sat on the uncomfortable benches, waiting to be seen by somepony. The desk sergeant sat on the elevated chair behind the desk in the back, flipping through a gun magazine.

Ignoring the desk sergeant, Phillip and Daring proceeded through the door in the back to the offices. They started down a hallway that was much cleaner and brighter than the room behind it, walking past several closed office doors. But as they passed one door, it opened and an orange pegasus with lightning blue hair stepped out, wiping his mane. Flash looked up and spotted the two detectives, his eyes widening when he saw Phillip.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“Had a disagreement with some security guards,” Phillip said, hissing in a breath and reaching a hoof up towards his ribs. “I’m fine.”

“You need to see Twilight,” Flash said, instinctively moving to Phillip’s side to support him and helping him walk down towards the end of the hallway.

“We were going to, and I can walk,” Phillip grumbled, allowing Flash to take some of his weight nonetheless. Daring rolled her eyes and followed.

They reached the door at the end of the hallway, which Flash pushed open with a shoulder. The trio descended down a flight of stairs, following the lure of classical music playing in the distance. After a few more feet, they reached the forensic laboratory. Doctor Suunkii was standing at a microscope, peering at a slide of trace evidence; Twilight Sparkle was walking towards him, carrying a tray of test tubes filled with liquid in her magic. When she saw Phillip, she gasped in shock and nearly dropped the tray.

“What happened?!” she demanded, immediately walking over to Phillip and lighting up her horn, casting a medical diagnosis spell over him to scan for injuries. Doctor Suunkii took one look at Phillip’s face, then walked over to another table and pulled out a collection of potion-making equipment, mixing several liquids together into a single bowl.

Daring and Phillip told their audience the story of the fires as Twilight cast a healing spell over Phillip, repairing his broken ribs and nose and healing his split lip.

“Those...those jerks! Those meanies!” Twilight spat when their story was complete, her horn sparking in anger.

Daring Do raised an eyebrow at her. “‘Meanies?’”

Twilight squeaked and raised her hooves to her mouth. “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to curse!”

"You okay now?" Flash asked Phillip.

"Yeah," Phillip nodded. "Thank you."

"You're really good at magic, Twilight," Flash commented. "And, uh...you look nice today," he blurted out.

Twilight froze for a moment, her cheeks coloring. "Huh? Oh. Uh. Thank you." She turned back to some paperwork on one of the tables.

Flash cringed a little, his posture deflating slightly. Daring caught Phillip's eye and smirked.

Suunkii carried over a bowl with a light green salve in it and began to gently dab it on Phillip’s face. “This will help remove the pepper spray without activating the oleoresin capsaicin,” he explained as he did so.

Phillip let out a relieved sigh. “That feels much better. Thank you, Suun.”

“What can we do?” Flash asked, returning himself to seriousness.

“Start with this,” Phillip said, nodding to Daring. Daring extracted the burnt wood and ashes from her shirt and handed them to Suunkii.

“We got those from the site of the last fire at the housing project,” Daring explained as the zebra examined them. “Night Waltz said that it took the firefighters five hours to fight that fire down.”

“Five hours is an unusually long time, and it is even more unusual for a simple two-story house under construction to burn that long,” Suunkii commented, frowning at the burnt wood fragment. “Unfortunately, arson is not a point of study that has been given sufficient attention, so there is little that we know for certain. However, I can state that these burn patterns are not like any I have ever seen.”

“We should just start with some preliminary observations and tests,” Twilight stated, scooping some of the ashes into a small plastic dish. “We’ll also have to compare it to evidence from the fire at the Duskwind’s house. We might have some results for you later.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded. He and Daring turned to go.

“Wait!” Flash called after them. “What can I do to help?”

Phillip paused and looked back at him, his lips thinning in thought.

“I want to help!” Flash protested, looking rather like a young colt trying to impress a parent. “I can—”

“Sentry, there you are,” a voice called from behind them. The group looked up to see Sergeant Prowl striding down the stairs, shaking her white-blonde mane out of her eyes.

“Ma’am,” Sentry said, snapping to attention.

Prowl afforded Phillip and Daring a respectful nod, which both of them returned. “What were you doing down here?” Prowl asked.

“I, uh…” Flash muttered, his ears folding back slightly as he glanced back towards the door to the crime lab. “I was...bringing some documents down for Miss Sparkle!” He chuckled nervously.

“I hope he never plays poker,” Daring whispered into Phillip’s ear. Phillip’s lips twitched upwards momentarily.

Prowl’s frown deepened slightly. “You can pursue your romantic endeavors when you’re off the clock, Sentry,” she lectured him. Flash managed to simultaneously blush and look relieved. “We’re needed. Somepony left a suspicious bag at the train station; the bomb squad’s been called in, and we need to help keep the crowd back. Bumblebee’s already there.”

“Ma’am, it’s probably just a bag of clothes that somepony forgot,” Flash protested. “We—”

“Sentry. That’s an order,” Prowl cut him off. Her tone did not change in the slightest, but her yellow eyes narrowed and she seemed to grow three inches in height, towering over the smaller pegasus.

Flash sighed and slumped. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Detectives,” Prowl dismissed herself and her junior partner with a final nod, then walked back up the stairs with Flash in tow.

“Let’s check with Roger Breaker,” Phillip suggested to Daring. “Want to check the surveillance crystal footage for the fire.”

“Good idea,” Daring nodded. The two started to walk up the stairs, heading towards the dispatch room.

“The kid didn’t seem happy to have to leave with Prowl,” Daring commented as they started back up the hallway.

Phillip nodded. “Doesn’t trust his partners. Might be right to.”

“What do you think is his deal with us?” Daring asked. “He seems to go out of his way to try to hang out with us.”

“Young, naive, doesn’t know who to trust or look up to,” Phillip said. “Might be looking for a hero.”

Daring scoffed. “Then he’s looking in the wrong place.” She paused, then added in a quieter tone, “You sure he’s not the mole?”

Phillip was silent for a few seconds, then muttered quietly, “I’ve been wrong before.”

Daring did not press the issue. They reached the dispatch room and stepped inside. They were greeted once again by the barrage of noise and lights of the dispatchers. The row of telephones and radio sets was manned by a group of workers, all of them speaking over one another. The front wall was occupied by a map of Ponyville, marked with several blinking colored dots: red for surveillance crystals, blue for cruisers, and yellow for unmarked vehicles.

Roger Breaker was standing at the raised dais at the back of the room, speaking to Trace Evidence. Trace scowled and said something in an undertone to Breaker, who shook his head, scratching at his messy beard.

Hearing the door open, Trace looked up to see Phil and Daring and waved them over. “I’m guessing you want to see the footage from the fire at Apple Tree Way last night,” he said.

“That, and the fire at the Phoenix housing project,” Phillip said.

Roger Breaker frowned and adjusted his glasses. “Unfortunately, there aren’t any surveillance crystals in the housing project yet,” he explained. “The city’s paying for installment, but that’s not going to be for a while. As for the fire on Apple Way, we don’t have any views of the fire itself, but I can give you some shots of the surrounding area.”

He turned to the crystals that were embedded in the wall surrounding him and started tapping them in a sequence. The crystals projected a series of moving images in front of the group, which Daring and Phillip both recognized as surrounding views of twenty-seven Apple Tree Way. Roger Breaker tapped more crystals and the images began to rapidly rewind. Shadows lengthened, then the night fell in minutes. Fire trucks drove backward up the road, then a few seconds later, sped backward the other way, their lights spinning.

Roger Breaker carefully turned the crystals and the images began to play again. One of the projections, which showed the entrance to the boulevard, displayed a set of maple trees shivering in the wind; smoke from the fire slithered in between the branches. The only other views displayed the currently-empty streets on either side of the boulevard entrance.

“Like I said,” Roger Breaker shrugged. “Not much help.”

“Wait,” Phillip said. “Back it up a bit.”

Roger obliged, reversing the image. The smoke retreated through the branches, then a scratched silver pickup truck drove backward out of the boulevard.

“Stop,” Phillip instructed. Roger stopped the image, giving the ponies a good view of the pickup truck.

“Truck was at the scene of the fire earlier,” Phillip said, squinting at the license plate and writing it down in his notebook.

“Yeah, it was,” Daring nodded, remembering the truck that they’d stepped around.

“Can’t see the driver or passenger,” Phillip muttered. “Can you get it closer?”

Roger fiddled with the crystal controls and the picture zoomed in on the windshield of the truck. Unfortunately, the windows were too dark for the ponies to see anything except the vague silhouettes of the driver and passenger.

“Sorry, I can’t get any better than that,” Roger shrugged.

“Least we know when the fire started. Can still run the license plate,” Phillip grunted.

“Yes, we’ll add that to the ever-growing list of things to do,” Trace commented dryly. He gestured with his head, asking for Phillip and Daring to join him outside. The trio stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

“I’m sure you know that a couple officers picked up a suspect for the fires,” Trace said.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re here,” Daring confirmed.

“Pony by the name of Coal Dust,” Trace commented. “He’s been picked up for a few misdemeanor charges, and we’ve always known that he’s a bit of a firebug, but he’s never caused any serious trouble: certainly nothing like this.”

“So why was he brought in?” Daring asked. “And why was he roughed up so much?”

Trace sighed. “Chief Tumbler called down a squad car to pick him up,” he explained. “Some ponies called in and said that he’d been seen watching that house fire while the firefighters were fighting it. He wants this wrapped up quickly; these fires in the Everfree District are not good for our image.”

“I’m sure that’s what he’s worried about,” Daring scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Want to talk to him,” Phillip said. “Get to him before anypony else can.”

Trace nodded. “I’ll see if I can get you in to talk to him,” he said. “What are you two thinking?”

“The fires at the housing project,” Phillip said. “We think they might be connected to the fires in the Everfree District, and to a murder.”

“Gold Dust, you mean. I’ve already picked it up,” Trace frowned. “The last I heard, all the house fires were supposed to be accidents: gas leaks, ponies leaving a cigarette burning, things like that.”

“That might have changed,” Phillip stated. “You know anything about the fires at the housing project?”

“Not much,” Trace grumbled. “Night Waltz never has been very forthcoming on details on his cases. He did mention that he suspects it’s the work of a detractor trying to sabotage the project. I also heard him saying that he couldn’t figure out how the fires started. Then again, I’m surprised he can find his way to the precinct in the morning, so that isn't too odd.”

“We tried to take a look around there, but the security guards chased us off,” Phillip said.

“They almost killed him!” Daring cried.

Trace scowled. “Cerberus Security,” he said. “A third of their members are ex-military with dishonorable discharges. Most of the rest know how to throw a sucker punch and wear a uniform. I heard Monopoly hired them after some tools started disappearing from the site.”

“If we can get some info out of Coal Dust, we might get somewhere on this,” Phillip stated.

“He’s probably through booking by now,” Trace said. “Come on.”

He led them through the hallways towards the back of the precinct, into the holding cells. They entered a large room with several small cells with barred doors on the walls. A desk was set up against one wall, behind which sat two police officers who were sorting through paperwork.

“Where’s Coal Dust?” Trace asked.

“Cell five,” one of the officers grunted without looking up.

Phillip and Daring turned and spotted Coal Dust sitting by himself on a bunk in the cell behind them. He was rubbing his shoulder, staring down at the cell floor.

“Open that cell door,” Trace ordered the officers. Both cops stared at him for a moment, then the one who had spoken grunted and tossed Trace a set of keys. Trace unlocked the cell door and opened it wide with a squeak, gesturing for Phillip and Daring to enter.

Both ponies entered slowly. Coal Dust did not look up.

“Mister Dust,” Phillip stated. “I’m Phillip Finder. This is my partner, Daring Do. We’re private detectives.”

Coal Dust glanced up at them briefly, then turned away and stared at the wall.

“Are you okay?” Daring asked. “We saw them taking you in.”

“And didn’t help,” Coal Dust grumbled.

“Look, we…” Daring winced, then sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re sorry,” Coal Dust grumbled. “You’re sorry I’m in here, I’m sorry I’m still stuck in that dead-end job at the post office, the neighborhood’s sorry about that family that died. Everypony’s fucking sorry for something.”

Phillip and Daring looked at one another, then Phillip turned back to Coal Dust. “You were spotted at the scene of the fire at Duskwind’s house last night.”

Coal Dust shrugged. “I heard the fire engines and went over to see. I like fire.”

“You weren’t there when the fire started?” Phillip asked.

“No,” Coal Dust replied. “I worked my shift at the post office, then I had dinner at Sweetcream Scoop’s shop and took a trolley back to the district. I was walking home when I heard the sirens.”

“That late at night?” Daring asked skeptically.

“Sweetcream’s a twenty-four seven establishment, and I work the night shift,” Coal Dust explained, still not looking at them.

“We’ll check on that alibi for you,” Phillip said. “If it turns out that you’re telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about.”

Coal Dust grunted. “Yeah. Sure.”

Phillip and Daring glanced at each other, then exited the cell. Trace closed the door behind him.

The phone behind the officer’s desk rang. One of the cops picked it up and held it to his ear, then held it out to Trace. “It’s Red,” he declared.

Trace grabbed the phone and held it up to his ear. He listened for a few moments, then nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be there.” He hung up, then turned to Phillip and Daring.

“Red wants us to meet him at the Everfree fire station,” he said. “Burning Embers found something that he wants us to see.”

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded. “Let’s go.”

They started to walk back up the hallway when a side door opened and Vitae Mortis bounced through. “Oh, hey, Phillip!” she called. “I had a look at our friend earlier. You were right on the money: struck from behind by a brick and repeatedly bludgeoned. I also took a look at his briefcase. The locks on it were designed to be tamper-proof; if somepony tried a lockpicking spell on them, they’d seal shut. And guess what?” She grinned at them, expecting a reply.

“You saved a bunch of money on your car insurance by switching to Eico?” Daring commented dryly.

Mortis giggled and booped Daring on the nose. “No, silly. The locks’ seals had been activated! A unicorn tried to open the briefcase, and when that didn’t work, they resorted to breaking it open with brute force!”

“Good to know,” Phillip nodded. “Thanks, doc.”

Vitae Mortis nodded and retreated back to the morgue. The trio continued down the hallway and exited the precinct, heading into the parking lot. The sun was already dipping towards the western horizons as they crossed over to Trace’s Hayson Commander and piled in. Trace turned the ignition, and the engine responded immediately with a loud grumble. He shifted into gear and the car pulled out of the lot and started down the street towards the northeast.

The Everfree precinct of the Ponyville Fire Department was a brick building that sat in between an apartment building and a factory, the two-story garage looking slightly squashed in between the larger buildings. The garage doors were open, revealing a pair of bright red fire tankers and an ambulance.

The trio walked through the garage doors. “These are so cool,” Daring said admiringly, staring up at the tanker as she walked past.

“They are,” Trace admitted. “I wanted to be a firefighter when I was a foal, just so I could ride around in the truck.”

“Who didn’t?” Daring asked, walking past the rows of open lockers where the firefighters stored their turnout gear. Glancing down at a set of boots with a set of rolled-down pants tucked inside them, she plucked out a helmet and turned, placing it on Trace’s head. “There,” she said with a smile. “Now you can be the first firefighter detective.”

Trace smiled at her and put the helmet back in the locker with his magic.

“Detectives, there you are,” Burning Embers said, rounding the corner of the lockers. “Come over here, there’s something I want to show you.”

He led them over to a table next to the fire pole. Upon the table, he had set up a length of gas piping that ran down the length of the table, attached via a tube to a propane tank sitting on the floor. In the center of the piping was the regulator valve that Daring had found at Apple Tree Way. To its left, connecting it to the gas piping, was an unlit Bunsen burner. To the right was a valve that was topped with a bright yellow balloon. Red Herring was waiting next to the table, tossing a cigarette lighter to himself.

“I was looking at the regulator valve you found, and I discovered something,” Embers explained, picking up the regulator valve with his magic and holding it up.

“You said there was a hole in it,” Daring commented.

“There is,” Embers replied, pointing at the small hole drilled into the side of the valve. “But it’s not just a hole. It’s attached to a screw in the diaphragm of the valve. If it’s turned this way, the valve works normally. But if you insert a screwdriver into the hole and twist the screw…” He pulled out a small, thin screwdriver and inserted it into the hole, then with a grunt of effort, twisted it.

“Watch what happens,” Embers said, inserting the valve back into position. He twisted a handle, and the gas turned on with a hiss.

“Red?” Embers asked, stepping back. Red Herring stepped forward, flicking the lighter open and igniting the flame. He held it up to the Bunsen burner, which ignited with a puff. The yellow balloon began to slowly fill up.

“That Bunsen burner is a gas heater, and the balloon represents gas from a heater filling up a room,” Embers explained. “Ordinarily, the regulator valve should be preventing that gas from escaping. But that screw is reversing the diaphragms inside the valve; that allows the gas to escape. All it would take is an open spark…”

Red demonstrated by holding out his still-lit lighter to the balloon. As soon as the balloon touched the flame, it exploded with a loud bang, causing everypony to flinch.

“So the valve was tampered with,” Phillip concluded. “That something that anypony could do?”

“No,” Embers replied, shaking his head. “The only way that you could pull this off is if you knew intricately how these valves worked.”

“And the fact that the service log was missing probably means that a worker was the one who did this,” Red replied. “By the way, you were right. I checked the scenes of the other fires. Some of them had a Phosphero brand heater in their house, and they all had the service log missing. I had to do some digging, but I did find the regulator valves in a couple places. They’d been tampered with, too.”

“You speak to Phosphero?” Trace asked.

“They stonewalled me,” Red scowled. “Told me to fuck off and come back with a subpoena. Unfortunately, Judge Gavel’s on his weekly vacation and won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll need to speak to the surviving families, see if they had their heaters serviced before the fires,” Trace said. “And we also need to check on Coal Dust’s alibi.”

“All things that we can do ourselves,” Red Herring said to Phillip and Daring. “Let the real detectives do some work, right?”

“Yeah, save us a bit on the consultant fee,” Trace commented with a half-smile.

Phillip actually cracked a small smile himself and raised a hoof. Trace bumped his hoof against Phillip’s. “Right. See you tossers later,” Phillip said, touching the brim of his trilby in salute. Daring mimicked the gesture and the two of them exited the station.

Once they stepped outside, Phillip paused and looked at Daring. “What?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“You’re going to do it. Just get it over with,” Phillip sighed, widening his forelegs slightly.

Daring blinked at him for a few moments, then smirked. “What, you think I’m just gonna snatch you up and fly off again? Nah. You’ve had enough.”

Phillip blinked. “Really?”

“Really,” Daring nodded.

“Aces,” Phillip said, walking forward. “See if we can get a cab—”

“Psych!” Daring shouted, dashing forward and grabbing him as she swooped up into the air, laughing.

Case Four, Chapter Five: Secrets and Lessons

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The sun was kissing the western horizon by the time that Phillip and Daring arrived back at 221 Honeybee Bakery. They landed on the front step and Phillip extracted the keys from his vest, inserting them into the lock and opening the door.

“So, let’s get this straight,” Daring said, hanging up her hat on the coat rack. “There are fires in the Everfree District that look like accidents, but aren’t, and it looks like a Phosphero worker is starting them. We also have somepony sabotaging the Phoenix Housing Project, but Monopoly’s got an incompetent cop working them and his security guards are keeping everypony out. And on top of that, we’ve got a murdered insurance agent from the same company that's bankrolling the housing project.”

“Yup,” Phillip nodded.

“Wow,” Daring said. “This is like something you read in a dimestore novel.”

Phillip let out a short exhalation through his nostrils and half-smiled as he started gathering materials for grass-steak and vegetable kebabs. “Toss some charcoal in the barbie, would you?” he said, chopping up zucchini.

“Too right, mate!” Daring replied in a comedic exaggeration of his accent as she stepped out onto the back porch.

“I don’t sound like that at all!” Phillip shouted as she closed the door behind her. Laughing to herself, Daring grabbed a bag of charcoal and started to load up the barbecue grill on the porch. She squirted some lighter fluid onto the pile of rocks and set the grille back on top of it.

At that moment, the phone started ringing inside. Daring walked back inside and grabbed the phone off the table in the living room. “Finder and Do,” she said.

“Daring? It’s Twilight,” the voice said over the phone.

“What’s up?” Daring asked.

“I think I might have a theory as to how the fire at the housing project started,” Twilight said. “But I’d have to confirm it. Can you meet me at my house tonight at around eight o’clock?”

“Sure thing,” Daring said. “Where do you live?”

“Ten-ten Golden Oaks Street,” Twilight replied. “Be there at eight o’clock precisely, and don’t bring anypony else.”

“Why not?” Daring asked, bemused.

“Just don’t!” Twilight said, her voice equal parts commanding and pleading. Then there was a click as she hung up. Daring stared at the phone for a moment in bewilderment before hanging up herself.

“Who was that?” Phillip asked, spearing chunks of grass-steak onto kebab sticks.

“Twilight,” Daring replied. “She wants us to meet at her house at eight tonight. She thinks she’s got something on the fire from the housing project.”

“Aces,” Phillip nodded, holding up a fully-loaded stick. “Now, how about lighting it up?”

“You read my mind,” Daring smirked, swishing her hips and her tail back and forth as she walked to the back porch.

“I didn’t mean that way,” Phillip stated. Daring could see Phillip’s ears turning red out of the corner of her eye.

“You sure about that?” Daring laughed.

Phillip sighed. “I’m never going to win, am I?”

“Nope!” Daring chirped.

Their bellies filled to contentment, the duo passed the time in their own ways—Daring with some Joules Vanner reading, Phillip with saxophone practice and a new experiment that resulted in a vile stench that chased Daring out of the house for an hour. Finally, the clock chimed 7:30.

“Wonder why Twilight didn’t want anypony but us to see this,” Daring commented as she tugged her neckwarmer on and buttoned up her shirt.

“Find out when we get there,” Phillip said, zipping his vest up.

But as they spoke, there was a sudden thumping sound from the door. Both of them looked up, and Phillip ran over to the door and opened it wide. There was nopony on the front step, but a black rectangular object sat on the step. Phil bent down to pick it up. It was a book, the cover worn and battered heavily. There was no image on the cover, but the dark red letters on the spine read, “Ancient Artifacts and Totems.”

“Phil, look,” Daring said, pointing. Phillip looked up to see a unicorn mare standing on the other side of the road, glaring at them. The mare had a dark red coat with long green hair. She wore a dark blue parka with the hood pulled back to expose her face, which carried an expression of deep contempt and anger. Her cutie mark was a trio of bright orange stars.

“Sparks,” Daring whispered.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Sparks spat, her voice carrying across the street. Her horn lit up bright orange. Daring spread her wings and sped towards her like a bullet, but it was already too late; with a flash of orange light, Bright Sparks vanished. Daring skidded to a halt where Sparks had been standing, looking around wildly as if she were just hiding nearby.

Phillip walked over to Daring and laid a hoof on her shoulder. Daring turned to look at him, her rose-colored eyes shining.

“We need to get going,” Phillip said quietly.

Daring nodded, swallowing and wiping at her eyes with a wing. “Yeah. Let’s go.” She turned and followed Phillip up the street.

They caught a taxi that brought them to the mouth of Golden Oaks Street, which extended straight north to form the border between the Financial and Everfree Districts. The cab dropped them off next to a massive oak tree with a pale golden-brown trunk. The leaves of the magnificent tree were in shades of brown and red; as they passed, an errant gust of wind blew a cascade of leaves tumbling down onto their heads. Shaking the leaves out of their manes, they continued down the sidewalk, the dry leaves crunching beneath their hooves.

Number ten-ten turned out to be a simple but elegant two-story house with golden-brown paint the same shade as the tree that gave the street its name. Only the windows on the first floor were lit. A set of wind chimes hung over the front door, decorated with a white sheet with a wailing face painted on it. Sitting on the front lawn was a papier-mache model of a rotting corpse pulling itself out of the ground, reaching out its slimy green hooves towards any ponies who dared to walk up the pathway to the door.

“Classy,” Daring commented.

Phillip stared at the book that Sparks had thrown at their door. “Wonder why she wanted us to have this,” he muttered.

“She said she wasn’t doing this for me—us,” Daring corrected herself. “Whoever she’s working for—Scarlet, the one trying to fight Silvertongue—she wants us to have this. There might be a clue in there.”

“Could talk to Twilight about it,” Phillip suggested as they started up the walkway. Walking up to the front door, Phillip rang the doorbell.

“Just a minute!” a faint voice called from inside. Phillip and Daring both stepped back to wait.

“Phillip! Daring!” another voice called from the sidewalk. Both ponies turned to find Flash Sentry walking up the sidewalk towards them. He was wearing a bright blue hooded sweatshirt with frayed cords and a Supermare logo in red splashed across the chest. As he approached, he quickly tried to hide the bouquet of lavenders that was tucked underneath his wing.

“I was, uh, just checking out Coal Dust’s alibi at Sweetcream Scoop’s,” he said.

Phillip raised an eyebrow at him, his eyes locking onto the ketchup stain on Flash’s lip. Flash quickly wiped his mouth off. “His alibi checks out: Sweetcream was there, and she clearly remembers him.”

“So he’s not the arsonist,” Daring said. Phillip just grunted quietly.

“Actually, I was just...in the neighborhood,” Flash started to say, rubbing the back of his mane (both ponies could smell the manespray and cologne). “And I saw you guys while I was flying over, so—”

At that moment, the door opened and Twilight peeked out. She was wearing a blatantly absurd costume consisting of a long blue cloak decorated with stars, a similarly-patterned pointed blue hat with bells dangling from the brim, and long false white beard.

“Oh, hello, Officer Sentry,” Twilight said with a polite smile. “I’m glad that you two came!” she said to Phillip and Daring.

“What are you wearing?” Daring asked, her voice and shoulders shaking with suppressed giggling.

“This is my Nightmare Night costume!” Twilight explained, running a hoof through her fake beard and making the bells on her hat jingle. “I’ve been working on it for months. I want every detail to be perfect.”

“What are you supposed to be? A homeless pony? An escaped lunatic?” Daring asked, her voice cracking as she started to collapse with laughter.

Twilight glared at her. “No! Does nopony remember the old legends? I’m—”

“Starswirl the Bearded, right?” Flash cut in. “The famous wizard who worked with Faust and Speranza and tutored Celestia and Luna, right?”

Twilight looked up at him, her eyes widening. “Right! I’m so glad that you recognized him. You must have studied hard in history.”

“Actually, I got a C-minus in history,” Flash answered, his cheeks flushing. “I just recognized it because of the bells. I always thought it was kind of silly how this big important wizard would run around wearing a hat as ridiculous as tha…” He trailed off, catching the insulted look on Twilight’s face. “I should shut up now, shouldn’t I?” he asked.

“Probably,” Phillip said, nudging the giggling Daring and forcing her back to seriousness.

Twilight leaned in closer to Phillip and Daring. “I asked you to come alone,” she hissed through her teeth.

“He just got here,” Phillip explained. “Besides, he could be useful.”

Twilight glanced up at Flash, who had his head cocked to the side. “Are you sure?” Twilight asked.

“What are you not telling us?” Daring asked.

Twilight glanced back inside. “I just...there’s something I need to keep secret.”

“You can trust us,” Phillip replied. “All of us.”

Twilight looked up at Flash, who stared back in puzzlement. After a moment of thought, she nodded. “Come on in,” she said, gesturing them all inside. Phillip, Daring, and Flash entered the front hall and she shut the door behind her.

“Nice house. Um, I like the zombie pony out front,” Flash complimented.

“Thanks,” Twilight said, hanging up her costume on a hat stand. “The history of Nightmare Night is so fascinating! Did you know that long before Equestria, the sun and moon moved randomly on their own? The sun might rise and set in a matter of hours, or the night might last for days! Ancient ponies worshipped a goddess named Nightmare Moon, who controlled the moon and dreams, and made sacrifices to appease her so that she wouldn’t let the night last for too long. After ponies learned to control the sun and moon, worship of her and other pagan gods eventually died out, and she turned into a legend. Nightmare Night was started out of the sacrifices made in her name! Isn’t that amazing?”

Flash just looked confused, while Phillip and Daring just gave Twilight deadpan stares. There was the sound of crickets chirping from outside.

Twilight sighed, looking annoyed. “Never mind,” she muttered, leading them into the sitting room.

Twilight’s house had fairly sparse decorations, unless one counted books, which were virtually everywhere. The rickety shelves groaned beneath the weight of the tomes set upon them; the coffee table standing in the middle of the cushioned couches had two open books and a notepad covered in writing so neat that it could have been mistaken for print were placed neatly upon it. Every piece of furniture—the table, the couches, the shelves, and the star-studded inch-thick rug on the floor—was placed with an almost unnatural perfection and symmetry.

“Into feng shui?” Daring commented dryly.

“Actually, yes,” Twilight said, closing the book on the coffee table and putting it back in its place on the shelf with her magic. “Some of it is based on superstition, but the placing of items to allow for the flowing of energy is actually a very practical decision. It would probably cut down on magical accidents.”

Daring rolled her eyes.

Twilight looked around, then leaned in close to her guests. “I’m about to show you a very big secret,” she whispered. “I need you to promise that you will never, ever tell anypony about this.”

“Promise,” Phillip nodded.

“Enough with the tenterhooks already,” Daring said. “Just tell us!”

“Twi?” a male voice called from upstairs. “What’s going on?”

Twilight let out a soft squeak of alarm and looked up. The others looked up as well, towards the stairs in the back of the room.

“Who’s that? Your coltfriend?” Daring asked.

“No!” Twilight sputtered. “He…” She sighed. “Come on down, Spike,” she called.

“Spike?” Daring asked. “What kind of name is—?” She trailed off, her jaw dropping as she saw the figure descending the stairs.

Climbing down the stairs was a purple dragon with green scales on its head and down its tail. It was about three and a half feet tall, its green eyes coming up to about the height of an average pony's chin. Its belly was lighter than the scales on its back; its hands ended in sharp claws. The dragon paused in the middle of the stairway, staring at the intruders with a look of concern and confusion.

“Hooley dooley,” Phillip breathed, staring at the dragon. Daring blinked slowly, her jaw slack.

“Is that...a baby dragon?” Flash asked, tilting his head to the side as though he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing.

Twilight swallowed and nodded. The dragon slowly raised a claw and waved, smiling nervously. “Hi. I’m Spike,” he said.

“Cool!” Flash said, a broad grin spreading across his features as he walked up the stairs to greet the dragon. “My name’s Flash Sentry!” He stuck out a hoof to shake. Spike shook it eagerly.

“You into comics?” Spike asked, pointing at the Supermare logo on Flash’s sweater.

“Yeah!” Flash nodded. “You?”

“I love Supermare!” Spike said, looking ecstatic.

Twilight sighed in relief. “That went better than I thought it would.”

Daring managed to get her jaw back into place and turned to Twilight. “What is a baby dragon doing in your house?!” she cried, pointing at Spike.

“He’s my assistant,” Twilight explained, smiling softly up at Spike while he happily discussed comics with Flash. “When I was six years old, I was taking the entrance exam to the Royal Academy of Magic. Princesses Celestia and Luna were both there, it was so nerve-wracking. Part of the exam was that you had to try to hatch a dragon egg.”

“Do what now?” Daring asked, looking aghast.

“You weren’t supposed to actually hatch it,” Twilight explained. “It was just a way to test your magical ability. But when I tried my magic on the egg...well…” She smiled and looked up at Spike. “Princess Celestia and Luna raised him themselves when he was a baby, but I had a hoof in taking care of him in the Academy, and when I moved here, he came with me.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Phillip asked.

“He may be just a kid, but he’s still a dragon,” Twilight explained. “I was afraid that if ponies knew that I had a dragon living with me, they might be afraid of me, or try to hurt him.”

Phillip looked up at Spike and Flash, who were now talking about hoofball cards that they had. “Don’t think you have to worry about that with us,” he said.

Twilight smiled in relief. “Right, back to business,” she declared. Spike and Flash both descended the stairs and walked into the living room.

Twilight placed the notebook on the coffee table aside and used her magic to pull out two plastic bags. Inside the bags were the burnt wood scrap and the ashes that Daring had collected.

“I was examining these in the laboratory earlier, and I noticed something odd,” Twilight explained. “I attempted to perform a test for magical residues, and neither of these samples had any magical residues. At all.”

“That’s not normal?” Flash asked.

“Even if nopony used any magic on it, it should have picked up some magical residue from ambient magical energies in the air,” Twilight explained. “But there was nothing on them. I came up with a theory, and Spike here is going to help me test it.”

“How?” Spike asked, looking eager.

Twilight reached behind the couch and pulled out a small piece of a two-by-four and a large fire extinguisher with her magic. “Spike, I want you to burn this with your fire,” she said, looking excited at the prospect of an experiment.

Flash looked around, noticing the wooden construction of the house, the paper books, and the carpeting on the floor. “Uh, Twilight…?” he started to say.

But Twilight either didn’t hear him or ignored him. She held out the piece of wood in front of Spike, who grinned eagerly at the chance to use his natural dragon powers. He took in a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks, then blew hard. A jet of bright green flames issued from his mouth, setting the two-by-four on fire. The emerald fire overwhelmed every other light source in the room, casting shadows across the furniture.

“Whoa,” Daring breathed.

“Crikey,” Phillip muttered. Spike puffed up his chest, looking proud of himself.

Twilight allowed the fire to burn for about twenty seconds, then aimed the fire extinguisher at it and let out a spray of water. But the dragonfire refused to go out; in fact, it hissed angrily at Twilight and seemed to glow brighter.

“Uh-oh,” Twilight muttered, her expression switching from calm confidence to nervous concern in an instant. She continued to spray the burning wood, but the water had no effect whatsoever. Suddenly, Twilight let out a yelp of pain as her horn sparked and dropped the wood onto the floor. The flames began to lick at the nearby bookshelf, sparks dancing across the edge of the wood.

“Shit! Out of the way!” Phillip yelled. He, Daring, and Flash all dove for the rug, Flash pushing the table aside as Daring and Phillip lifted the rug up. All three of them flung the heavy rug over the fire, smothering the flames instantly with a hiss and a cloud of smoke that left everypony in the room coughing and choking for several seconds.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!” Twilight apologized. “I didn’t think that I wouldn’t be able to put it out safely!”

“It’s okay,” Flash reassured her, panting. “Nopony got hurt, right?”

“Except this rug,” Daring commented, turning the rug over and examining the burns spread across what used to be a map of the constellation Capricorn.

Twilight sighed, smiling even as her ears flattened against her head. “I’ll just...ask Rarity if she can do something about it,” she said.

“Maybe the next time we do experiments with my fire, we do it someplace away from things that are flammable?” Spike suggested rather sheepishly.

“Right,” Twilight nodded. She carefully picked up the piece of burnt wood in her magic and levitated it over to the table. Sticking her tongue out between her teeth in concentration, she lit up her horn and a beam of magic fired out of her horn, sweeping back and forth across the wood. The burnt ember did not react at all. Twilight cast other spells on it, shooting sparks at it, hitting it with tiny beams of energy, and creating what appeared to be a small purple star that hovered over the wood. All of them produced no reaction.

“It’s exactly the same!” Twilight declared, looking delighted that her experiment had worked. “Dragonfire is an enchanted flame; it uses magic as part of its fuel! That’s why there were no traces of magic on the samples!”

Daring blinked. “So, let me get this clear,” she said slowly. “You’re telling me that a fucking dragon is burning down the Phoenix House Projects?”

“Language!” Twilight gasped, looking shocked and covering Spike’s ears with her hooves. Spike gave her an irritated look that she did not catch.

“Sorry,” Daring said with a roll of her eyes. “A freaking dragon.”

“That’s what it appears to be,” Twilight commented. “The fact that we couldn’t douse this fire with water seems to support that.”

“It can’t be,” Flash argued. “If there was a dragon in Ponyville, somepony would’ve seen it or heard about it.”

“And I definitely didn’t see anything that looked like dragon tracks at the project,” Phillip put in.

At this moment, Spike noticed the book that Phillip had tucked into his vest. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing. “It’s not for Twilight, is it?”

Phillip looked down, then pulled the book out. “We were given this by an...informant,” he said. “Not sure why they wanted us to have this.”

“Let me see that, I think I recognize it,” Twilight said, holding out her hoof. She took the book from Phillip, running a hoof across the cover. “Yes, I know this book,” she declared. “It was in the library for the Royal Academy. I remember…” She gasped, her eyes widening. She opened the book and flipped to the back, scanning the index. She then flipped to the middle of the book, her eyes panning from left to right rapidly.

“There,” she said, pointing at a page. She set the book down on the table where everypony could see it.

The page that she had opened the book to featured a drawing of what looked like a necklace of thick golden chain. The centerpiece of the necklace was what looked like a lump of coal, crudely carved into the shape of a claw holding an eye. The coal was colored in a mix of black and red, with the iris of the eye colored a pale burnt orange.

“The Dragon’s Spark,” Twilight read from the text beneath it. “Rumored to have been made in the twelfth century by a unicorn mage who was friendly with dragons. He imbued it with Dragonfire; a pony who wears the Spark can conjure and control Dragonfire.”

“Maybe that’s what the arsonist is using,” Phillip suggested. “That’s why the informant wanted us to have it.”

“And I know where they got it,” Daring growled. “Silvertongue. He runs artifacts like that through his gallery.”

“Wait a minute. That’s a magical artifact?” Flash asked skeptically. “It’s just a hunk of rock.”

“It’s not just a rock, it’s a totem,” Twilight started to explain.

“Oh, boy, here we go,” Spike groaned, rolling his eyes.

“To understand a totem, you have to understand how magic works,” Twilight began to lecture, sitting back as her posture became visibly relaxed; she was in her area of comfort, and knew exactly what she was doing. “Magic involves the gathering of magical energy that is present in all environments, imbuing and directing it with your will and emotions, and channeling that energy through a conduit to create a spell that will have an effect on the physical world. It’s kind of like firing a gun: the bullet is the energy and the gun is the conduit. Loading the gun is gathering the energy, aiming it is focusing your will and emotions, and firing the gun is channeling the energy as a spell.”

“So, your horn is a conduit?” Flash asked, pointing to Twilight’s horn.

“Yes, and so are your wings,” Twilight nodded. “Both of them are used to channel magic from our own bodies. The difference is pegasi wings are adapted only for flight and weather magic, while unicorn horns can channel all kinds of magic.”

“And this necklace is a conduit?” Phillip asked.

“Yes, a totem,” Twilight explained. “A totem is an object that has been imbued with enough energy that it can be used as both a source and a conduit for magic. Making a totem is like carving out the barrel of a gun: it takes time and energy to turn what used to be a piece of metal into a gun barrel.”

“Can anything be a totem?” Daring asked.

“In theory, yes,” Twilight nodded. “But it has to be something that carries a great emotional significance for the pony who first made it a totem: that’s the energy required to turn it into a conduit in the first place. And most totems are only suited for a certain spell, or a type of spell, just like guns can only shoot certain types of ammunition. Somepony who had the Dragon’s Spark could only use it to generate dragon fire.”

“So how do we counter it?” Daring asked.

Twilight laid her chin on her hoof, frowning in thought.

“Twilight, if dragon fire uses magic as a fuel, maybe you could create a spell that stops the fire from using magic?” Spike suggested.

“That’s a good idea!” Twilight nodded enthusiastically. “I can try creating a ward to hold the spell on clothing, and that might give some protection.”

“What should we do in the meantime?” Flash asked Phillip.

“We’re hunting down a couple of possible leads on the arsonists, and I’m still working on what the connection is between Gold Dust, the Everfree fires, and the Phoenix Housing fires,” Phillip said. “Keep a close eye on Phoenix Housing.”

“We’ll have to ask around about the Spark,” Daring added. “And maybe we should ask around at Phoenix Life and Home again, see if we can find out some more info.”

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded. “Let’s get to it.” He stood up to leave, gathering his hat.

“Thank you for having us over,” Flash Sentry thanked Twilight as he stood up.

“You’re welcome,” Twilight smiled. “Sorry for almost burning the house down.”

“Meet up later to swap cards?” Spike asked, holding out a fist.

“Definitely,” Flash nodded, bumping his hoof against Spike’s fist.

Daring leaned in close to Flash. “You gonna give her those flowers, or what?” she whispered.

Flash whirled around to face her, his mouth dropping open and his cheeks turning red. “I, geh, wha, bu, choo, deh, beh…” he stammered.

Daring smirked. “Gotta stallion up sometime, kid,” she said. “She’s not gonna know you like her unless you say something.”

Flash looked from her to Twilight, who had noticed the exchange and was blinking at them in confusion.

“B-b-but flowers are dorky!” Flash stammered in a low whisper to Daring. “She’s smart and witty, and she’ll never—”

“Kid, trust me,” Daring said, patting Flash on the shoulder. “Sometimes, the dorky ways work.”

Flash looked over to Twilight, who had her head tilted in confusion. Flash swallowed, then reached into his hoodie and pulled out the bouquet of lavenders that he’d arrived with. The flowers were crushed and bent from being tucked inside his clothing.

“H-here,” he stammered, beads of sweat trickling beneath his brow. “I, uh, I saw these in a store and I thought of you because they’re pre—er, purple!” he caught himself. “Purple.”

Twilight blinked. Flash winced a little, his foreleg lowering. “I-I mean, I know it’s a little silly, but—”

“I love lavenders!” Twilight said, taking the flowers in her magic. She held them up in front of her and took a deep, appreciative sniff. “They’re so pretty! Thank you, Flash.”

“You’re welcome,” Flash said, smiling shyly.

Spike cleared his throat pointedly and Flash turned to see the little dragon glaring up at him. Spike pointed two claws at his eyes, then at Flash. Flash’s eyes widened and he swallowed nervously.

“Spiiiiike,” Twilight half-groaned, half-laughed, rolling her eyes.

“We going or what?” Phillip asked impatiently, standing at the door.

“Sorry,” Flash said. “Good night, Twilight.”

“Good night, everypony,” Twilight said. She and Spike both waved goodbye as Flash, Phillip and Daring exited the house.

“I’ll get over to Phoenix, start taking a look around,” Flash said.

“Don’t get caught by the security,” Daring warned.

“I’ll just keep my distance,” Flash said.

“Good luck,” Phillip said.

“You, too,” Flash nodded. He took off into the air, disappearing into the night sky.

“You think he’s gonna find something?” Daring asked, picking up Phillip and flying south towards home.

“He might, but I doubt it,” Phillip said. “Whatever this is, ponies are dying over it. We all need to be careful.”

“Right,” Daring muttered. “Because it was bad enough before we found out that there was dragon fire involved.”

Case Four, Chapter Six: Blood and Fire

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The next morning, Daring rose early, roused from bed by the sunlight streaming in the window onto her face. After a quick shower, she headed down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She had just finished up the first batch of scrambled eggs when she heard hoofsteps stumbling down the steps. Smirking, she grabbed the coffee pot and filled up a mug just as Phillip dragged himself into the room, yawning heavily and scratching his chin.

“‘Preciate this,” he mumbled as Daring slid the mug of hot coffee across the counter into his waiting hoof. He inhaled the scent of the cup’s contents for a moment before taking a long drink.

“No worries,” Daring said. “Can’t work on an empty stomach, after all.”

Phillip grunted in agreement and scooped some eggs and hay bacon onto his plate. “Right. Might be worth our time to split up today,” Phillip suggested. “One of us can go with Trace and the other with Red. Check on the truck and on Phosphero simultaneously. Can take a look at Phoenix Life later.”

“Sounds good to me,” Daring agreed.

Once their breakfast was finished and cleared away for later cleaning, the two of them donned their vests and hats and stepped outside. The day was gray and overcast, with the scent of incoming rain on the southern wind.

“Trace lives south of here, near the Dockside District,” Phillip stated, already running for a southbound trolley car as it pulled up to the curb. He jumped inside and Daring quickly followed him, both of them tossing some bits to the conductor.

They got off on Daysong Avenue and proceeded up the short, newly paved street. Trace lived in a comfortable suburban neighborhood, with small single and two-story houses painted in calming, earthy tones separated from one another by well-trimmed lawns that were decorated with fallen leaves of gold, red, and brown. A pair of squealing fillies with pigtails dived into a pile of leaves as their parents watched proudly from the front porch.

Trace Evidence’s place wasn’t hard to find: no other house in the neighborhood had a light golden-brown Hayson Commander parked in the driveway whose paint gleamed with fresh polish. The unicorn detective himself was standing next to the open engine hood, speaking to another unicorn. His friend had a dark gray coat and slightly oily black hair that framed his face. His chin was heavily marred with stubble and his large brown eyes were magnified by his glasses, which were perched precariously on a nose that seemed far too small for them. He was dressed in coveralls that were so heavily stained it was nearly impossible to tell what color they originally were, and his cutie mark was a crossed wrench and a tire iron.

“Is he smiling?” Daring whispered to Phillip as they approached.

“Yup,” Phillip said.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Daring commented.

Trace, who was indeed grinning, looked up at their approach. “Hey,” he greeted them with a wave. “Lug Wrench, remember I told you about Phil and Daring?”

Lug Wrench turned around and grinned at the two detectives, holding out an oil-stained hoof to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, his voice carrying a tinge of a Fillydelphia accent. “From the sounds of things, you’ve got half of the underworld running scared.”

“Wouldn’t say that,” Phillip said, shaking his hoof.

“Well, you’ve got quite a few fans now,” Lug Wrench said. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing more about you!” He shook hooves with Trace. “She looks good for now, but I suggest that you rotate those tires after the next couple thousand miles or so. The wear’s starting to show quite a bit.”

“Thanks, Lug,” Trace said. “Meet later at the houseboat?”

“You bet!” Lug smiled. With a final nod, he turned and walked down the driveway, swinging himself onto a waiting motorcycle. Kicking the motor to life, he grumbled back down the street towards main road.

Trace dropped the hood of the engine back down as a familiar rust-colored Diplomat 600 pulled up to the curb. Red Herring leaned out the window, holding up a set of papers.

“I got lucky,” he declared, tossing the papers to Trace, who caught them in his magic. “Judge Gavel was sober enough to listen, but still nursing a hangover and didn’t really want to deal with me. I was in and out in five minutes.”

“The subpoena for Phosphero’s workers. Good,” Trace nodded, already turning back to his wearily stoic self.

“And I’ve got the address for the truck owner,” Red continued. “They live on the eastern side of Ponyville, near the Dockside border.”

Trace turned to Phillip. “How do you want to play this?” he asked.

Phillip turned to Daring and gave her a “what do you want to do?” shrug. Daring thought for a moment.

“I’ll go with Trace,” she said. “We’ll go to Phosphero.”

“Ripper. I’ll go with Red and interview the truck owner,” Phillip nodded.

“Sound good?” Trace asked Red, who nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Phil?” Daring asked softly.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning towards her.

“Good luck boop!” Daring immediately cried, booping Phillip on the nose. Phillip stepped back, his nose scrunching comically in response to the touch, then glared at Daring. Daring sniggered.

“Okay, let’s go!” she chirped, flying over to the passenger side of Trace’s Commander. Trace gave Phillip a somewhat sympathetic look, then climbed inside.

Phillip walked over to Red’s Diplomat and climbed into the passenger seat, strapping his seat belt on. Red shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb; in the rearview mirror, Phillip watched Trace and Daring pull out of the driveway and head in the opposite direction.

“Something funny?” he asked Red, catching the pegasus’ smirk in the corner of his eye.

Red grinned at him as they pulled out of the avenue and headed east. “So, did you fuck her yet?” he asked.

“Piss off,” Phillip growled, his ears turning scarlet as Red Herring laughed heartily.

Phosphero Heating Company was situated in the middle of the Everfree District, in a grimy-looking brick building with a large shop window with the company’s name and logo splashed across the glass. Trace and Daring pulled up to the shop and parked at the curb. Both of them exited the car and walked into the store.

The receptionist behind the desk, a gum-chewing earth pony mare with a citrus-colored coat and pinkish-red hair done up in a mini-beehive, looked up and scowled as they entered. “I told you coppers before, you either come back here with a warrant or whatever or you—”

Trace cut her off by pulling out the subpoena and slapping it down on the desk. The receptionist stared at them for a moment, then stared up at him, open-mouthed. He tilted his head to the side a bit and raised an eyebrow.

The receptionist closed her mouth and huffed, standing. “Freaking cops,” she snarled, walking into the back of the store. She shot Daring a glare as she passed her. “Not bad enough they treat us like dirt, now they’re coming around here with thieves.”

“Hey!” Daring barked at her, her right hoof stabbing with pain. The receptionist ignored her, disappearing into a filing room.

Daring grimaced and massaged her foreleg. “You okay?” Trace asked.

“Fine,” Daring spat, gritting her teeth. Fuck this mark! Fuck her! Fuck ponies calling me a thief when I’m trying to help! she thought angrily.

The mare came back, carrying a box of files. “Here,” she said, slamming the box down on the table. “Records for repairs for the past two weeks. Fucking enjoy yourselves.” She stalked out of sight.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Trace deadpanned, opening up the box. He pulled out several of the files in his magic, floating them in front of his face. He swept a beam of his magic over the files, causing several of them to separate from the rest of the stack.

“So Twilight’s spell works,” he muttered with a small grin. Discarding the rest of the papers, he focused on the ones that he had separated. “These are for the houses where there were fires,” he explained, stacking the papers in midair with his magic. “Hmm...got it. Looks like all the houses were serviced by a Quick Fix. Let’s see...yup. There’s his address. He lives on Fair Winds Way, that’s about eight miles from here.”

“Nice,” Daring nodded. Trace placed the files back into the box and he and Daring exited the house. They walked back to the car and climbed in. Trace started up the car.

“So,” Daring asked, trying to focus on something other than the still-lingering pain. “How do you know Lug Wrench?”

Trace stared at her for a moment in confusion, then started to pull away from the curb. “I met him at the Midnight Oil,” he explained. “We got to talking about cars. Hit it off then and there. I meet up with him to tinker with my car from time to time.”

“Cool,” Daring said, nodding and staring at the window, watching the houses pass by as she cast around for another conversation topic. “You got any other friends? Anypony else you hang out with?”

Trace was silent for several seconds, then said, “Red.”

Daring blinked at him. “You have any family?” she asked. “Special somepony, kids?”

“No. Why do you care?” Trace asked, his voice becoming defensive.

“Just asking,” Daring asked, feeling another stab of pain through her hoof.

Trace frowned, then reached over and turned on the car radio. His eyes focused on the street and he began to turn the station dial, trying to find a station to settle on. Passing over a talk radio show and a classical music station, he paused at the sound of harmonica music. He sighed contentedly and settled back in his seat.

“Piano Mare?” Daring asked, recognizing the song.

“My favorite song,” Trace replied, pausing at a stop sign before continuing through the intersection. Daring watched as his lips began to move in time with Big Shot’s lyrics, his counterpoint barely audible.

Daring stared at him for a few moments, then laughed quietly to herself and settled back in her seat. Barely realizing that she was doing so, she began to quietly sing along, her voice joining with Trace’s.

They reached their destination, Fair Wind’s Way, a narrow street lined on both sides by modest but well-constructed and cozy suburban homes. “Number eighteen,” Trace muttered to himself as they started down the street, his eyes panning across the left-hoof side of the street. “Yeah, there it is,” he said, pointing at a two-story blue house that they were approaching.

“Think that’s him?” Daring asked, pointing at the white pickup truck parked in front of the driveway. A blue earth pony with a white-yellow mane and beard wearing a set of greasy overalls was climbing out of the truck, wiping his face with a hoofkerchief. The stallion looked up and saw their car approaching. His amber eyes locked onto Daring’s and widened.

Immediately, he climbed back into the truck and started it up, peeling away from the curb in a screech of tires and a cloud of exhaust fumes and flying gravel.

“Dammit,” Trace growled, punching the accelerator to the floor as he switched on his car’s lights and siren. They tore after the truck, chasing it up the road as pedestrians and other cars swerved out of the way.

Trace grabbed the hoofset for his radio. “Bishop Nine to Dispatch,” he said into it.

“Go, Bishop Nine,” a crackly stallion’s voice replied.

“10-80, vehicle pursuit,” Trace reported. “Suspect vehicle is a white Chevroneigh pickup, license Whiskey-Needle-seven-X-ray-two-five. Turning northbound on—”

“Trace, look out!” Daring screamed. A small brown griffon chick, confused and excited by all the noise, had just jumped out into the road in front of them. Trace slammed down on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the side, causing the vehicle to swerve wildly around the child as her horrified mother snatched her out of danger. A passing van had to mount the curb to avoid crashing into them, its driver honking loudly in alarm as they passed.

“Celestia’s fucking beard!” Daring yelled as they swerved after Quick Fix’s truck, her heart having leaped up into her throat. She clenched her teeth tightly, as if afraid that her heart might try to jump out of her mouth.

“Turning northbound on Creek Street,” Trace continued to report into the radio. “Officer requests immediate assistance.”

“10-4, Bishop Nine,” Dispatch replied. “Interrogative, suspect armed?”

“Unknown, but proceed with caution,” Trace replied, blazing right through a stop sign amidst irate honking and screeching brakes. Daring braced herself against the dashboard and tried to remember the Hail Faust.

“10-4. All Everfree units, 10-80, suspect vehicle white pickup, license plate…” Dispatch continued to relay their information as they sped after Quick Fix. The truck approached a four-way then, without slowing down, swerved hard to the left, narrowly missing a city bus.

“Brace yourself,” Trace warned Daring. He accelerated, aiming his car right at the pickup. Daring yelped and pressed against the dashboard with her hooves, gritting her teeth, her entire body tensing up in preparation for the impact.

A moment later, Trace slammed his car head-on into Quick Fix’s pickup truck. The impact caused Daring to smash her forehead against the dashboard, dazing her. The pickup truck was forced off the road and ran right into a lamp post, coming to an abrupt halt. The horn on the truck became stuck, blaring out incessantly as smoke rose from underneath the dented hood. Pedestrians on the sidewalks ran for cover as Trace’s car halted, its siren going silent.

The door to the truck’s cab opened and Quick Fix stumbled out, turning towards the car; Daring finally noticed that his cutie mark was a screw through a nut. Trace climbed out at the same moment, already drawing his pistol.

The blue earth pony’s eyes focused on Trace and narrowed. The trapped pony sprinted towards Trace, one hoof diving into his coveralls.

Daring realized what was going to happen a second before it did. “Trace!” she cried, trying to make herself move, but her head was pounding and her limbs refused to respond to her commands.

Without waiting, without pause, Trace opened fire, four rounds streaking through the air with sharp pops. Quick Fix’s body jerked violently with every impact and he stumbled, falling onto his face. A box cutter skittered out of his hoof, sliding across the asphalt. Quick Fix's body skidded to a halt just as Trace’s final cartridge struck the pavement; his body twitched once, and then lay still. His blood slowly spread across the concrete.

Daring sat frozen in the seat as Trace calmly walked up to the body, kicking the small knife away and nudging the still form a couple times. Shaking his head, Trace holstered his weapon and walked back to the car. Giving Daring a brief, regretful look, he took up the hoofset.

“Bishop Nine to Dispatch, 10-52. Ambulance needed at Wheat and Daffodil…”

From his passenger seat in the Diplomat, Phillip could see the cranes that lined the northern docks of the Maresippi River outlined against the gray sky. Red paused at a stop light, then proceeded through once the lights turned green.

“You’re good at sax,” Red commented without looking up.

“Hmm?” Phil grunted, turning towards him. “Oh, thanks.”

They sat in silence for several more seconds, then Red added, “I used to play the harmonica, you know.”

Phillip didn’t say anything for a moment, then asked, “You any good?”

Red shrugged. “Like to think I was,” he said. The silence blanketed them both again for several seconds while they cruised past several blocks.

“We shouldn’t do small talk anymore,” Red stated as he paused at another red light.

“Agreed,” Phillip nodded.

“Our address is right up here,” Red said, pointing as he turned down a side road. They pulled up to a two-story brown and white house near the mouth of the road. Phillip immediately spotted the heavily scratched and tarnished silver pickup truck sitting in the driveway.

“That’s the one,” he nodded as Red pulled up to the curb. Both of them exited the car and walked up to the front door. Red rang the doorbell.

The door opened and a pale purple unicorn stallion with long yellow and brown hair looked out. He had green eyes and the cutie mark of a hammer and a length of wood. “Yes?” he asked.

“Carved Timber?” Red asked.

“Yes,” the stallion nodded.

“Police,” Red Herring said, flashing his badge. “May we come in?”

Timber’s eyes widened slightly. “What is this about?” he asked nervously.

“We just want to ask you some questions,” Red replied.

The stallion seemed to consider them for a few seconds, then opened the door wider and stepped back. Red and Phillip stepped inside and followed Carved Timber through the hallway and into a sitting room. All the furniture in the room was obviously hoof-carved: the chairs with their cushions, the coffee table, the cabinet in the corner; all were beautiful pieces of art, made from contrasting shades of maple, ash, and birchwood.

A young robin egg blue pegasus mare with a long sandy blonde mane and the cutie mark of a pair of feathers was sitting on the sofa, playing with a pair of fillies. Neither of them could have been older than one: one was cardinal red, while the other was colored as blue as a blue jay. The mare looked up as the guests entered the room.

“My wife, Robin Wing,” Carved Timber said, gesturing to the mare. “And our girls.”

“Ma’am,” Red nodded to the mare. Robin Wing nodded in reply, settling back on the sofa.

Red flipped open his notebook and sat down on another chair. Phillip stood at the doorway, watching the scenario play out.

“How long have you owned that truck outside?” Red opened. “It looks pretty old.”

“Eight years,” Carved answered. “I keep as good care of it as I can, but it’s really starting to fall apart. I’ve really got to get it replaced.”

This, Red and Phillip both knew, was the truth: when Red had pulled the license plate information, he had also got the vehicle’s registration and owner information. The opening question gave Phillip and Red a chance to get a baseline for their subject’s body language when he was telling the truth. Now for the harder questions.

“Where were you two nights ago?” Red asked.

“Right here, at home,” Carved replied. “Robin and I slept all through the night.”

“Except at three in the morning, when the twins needed feeding,” Robin added.

“He was still here?” Red asked.

Robin blinked at him. “Yes, of course he was, sound asleep,” she said.

Red frowned and glanced down at his notebook, pretending to study his notes while he assessed his position and prepared for the next question. Phillip kept watching Carved Timber, observing the way his front hooves rubbed against one another as he spoke, the way he held his steady gaze on Red, blinking every couple of seconds.

“Only you have the keys to that truck?” Red asked.

“Yes,” Carved nodded.

“You haven’t loaned the truck to anypony else recently?” Red pressed.

“No,” Carved replied, a little too quickly. His hooves stopped rubbing against each other and became still in his lap. He stopped blinking and glanced up at Phillip for a moment before refocusing on Red, his gaze hardening slightly.

Red and Phillip both glanced at one another, each coming to the same conclusion. “We’re going to need to take a look at your truck,” Red explained. “It may have been involved in a crime.”

“What?” Carved Timber burst out, sitting up straight. “Uh...all right.” He walked up to the cabinet and pulled out a set of truck keys, handing them to Red. Red and Phillip both walked out of the room, back down the hallway and to the truck.

Tossing the keys to Phillip, Red stepped back to allow him to work. Phillip walked around the truck, his eyes scanning it, checking the undersides and the tires. He bent down and examined the lock with a magnifying glass. “No sign of forced entry,” he grunted. Inserting the key, he opened up the door and began to study the interior of the cab. He measured the distance from the seat to the pedals, noted a greasy stain on the back of the rearview mirror, swept over the seat with the magnifying glass, and began to study the litter left behind in the cab. Spotting some ash on the floor of the cab next to the seat, he bent down and sniffed at it, then scooped some into a plastic bag he took out of his vest.

He walked around to the passenger side and checked the seat. He glanced down at the floor beneath the passenger seat, then pulled out a set of tweezers from his vest and plucked a set of flame red hairs from beneath the seat.

Red glanced at the hairs, then leaned in closer to Phillip. “Don’t turn around,” he whispered. “We’re being watched.”

Phillip did not react, save for pulling another bag out of his vest and tucking the hairs into it. “Where?” he asked.

“House across the street, top floor, window on the right,” Red said, turning around. Phillip followed him back towards the door, glancing across the street as he did so. He caught a flicker of movement in the window of the red brick house that Red had indicated, but the face vanished before he could get a proper look at it.

“Hmm,” he grunted, continuing back into the house after Red. Carved Timber was now pacing the living room, while Robin Wing was sitting on the sofa, holding the twins and staring at her husband with suspicion.

“Somepony’s been driving your truck,” Phillip said to Timber, who halted and turned to look at him. “A tall earth pony with black hair who smokes Silver Flake cigarettes, and who was accompanied by a mare with long red hair that he was scared of; no other reason he was sweating so much that late on a fall night.”

Carved Timber opened and closed his mouth several times, his eyes darting from Phil to Red to his wife, who was glaring at him.

“You lent the truck to him, didn’t you?” Robin asked accusingly.

“I…” Timber started to protest, then hung his head. “Yeah. I gave him the spare keys that day.”

“I told you I didn’t trust him!” Robin snapped. “He keeps coming and going at odd hours, and he’s always coming home with tanks of propane and stuff. It’s weird!”

“He said he needed help!” Timber protested. “His car broke down and—”

“Hey!” Red barked, interrupting the couple and bringing their argument to a temporary halt. “Who are you talking about?”

“Charcoal,” Timber said. “Our neighbor from across the street. He’s kind of an oddball, but he keeps to himself.”

Red and Phillip both glanced at each other, then turned towards the door. “We’re going to need to speak to you later,” Red said over his shoulder as they exited.

The two walked across the street to the red brick house. As they approached, Phillip glanced up and saw movement in the same window. Once again, he could only catch a glimpse of the pony’s face before it disappeared. Scowling, he walked up to the door and knocked.

“Charcoal, police,” Red called.

There was no reply. Phillip knocked harder.

“Charcoal!” Red shouted. “We know you’re in there! Open up—”

Red’s call was cut off by the sound of heavy hoofsteps from around the corner. Both ponies turned around and their breaths caught.

Striding around the corner was a tall gray earth pony with black hair marked with red highlights. He wore a thick black and yellow turnout jacket and black boots. His face was covered by a gas mask, the eyes hidden behind the tinted lenses. Strapped on his back was a fuel tank, with a fuel line slithering down to a gauntlet strapped to his right foreleg. Tilting his head to the side, the pony raised his foreleg at Red and Phillip.

“Oh, shit! Scorcher!” Red screamed, grabbing Phillip and diving away. As he did so, a jet of flame roared out of the gauntlet, the fire missing both stallions by inches. Hitting the ground a few feet from the attacker, Red and Phillip both fled around the corner, the flamethrower nipping at their tails.

Pressing his back against the wall, Red drew his pistol, paused for a moment to take a breath, then leaned out from behind the cover and opened fire. The flamethrower-wielding pony grunted in pain, flinching and clutching his lower chest, but kept coming forward. He fired another jet of flame at Red, forcing him to duck back behind cover.

“Go around,” Phillip snarled, drawing his baton with a snap of his wrist and hurrying around the back of the house. Red followed after him, firing a wild shot at the Scorcher as he rounded the corner. Another jet of flame chased after the ponies as they ran behind cover.

“Keep him busy,” Phillip said. “I’ll run around back and get him from behind.”

“Right,” Red nodded. He gripped his pistol with both hooves and leaned around from behind cover again, then paused. “Wait, where’d he go?”

Phillip looked around the corner as well. The Scorcher had disappeared from sight. Running back to the front of the house, both of them paused to look around.

“There!” Red shouted, pointing. The Scorcher had run across the street and was standing in front of Timber and Robin’s house. He raised his gauntlet and fired a long, wide jet of flames from it, igniting the entire front of the house. Fire began to race across the house, penetrating the interior. The Scorcher then turned and fled around the back of the house.

Phillip’s heart skipped a beat, and he raced forward, forgetting all about the Scorcher. Vaulting over the truck, he sprinted to the front door, which was already wrapped in flames, and turned, bucking backwards. The door crashed inwards, revealing that the hallway was already on fire. Coughing on the smoke that was stinging at his eyes, Phillip ran into the hallway. “Robin! Timber!” he shouted.

“Here!” Robin’s voice called. “Here, help us!”

Phillip pushed himself through the fire that was already invading the living room, destroying the hoofcarved furniture. Smoke was everywhere: he could barely see a foot in front of him, but was guided onwards by the sound of the screaming and wailing fillies. Placing a hoof on the wall to orient himself, he crouched low, where the air was slightly cooler and easier to breathe. The flames surrounded him, having seemingly paused as if taunting him with the knowledge that they could roast him and everypony in the room alive at any moment they decided.

His outstretched hoof caught another’s. Robin Wing clung to him tightly, her body trembling in fear as she clutched her children to her body with a wing. “Oh, Holy Mother, get us out of here!” she wailed.

“Grab my tail and stay low,” Phillip instructed, turning around. Robin Wing grasped his tail hard, forcing him to grit his teeth against the pain. Crouching low, he began to follow the wall back around the house. Sweat trickled down his brow, clinging to his mane; the smoke filled his lungs, making every breath harder than the last one, and the house creaked and groaned around them, as if threatening to collapse at any moment. He rushed forward, carrying the mare and fillies behind him, dragging one hoof along the wall.

The fire chased after him, trying to cut him off; the smoke blinded him completely, forcing him to squint. Grunting and panting, Phillip hurried forward, racing for the safety of the thin blue-gray light ahead. With a final leap, he pulled himself, Robin, and the fillies out into the fresh air, bustling them away from the burning home. He grunted as he stumbled onto the grass, his vision slowly returning; as the adrenaline faded away, he became acutely aware of the burns on his hooves and face and had to stifle a cry of pain.

Panting and sweating, Robin raced a safe distance away, instinctively holding her daughters close to her body with her wings, then whirled around as if suddenly realizing something. “My husband! My husband’s in there!” she screamed hysterically. “He went up to the bedroom!”

Phillip turned around, preparing to head back inside the house, when they saw movement in a second-story window. Red Herring was opening the window and leaning outwards.

“Get out, go!” he shouted to somepony inside. Carved Timber leaned out the window, took a look at the ground below, then jumped. He landed hard on his hind legs; there was a cracking sound and he folded to the ground, yelling in pain. Red jumped out and flew to the ground, and he and Phillip hurried to drag him a safe distance away from the house.

“Just a sprained ankle, he’s fine,” Phillip reassured a sobbing Robin Wing as she collapsed onto her husband. He turned to Red, who was sitting down, panting and coughing, wiping at his tear-streaked eyes with a wing. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Red nodded. “You?”

“I’m good,” Phillip said, sitting down next to him. The sound of sirens filled the air as responding fire trucks and ambulances raced to the scene.

“Where’d the Scorcher go?” Red asked.

“I thought you were on him,” Phillip said.

“I thought you were,” Red replied.

Both stallions looked at each other, then growled. “Fuck,” they muttered in unison.

Case Four, Chapter Seven: Shadows Cast by Fireflight

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The fire department arrived in time to prevent the blaze from spreading to other houses, but it could not save Carved Timber’s home. By the time that the responding hoses were shut off and the last of the smoke cleared away, there was little left of the house but a burned-out shell with only half of the roof remaining.

Timber, Robin, and their daughters were currently sitting in the back of an ambulance, being treated for minor burns and smoke inhalation. The couple’s relief at being alive had been muted by the tragedy of the loss of their home and the realization that they had nearly been murdered by a neighbor. They could only sit numbly, holding their children as paramedics fussed over them.

Phillip watched from the Diplomat, leaning against the hood. A few feet away, Red Herring was speaking into a police callbox, transmitting a BOLO for Charcoal.

“Earth pony stallion, gray coat, black and red hair. Cutie mark of a burning charcoal. Approximate age, thirty. Armed and dangerous, last seen on hoof near Flotsam Street, wearing heavy jacket, boots, and gas mask. GSW to chest, will likely seek medical...what?...yes, I said gas mask! No, gas! Mask!”

Looking up at the sound of tires on pavement, Phillip spotted Trace’s car pulling up. Trace parked next to them and he and Daring exited.

“You find the worker?” Phillip asked, approaching the pair.

“We did,” Daring replied, shooting a bitter glare at Trace. “And then trigger happy here shot him.”

“He was running right at me,” Trace replied flatly. “I wasn’t going to take chances.”

“Whatever happened to ‘stop or I’ll shoot?’” Daring snapped.

“Who was he?” Phillip interrupted, shooting Daring a warning glance. She scowled at him.

“Worker by the name of Quick Fix,” Trace replied. “I’ve got a couple plainclothes we can trust combing his home and locker for any clues. What happened here?”

“Truck was borrowed by a neighbor, named Charcoal,” Phillip explained. “When we went to question him, the yobbo panicked and tried to torch us and the neighbors with a flamethrower.”

Trace blinked. “A...flamethrower?”

“Trace,” Red shouted from the callbox, his eyes betraying his fear. “He’s a Scorcher.”

The color drained from Trace’s face. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“Who else would come at us with a gas mask and a hoofmade flamethrower?” Red shot back before turning back to the phone.

“What’s a Scorcher?” Daring asked, her anger momentarily forgotten.

“A for-hire arsonist and assassin,” Trace replied, sitting down on the ground. “There’s a network of them across the nation. They specialize, as you might’ve guessed, in using fire as a weapon.”

“Must’ve been working with Quick Fix, then,” Phillip concluded. “Fix messes with the valves, Charcoal sets the fires.”

“The Scorcher’s leader is a mare named Tinderspark,” Trace continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Nasty piece of work. Locked her parents in the house and burned it to the ground when she was twelve, spent six years in a juvenile prison, then escaped when she was being transported to an asylum. By the last count, she’s killed over a hundred ponies.”

“Worry about her later,” Phillip cut in. “Need to figure this out.”

“You said the Scorchers are for-hire, right?” Daring said. “So somepony hired them to set these accidental fires in the Everfree. But why? Who profits from it?”

"And how does this tie to the housing project?" Trace mused.

"Phoenix Life insures those homes," Red grunted. "And Gold Dust was killed for something he knew about that."

“And I’m willing to bet that whatever he knew, it’s still at Phoenix Life and Home,” Daring added.

“Right,” Phillip nodded. He turned back to Trace and Red. “Enough ponies have died over this. We get down there and we don’t leave until we get to the dinky-di of all this. Right?”

“Right,” Trace nodded grimly. Red repeated the gesture himself.

A pair of cruisers arrived to take over the scene. Red Herring gave the four responding officers a briefing and sent them out to begin their search, then both detectives turned to their respective vehicles. Daring shot Trace a look and went to follow Red Herring into his car.

“Daring,” Phil called her back. She paused, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Trace couldn’t have taken that risk,” he said quietly. “You know that. I wouldn’t have either.”

“But—” Daring started to say but stopped herself. She closed her eyes, then sighed; Phillip’s eyes went down to her right hoof, which was pawing at the ground.

“I don’t want to talk about it now,” she grunted, walking over to the Diplomat. She climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

Sighing, Phillip walked over to the Commander and climbed into the passenger seat. Trace looked over at him as he buckled his seatbelt.

“I did what I was trained to do,” Trace said softly. “We both would’ve done the same in that situation.”

“I know, Trace,” Phillip nodded, his tone and expression flat. Sighing, Trace turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb, driving up the street. The Diplomat fell in behind them.

The group walked through the front doors of Phoenix Life and Home and into the lobby, which was just as ostentatious as before. The same receptionist was behind the desk, looking up at them in mild surprise.

“Office 308,” Phillip said, walking past the desk and towards the elevator. The four of them climbed into the elevator and Trace hit the button for the third floor. As the car started to trundle up the floors, Daring turned to face the back wall.

“What are you doing?” Red asked her. Daring just smirked at him over her shoulder.

Phillip let out a quiet sigh and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling with a small smile. “Least she’s back to normal, more or less,” he whispered to Red.

The elevator dinged and halted at the third floor, the doors sliding open. They exited the elevator and turned right, heading for office 308. The door was closed and locked, but Trace quickly defeated the lock with a simple lockpicking spell. The interior of the office was the same as it was when Phillip and Daring left it, except for a fresher layer of dust over everything.

“Trace, that spell that you used in Phosphero,” Daring stated. “Can you use that here?”

"Depends on what I'm looking for," he said.

"Policies on the housing project," Phillip suggested. "That's where the money's going."

Trace closed his eyes and concentrated, channeling energy into his horn. A moment later, several drawers in the office opened up and papers began to fly out of them, orbiting around Trace.

"What's this?" Trace asked, holding up a larger sheet of paper. "This looks like a survey map for that oil pipeline that the federal government is working on. Why would Gold Dust have this?"

"Not sure that that's important right now," Red cut in.

“Okay,” Trace said, studying the papers. “These are all related to the policies for the project—whoa!” he cried in surprise, ducking as more papers suddenly flew through the door and added themselves to the collection around him.

A moment later, two stallions poked their heads into the room. “Oh, it’s you again,” Safe Deposit said, smiling at Phillip and Daring.

“I thought that my files had learned how to fly,” Red Mark chuckled. “Hey, did you find out what happened to Gold Dust?”

Phillip and Daring glanced at each other, then Phillip stepped forward. “Gold Dust is dead,” he announced in a quiet tone.

Both stallions reeled backward like Phillip had struck them. “D-dead?” Red Mark stammered. “How?!”

“Murdered,” Phillip replied.

“Holy Mother,” Safe Deposit whispered.

“Phil, c’mere a sec,” Trace said, squinting at the papers in front of him.

“‘Scuse me,” Phillip said quietly, turning away from the two coworkers and walking over to Trace.

"So these are for payouts of the houses on the project that burned down," Trace said, holding up some documents. "Looks like it got spent out into some random companies and trusts."

"Right," Phillip said slowly.

"And these are other notes on the beneficiaries," Trace continued, holding up another sheet of paper that he'd gotten from Gold Dust's drawers. "Looks like most of them are shell companies. And if you trace them back a little farther..."

Phillip frowned. "I know those names. Monopoly owns every last one of them."

“And check the signature on the payouts,” Trace muttered. Phillip looked down at the bottom of the sheet and frowned. Daring peeked over his shoulder, then scowled herself.

“You and Trace, keep searching,” Phillip instructed her. “Red, I wanna talk to this guy.”

“You got it,” Red nodded grimly. He turned and approached Safe Deposit. “Would you step into your office for a minute? We need to speak.”

“Uh...okay,” Safe Deposit said, his eyes darting up and down the hallway as he spoke. He led the two detectives to room 309 and opened the door. The interior of his office was virtually the same as Gold Dust’s, but the papers were scattered across the table in disarray and the personal decorations were replaced with photos of Safe Deposit in the middle of various activities: riding a fancy motorcycle, skiing, snorkeling in the Hay Barrier Reef.

“Been there,” Phillip said, noting the last photograph. “Water’s plenty warm.”

“Yeah, it was great,” Safe Deposit nodded. “So, what did you need?”

“You work on the payouts for the housing project houses that burned down?” Red Herring asked.

“Yeah, I did,” Safe nodded. "They've got a pretty generous policy for accidental fires…”

“Did you know it was an accidental fire at the time?” Red cut in, frowning. Safe Deposit blinked and his eyes darted quickly towards the door, which Red instinctively moved to block.

“Nice ring on your hoof there,” Phillip stated, looking down at Safe Deposit’s right foreleg. A golden ring with white and purple diamonds was adorned around it.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Safe Deposit stammered, looking down at the ring. “It’s an engagement ring. I got a matching one for my fiancee, Grape Jam.”

“You just got it?” Phillip asked.

“Yeah,” Safe Deposit nodded. “Bought it yesterday, proposed last night.”

“Then why was it refitted twice, several years apart?” Phillip asked, nodding down at the ring. Red, upon looking closer, noticed two bands of silver in the ring, one of them bright and shinier than the gold material, the other faded and obviously much older.

“And does Grape Jam know about Chiquita Banana?” Phillip added, his hoof pulling out an envelope that was partly hidden underneath the papers on the desk. The envelope was pink and addressed in a flowery dark red ink; it smelled faintly of bananas and chocolate, and there was a lipstick stain on the seal.

Safe Deposit swallowed and took two steps back from Phillip. Phillip took three steps forward, lowering his head slightly so that he was glaring up at the insurance agent from beneath the brim of his trilby; the look in his eyes was as cold and hard as an oncoming storm front, unstoppable and inevitable.

“That’s Gold Dust’s wedding ring,” he growled in a voice so quiet that the other two stallions almost had to strain to hear him. “You invited him to Lucky Lane’s, met him in the alleyway, and beat him to death with a brick.”

Safe Deposit’s body went very still, blinking rapidly, his eyes darting everywhere in search of an escape. Red and Phillip pressed in close to him, cutting off every avenue.

“Okay, yeah, I did it!” Safe burst out. “He was looking into the payouts for the fires and figured out that the payments all went back into Monopoly's pocket! I was helping to launder the funds!”

“Did you hire the Scorcher?” Red pressed.

“What? The fuck is a Scorcher?” Safe Deposit asked, looking bewildered. “All I know is, it was my job to overestimate the values on the houses, then make sure that the payouts went to where they needed to go! Just a little insurance scam, that’s all it was!”

“And Gold Dust clued into it,” Phillip added.

Safe Deposit nodded. “About the insurance and about the pipeline! I invited him over to Lane’s to talk about it, took him back into the alley. He said that I was a thief, and he was gonna go to the cops, the press, everyone. I panicked! If I let him go blabbing, then he would…” He stopped suddenly, his expression showing that he’d almost revealed something that he shouldn’t have.

“Who would have what?” Red asked.

Safe Deposit slowly stood up, his body trembling even as his expression settled into a mask of resolution. “I want to speak to a lawyer,” he declared.

Red and Phillip looked at one another, then Red grunted. “All right, let’s head down to the precinct,” he said, plucking a set of hoofcuffs from his belt. He cuffed Safe Deposit’s forelegs, then he and Phillip escorted him out of the office and down the hallway.

Red Mark stared in shock as they passed by. “Safe?! Wh-what—?”

“Trace, Daring, stay here and keep searching. I’ll call for a black and white to back you up,” Red called into office 308 as they passed. Trace and Daring both nodded and continued looking through the files in the office.

Without another word, Red and Phillip brought the silent, trembling Safe Deposit back to the elevator, down to the ground floor, through the lobby and into the back of Red’s Diplomat. Red started the car up, and they began the drive back to the police precinct just as the rain began to fall in cold, silvery sheets.

Safe Deposit sat at the table in the stark white interrogation room, staring at his cuffed hooves in front of him on the tabletop. The bare white light over his head flickered intermittently as if to purposely annoy whoever was in the room. Beside him, a donkey wearing a suit that was a lot less expensive than it appeared to be and an obvious toupee was whispering urgently into his ear; the donkey’s hoof kept straying down towards the black briefcase on the floor beside his chair.

Phillip and Red Herring stared at him through the one-way mirror in the wall. “He hasn’t said a word,” Red reported. “At least he can do something smart.”

“He’s working with somepony,” Phillip said.

“No shit,” Red grunted. “That little thing with the ring, if anything else, shows us that he’s too fucking stupid to do something this big on his own. And he’s scared of somepony.”

“Detective Herring,” a female’s voice called. Both ponies looked up to see Cold Case striding towards them, her trench coat billowing about her form and her face as cold and serious as always.

“Ma’am,” Red said, standing up straighter.

“Your BOLO hasn’t come back yet, Red,” Cold reported. “We’ve widened the search area. And Detective Rainfall has come back from searching Quick Fix’s home. He found letters from Charcoal: he bribed him into altering the valves so that he could switch them into releasing gas.” She paused. “Too many ponies have died, Detective Herring. This needs to end.”

“We’re all doing our best, Captain,” Red replied. He jerked his head towards the interrogation room. “This asshole here killed an insurance agent for Phoenix Life and Home who found out about the scam. We’re hoping that he can shed some light on the connection between the Everfree fires and the fires at the Phoenix Home Project, and what he meant about the pipeline.”

“You won’t find any proof of that,” Cold Case replied flatly.

Red blinked. “Why not, ma’am?”

“Because, as you know, the Phoenix Housing Project is being funded in large part by Phoenix Life and Home. And guess who is on the board for Phoenix Life and Home?”

Red scowled. “Monopoly. Who's also one of the biggest funders of this department.”

“Ding. We have a winner,” Cold replied flatly. “And that is why you will find no proof of these connections. Not unless you find that Scorcher. And perhaps not even then. I am sure that Chief Tumbler will be quite sure of that.”

“Then we find that Scorcher,” Phillip stated.

“We will find him, Finder,” Cold corrected, turning to him for the first time. “Not you. And not your partner.”

Phillip frowned at her. “Cold, I can find him just as fast, if not faster, than your officers. If he’s still loose, more ponies are going to die. I—”

“You are a consultant, Finder,” Cold stated. “You are on the department’s payroll. We give you instructions. And I am instructing you and your partner to go home and stay out of this. You found Gold Dust’s killer. Your contract with your client is complete. You no longer need to do anything else.”

“Yes, I do,” Phillip replied, his voice as cold and hard as hers. “I need to find him and stop him.”

“Finder,” Cold cut him off. “Go home.”

Phillip stared up at her in silence for a moment before sighing. “We were partners once, Cold,” he whispered.

“We were,” Cold stated, her tone and expression not changing in the slightest. “But then you left.” And with that, she turned and walked away.

Red sighed quietly. “Sorry, Phil,” he grunted.

“Not about you,” Phil muttered, giving Red a brief nod before turning around and leaving. He walked back down the hallways to the front lobby of the precinct. Daring was waiting for him near the front doors.

“Was she a fucking bitch when she was your partner?” she growled as he approached.

Phillip just gave her a quiet, disapproving look before sighing. “Let’s go home.” Daring followed him out the revolving door, back into the rainy streets, and they hailed a passing cab to bring them back to Honeybee Bakery.

With a click, Flash stamped his timesheet and pulled it out of the punch clock, setting it back into its slot in the wall.

“You did good out there today, Flash,” Bumblebee said, punching out as well. “That mugger didn’t have a chance against you. Pow! One hit and he’s down.”

“He was out of breath from running and he slipped in a puddle when he swung at me,” Flash replied flatly, placing his hat and duty belt in his locker and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Well, you were the one to catch him!” Bumblebee pointed out, also doffing his gear and placing it in his locker.

“Be thankful that there was somepony with wings responding to that call,” Prowl pointed out, taking a jar of light blue wing ointment out of her locker and gently rubbing it onto her right wing. “You really need to exercise more, Bee.”

“Here, boss, let me,” Bumblebee offered, stepping forward.

“Thanks, Bee,” Prowl said, sitting down on a bench and spreading her wings. Taking the jar, Bumblebee began to spread the ointment across her left wing. Prowl sighed softly in relief. “That feels much better. Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” Bumblebee smiled. “You going straight home after this?”

“Maple Leaf’s going to be working late at the tree nursery,” Prowl replied. “I have to go pick up Skysong from the daycare and take her home.”

“She’s such a sweet kid,” Bumblebee said.

“She is,” Prowl smiled. “She called me mommy for the first time yesterday.”

Bumblebee’s face lit up like a Hearth’s Warming tree and he let out a delighted squeal. “That’s so great!” He continued to rub the ointment into Prowl’s aching joints. “You sure I can’t convince you to stay out a bit longer? Maybe just one drink?”

“Sorry, Bee,” Prowl said. “Maybe next time.”

“What about you, Flash?” Bumblebee asked, looking up. To his surprise, he found that Flash’s locker was shut and the stallion was long gone. “Flash?” he called, looking around.

Prowl sighed. “He’s just not coming out of his shell, Bee.”

“I worry about him, you know,” Bumblebee said. “You see how tired he was today? Like he’d been up all night?”

Prowl frowned. “What’s he doing?” she muttered.

Flash, having already changed out of his uniform and into a black hooded sweatshirt, was flying over the storm clouds, the chill night wind flying through his mane. He breathed deeply, keeping his eyes forward except to occasionally glance up at the faint but discernible stars in the twilight sky overhead to make sure he was still heading northwest.

“Maybe I should bring them into this…” he muttered to himself, looking up at the waxing moon. He was silent in thought for a few moments, then grunted. “They’re cops. You know you can’t trust all of them.”

He dropped down to check his position, rushing through the swirling dark gray of the clouds and then greeting the cold of the rain. From above, he identified the Everfree District, then the side road that led to the Phoenix Housing Project. He banked and followed the road, swooping past a billboard with Monopoly’s smiling face plastered across it. The millionaire's eyes seemed to follow Flash as he flew past. He had to suppress a shudder as the thought passed through his mind.

Before long, he spotted the working lights of the housing project. Pausing atop a low cloud, he pulled out a set of enchanted binoculars that were meant to work in the dark and raised them to his eyes. Below him, he could see that the projects were populated only by the uniformed security guards. Most of them were simply standing around in a tent, sharing coffee from a small portable machine...except for one, who was walking towards one of the more complete houses, carrying a couple takeout bags. The stallion entered the house, then exited a half-minute later, retreating back towards the tent as quickly as he could.

“Hmm,” he muttered to himself. Putting his binoculars back in his pocket, he jumped off the cloud and flew down to the house. Spotting a window that hadn’t been put in yet, he slipped inside and found himself in an empty hallway. Only part of the wall had been put in: the rest was just wooden frames. Walking past a worktable with power tools set upon it, he paused at a small pile of wooden boards. Something was written upon each of the boards. Flash picked up one of the boards and read the painted words.

“‘Prop Wood—Not Suitable For Construction?’” he muttered. “What the—?”

He paused suddenly, hearing voices from below. Tiphoofing over to a set of stairs, he peeked down the steps to behold two ponies sitting around a small gas heater, eating the takeout burgers and fries. One he recognized from the BOLO as Charcoal; the other was a muscular earth pony mare. Her coat was a burnt orange color and she had long reddish-orange hair. Her cutie mark was a burning matchstick. Her back was currently to Flash, but he noted that most of her body was covered in burn scars.

“You can tell Monopoly to fucking shove it!” the mare was snarling to Charcoal. “The Spark is mine! I have it, and I’m not giving it back!”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, boss,” Charcoal replied, looking slightly frightened. “He said you could use the Spark on these houses, but—”

“But nothing!” the mare shouted back, standing up. “The Spark was part of the deal! We’ve upheld our end of the bargain, burning down those fucking family’s houses and burning up the houses here! He needs to uphold his!”

“But what if he sends his goons after us?” Charcoal replied, the fright on his face and in his posture growing by the moment. “Those security guards outside aren’t just to keep other ponies out, you know.”

“He comes after us, and I head out and blab to the press, the cops, everypony, everything I know about his crooked little scheme,” the mare replied, taking a lighter out and flicking it on and off as she spoke. “I tell everypony how he builds these houses out of shoddy materials, how he hired us to burn them down to cover up the evidence and get the city to pay for rebuilding it so he can complete it on time. I tell them about his little insurance scams, about that stupid oil pipeline and this land—”

“Tinderspark, just…” Charcoal took a shaky breath and raised a hoof. “Just calm down, all right? We can work through this.”

“Fucking right we can work through this,” Tinderspark replied, raising a hoof towards her neck. “I earned this thing, and nopony’s taking it from—”

Flash leaned forward to get a better look, but inadvertently lost his balance. He gasped and reached out a hoof to steady himself, bringing it crashing down onto the top step, which loudly squeaked as though in alarm. Both ponies looked up at the noise and spotted him.

“Crap,” Flash muttered and turned around. He sprinted back down the hallway, racing for the open window.

Before he had even gotten halfway to his target, a jet of bright yellow flames roared past him, striking the wall next to him and setting it ablaze. He screamed in shock and stumbled back, flinching from the intense heat. Whirling about, he turned to see Tinderspark standing at the top of the stairs, smirking. She wore the Dragon's Spark around her neck, the carved eye seeming to glow as it glared at him. Her foreleg was raised, and a swirling, flickering fireball was held in her hoof. He froze at the sight of her face, his heart seeming to turn to stone in his chest.

“Oh, I wouldn’t try to run away if I were you, little pony,” Tinderspark cooed, smiling at him with yellowed teeth as she approached. She sniffed loudly and licked her chops. “Mmm. I bet you’ll smell wonderful when your flesh burns…”

Case Four, Chapter Eight: Can't Take the Heat

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The rain continued throughout the night and into the next morning. By the time that the clocks were striking nine, raindrops were still pattering against the windows of 221 Honeybee Bakery.

Phillip was sitting at his experiment table, bending over a microscope and scratching notes into a notebook next to him; he was wearing rubber gloves and a facial mask over his mouth and nose. Daring was laying on her side on the couch, reading a Jules Vanner novel.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked without looking up from the page.

“Experiment on identifying traces of poisons,” Phillip stated, turning back to a collection of small jars laid in a row in front of him, each of them carrying labels such as ‘Cyanide,’ ‘Antimony,’ ‘Thallium,’ and ‘Arsenic.’ He unscrewed the jar labeled ‘Strychnine’ and used a scoop to extract some of the pale brown dust.

Daring blinked up at him. “Uh...you’re being careful, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” Phillip replied, filling an eyedropper with clear liquid from another jar and dropping a couple drops on the strychnine sample. The liquid fizzed and bubbled slightly for a moment.

Daring watched for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, if you topple over and start foaming at the mouth, at least you’ll have someone to do mouth to mouth on your stupid ass.”

Phillip let out a snort. “Doing mouth to mouth on my ass wouldn’t help much.”

“Maybe you’d enjoy it,” Daring smirked, flicking her tail.

“Think I’d be a bit more worried about the fact that I was foaming at the mouth,” Phillip answered. She could hear the smile in his voice.

Both of them chuckled quietly for a moment before lapsing back into silence. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky over their heads.

“Did you call Lily?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Phillip answered, jotting down some notes. “Told her who killed Gold Dust.” He paused. “Told her that Gold was a brave pony.”

Daring was silent for a moment of contemplation, then tossed the book aside. “He was,” she declared, getting up off the couch. “He died because a bunch of greedy assholes wanted to take advantage of poor ponies dying and losing their homes. He deserves better than for us to be sitting here on our asses and letting the cops try to find the killer.”

Phillip turned around to face her. “Cold Case, Trace, and Red are more than good enough to find Charcoal.”

“So you’re just gonna sit here because Captain Bitch told you to?” Daring snapped at him. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”

Phillip’s eyes flashed and for a moment he looked like he was going to argue, but he stopped himself. He turned back towards the table for a moment, then grunted and used a scoop to dump the strychnine into a bucket on the floor next to him.

“You’re right,” he said, taking off his gloves and mask and tossing them into the bucket, which he then sealed. “Let’s check with Flash, see what he found.”

He walked over to the phone and picked it up, dialing in the number for the PPD. “This is Finder. Need to speak to Officer Sentry.” There was a silence, then Phillip frowned. “Didn’t check in? Odd. Any idea where he is?” Another silence, then, “No? Bugger.” He hung up, frowning.

“Not like him,” he muttered. “Sentry’s reliable. Wouldn’t just decide not to show up.”

“You think something happened?” Daring asked, feeling a knot starting to form in her stomach.

Before Phillip could answer, the phone rang, causing both ponies to jump slightly. Phillip answered it. “G’day, Finder and Do.”

“Phil, it’s Twilight,” the young mare’s voice replied. “You need to come down to my house as soon as you can. I think I figured out something that can defend against the Spark!”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Phillip replied and hung up. “Daring, need to get to Twilight’s house.”

“Okay, to Twilight’s house it is,” Daring said, affecting a lower Manehattanite accent. “Hurry up and get your stuff, my meter’s running.”

Shaking his head, Phillip swung his vest onto his shoulders and pulled on his hat as Daring grabbed her neck warmer and helmet. Both of them exited onto the rainy streets, and Daring took Phillip beneath the forelegs and swooped up into the air, streaking through the rain and wind to the north.

They arrived on the front porch of Twilight’s house within five minutes. The papier-mache skeleton was still digging its way out of the ground. Strangely, the rain didn’t seem to be affecting it in the slightest: Twilight must’ve put some spell on it to make it waterproof.

Phillip rapped at the door, which opened wide to bid them entry. They stepped into the hallway, both of them quickly shaking rainwater off themselves.

“Hello!” Twilight chirped, striding forward. Both Phillip and Daring noticed that she looked rather ragged: there were dark lines beneath her eyes, her mane was in disarray, and there were bread crumbs around her lips. A jet of warm air blew from out of nowhere, drying both ponies off in mere seconds. Unfortunately, this had the side effect of causing both of their coats to fluff up, giving them the appearance of giant hairballs.

“Oops!” Twilight cried, looking both aghast and amused.

Daring burst out laughing. “If you could see yourself!” she hooted, pointing at Phillip. Phillip just glared at her.

“Come in, I’ve got something you’ll want to see,” Twilight said eagerly, leading them down the hallway and back into the sitting room. Spike was sitting on the couch, swinging his legs back and forth happily. He waved as they entered.

“Nice to see you didn’t burn the place down,” Daring remarked as they filed inside.

Twilight gave her a dry look. "Have either of you seen Flash today?" she asked. "He didn't show up to work today." She paused for a beat, then added quickly, "That's not to say I was looking for him...I just...noticed, and..."

Daring snickered. "You're even worse at bluffing than Flash."

"You said you had something?" Phillip interrupted.

Twilight cleared her throat, glaring at Daring. “I was trying to think of a way that we could use to counter the Dragon’s Spark, and since I realized that you couldn’t count on a powerful enough unicorn being at the scene at the time, our best bet would be using a ward.” She pulled out a sheet of paper and dramatically unrolled it to reveal a geometric symbol that looked like an eight-pointed star, a decagon, and a teardrop all embossed onto one another. The entire drawing was surrounded by minutely detailed runes.

“That’s a ward?” Daring asked, tilting her head as she studied the drawing.

“A ward is a geometric construction that is designed to hold a spell or spells and apply them to an object, like clothing or a wall,” Twilight explained, setting the drawing down on the table. “Think of the symbol as a container for magic that keeps it from spoiling: the better the ward is, the stronger the spell it can contain, and the longer it will last.”

“And this is supposed to protect against the Dragon’s Spark?” Phillip asked.

Twilight nodded enthusiastically, a wide smile crossing her features. “Spike put me on the right path with suggesting that I keep it from using magic as a fuel, but I obviously can’t just use magic to repel magic. But once I figured out how to adapt Polaris’ Reverse Attraction Principle, the problem then became figuring out how to pair it with a Fireproofing charm, which—” Twilight’s speech was cut off by Daring placing a hoof over her mouth.

“Does it work, or doesn’t it?” Daring asked bluntly in response to Twilight’s glare.

Twilight spat out Daring’s hoof. “Yes, it does. Allow me to demonstrate.” She held up the paper in her magic in front of Spike. “Go ahead, Spike.”

Spike took in a deep breath and blew out a small jet of emerald flames at the paper. Impossibly, the flames struck the paper, then bent around like water flowing around a rock, licking at the paper, caressing it, but never setting it aflame.

“Crikey,” Phillip breathed in amazement. Daring’s wide-eyed stare demonstrated her silent agreement.

At a nod from Twilight, Spike turned off the flame. “This was just a small ward for a demonstration,” Twilight stated. “I can apply a larger, stronger ward to both of your vests right now! And because I added a more direct fireproofing charm, it’ll work against normal fire, too!”

“Uh, Twilight?” Spike cut in. “Are you sure you’re able to do that?”

“What’re you talking about, Spike?” Twilight asked, smiling woozily at him in a way that emphasized the bags under her eyes. A strand of her mane fell down over her eyes and she blew it aside with a puff. “I’ve only been awake for twenty-nine hours straight! And I got three hours of sleep before that!”

Phillip and Daring exchanged glances. “Maybe we should—” Daring started to say.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s not an issue!” Twilight interrupted, her grin becoming rather manic. “I once did a full transfiguration study after staying awake for thirty-five hours straight studying!”

“And then you fell asleep before they could give you your score, and didn’t wake up for a full day and night,” Spike pointed out, but Twilight didn’t seem to hear him.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Phillip said, doffing his vest and holding it out to Twilight. Daring took off her shirt as well and held it out. Twilight took them both and placed them on the table. Shaking her head to refocus herself, she closed her eyes in concentration and lit up her horn. With a faint sizzling sound, glowing purple lines began to appear on the interior of the vestments, as if drawn by invisible hooves. The lines began to mark out the symbol that Twilight had shown them. The air became charged with static electricity, causing everypony’s hair to stand on end.

After a couple of minutes, the task was complete. The wards were etched into the clothing, still faintly glowing with the lavender magic. Twilight opened her eyes and let out a heavy breath of exhaustion, her posture slumping.

“You okay?” Phillip asked, instinctively moving to support her.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Twilight nodded rather breathlessly. “Just a bit tired.”

“Here,” Spike said, reappearing with a cup of coffee in his claw. “This’ll help.”

“Thanks, Spike,” Twilight said gratefully, chugging down the entire contents of the mug in one go.

“Yeah, helping her stay awake,” Daring snarked. “That’s gonna—”

Spike just gave her a quick wink and a grin.

“So, I did some more research into the Dragon’s Spark,” Twilight was saying, blinking heavily. “It’s last known location was in the possession of a noble descendant, a Duke...no, I think it was a Baron...in Fillyhoover, no, wait, Vanphia…and you can put it out with water, you just need a lot of it...” Her voice slurred into incomprehensible mutterings and she slumped over, her eyes crossing and a drowsy smile crossing her face.

Phillip stepped in and caught her right as she started to fall, allowing her to lay on his back. “Okay, Twilight, time for bed,” Spike declared, walking up the stairway.

“Yeah...bed good…” Twilight murmured. “Feelin’ real sleepy all of a sudden…”

Spike led Phillip and Daring up the stairs to Twilight’s bedroom. Her room featured an old, faded dusk purple throw rug with stars that lay beneath the legs of a single-size bed with blue sheets, also decorated with stars. The bedside table had several books contained in its shelves; atop it was an alarm clock, a daily calendar, and a glass vase that contained the bouquet of lavenders.

“Tell me a story, Spike,” Twilight slurred as the little dragon pulled back the sheets. “Like I used to when you were a baby.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Once upon a time, there was a silly filly who stayed up too late. So she went to bed, got at least nine hours of sleep, and when she woke up, she and everypony else was much happier. The end.”

Phillip unceremoniously dumped Twilight onto the mattress, where she landed with a soft “Oomph” and a little bounce. “That was a terrible story!” Twilight whined. “Tell me a better one!”

“No. Go to sleep, Twilight,” Spike said, pulling the covers back over her. Twilight made a little grumbling noise that quickly turned into snoring. Spike smiled wearily and shook his head as the group exited.

“You put sleeping pills in her coffee?” Daring asked.

“It was the only way she was going to get any sleep,” Spike replied.

Daring smirked. “I’m starting to really like you,” she said.

“I heard about that Scorcher the police are looking for,” Spike said as they returned to the living room. “You’re gonna find him, right?”

“Bloody straight we will,” Phillip nodded.

At that moment, there was a knocking at the door. Spike looked up in alarm, then quickly bolted back up the stairs to hide. Phillip and Daring both walked up to the door and opened it. On the other side were Bumblebee and Prowl, both of them wearing police-issue raincoats that seemed to have done very little to protect them from the rain.

“What’re you two doing here?” Bumblebee asked. “Where’s Twilight?”

“She was helping us with a case,” Phillip answered. “She’s sleeping now. What’d you need?”

“We were hoping that Flash might be here,” Bumblebee answered. “You know, since he and Twilight…” He trailed off, frowning as he tried to think of the correct way to put it.

“Flash has been missing since last night,” Prowl reported. “He left straight at the end of his shift without telling us where he was going and did not report in today. He’s not at home, his equipment is still in his locker, and he’s not at any of his other usual hangouts.” She blinked at them and frowned suspiciously. “Do either of you know where he might be?” she asked.

Phillip and Daring looked at each other, the same question in each other’s eyes: Can we trust them?

“Guys, please,” Bumblebee pleaded. “Flash might be in trouble. We’re his partners, dammit, we gotta do something about that.”

Prowl nodded firmly; her face was expressionless, but the small twitching of her low-drawn lips gave away her concern.

Phillip frowned for a moment, then swallowed. “Might know where he is,” he stated. “Phoenix Housing.”

“What’s he doing there?” Prowl asked, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Investigating the projects for us,” Phillip explained.

“For you?” Prowl asked, a cold edge added to her voice.

Phillip had to stop himself from taking a step back. “He volunteered to help us with the investigation into the Everfree fires,” he stated. “Asked him to keep an eye on Phoenix Housing.”

“So you sent him on an unauthorized investigation, on his own, without any backup, and expected that to go well?” Prowl growled. Daring’s eyes went to the thestral mare’s fangs and she felt herself tensing up.

“...might not have been a good idea,” Phillip muttered.

“You’re damn right it wasn’t a good idea!” Prowl shouted. “Now come on! We’re going to Phoenix Housing!”

She turned and headed back towards the cruiser that was parked out front, with Bumblebee right behind her. Phillip and Daring followed her, sliding into the backseat. Daring barely had time to close the doors before the car pulled away with a growl of an engine and the hissing of tires rushing through puddles.

“If we find out that Sentry got himself killed because of this,” Prowl said, speaking to them through the bars that separated the backseat from the front seats, “I will make both of your lives hell.”

Daring shifted slightly. “Well, I’m convinced that we can trust them,” she muttered to Phillip as they sped to the east.

The cruiser pulled up to the end of the drive leading into the housing project with a screech and a splash of mud. The ponies inside exited as one, turning to face the houses that stood in defiance of the wind and rain. There were no construction workers on the site today due to the weather, but the security guards were still standing post.

Five guards halted the group as they approached. The large unicorn who had sprayed Phillip stepped forward, scowling. “We don’t need cops around here,” he growled.

“Stand aside,” Prowl ordered.

“You’re intruding,” the unicorn replied. “Step off.” He and the other guards stood straighter, their shoulders hunching and heads lowering slightly as they glared, preparing for a fight. Phillip’s hoof went to the pocket that contained his baton, while Daring prepared to draw her kusarifundo.

Prowl glared back at the guards, one hoof going towards her holster. “We have probable cause to search this area,” she announced. “As long as you stand in our way, you are interfering with police officers performing their lawful duties. I will ask you one more time: Stand. Aside.”

The guards glared back at the officers for a brief moment, then the unicorn snarled, “Get ‘em, boys!” As one, the guards surged forward as their leader lit up his horn.

But Daring was not about to let him take the advantage again. With a flick of the wrist, she snapped her kusarifundo out, entangling the unicorn’s left foreleg, and yanked back hard, dropping her hips as she pulled. The larger unicorn stumbled right towards her, and she unleashed a powerful twisting elbow strike to his jaw, dazing him.

"Here's mud in your eye!" Daring taunted as she compressed the unicorn's foreleg in a lock, driving him facedown into the ground. Spluttering on the muck, the guard looked up just in time to receive a powerful kick to the jaw, knocking him out.

Dodging a wild swing from a tall red attacker, Phillip struck the other pale yellow guard in the knee with his baton, momentarily halting his advance, then seized the red pony’s foreleg in a lock and pummeled him over the head with his baton, bringing him to the ground. The yellow guard bellowed and charged at him from behind, but Phillip halted him with a mule kick to the gut and finished him off with a baton strike to the temple.

Prowl easily defeated the heavyset blue pegasus that charged her with a simple hoof strike to the chest, outer reap takedown and kick to the jaw, while Bumblebee took on the last guard by immediately tackling him to the ground and punching him in the face until he stopped moving. The four allies were left breathing quickly from the exertion, but unhurt.

Retrieving some more hoofcuffs from the cruiser, Bumblebee and Prowl cuffed each of the unconscious guards, leaving them laying in the mud. “Bee, Daring, you two watch them,” Prowl instructed. “Phillip, we need to start searching this place.”

“Okay, boss,” Bumblebee nodded, glaring at their captives. Daring remained behind with Bumblebee while Phillip followed Prowl down the drive towards the houses of the project.

“Start with that one,” Phillip said, pointing at a mostly-completed home closest to them. Prowl nodded and the two detoured towards it.

Pushing open the door, Phillip entered the hallway of the house and walked into what would become the living room. The first thing that he saw was a small gas heater on the floor, with an empty ravioli can next to it. “Somepony’s been staying here,” he muttered, his eyes going towards a deflated air mattress in the corner. Sitting atop the mattress was a long strand of red hair.

Prowl opened her mouth and seemed to exhale sharply, though Phillip did not hear anything. Her ears wiggled. “There’s somepony downstairs,” she declared, already turning towards the stairway.

They descended the stairs into the basement, both of them pulling out flashlights and turning them on. The beams of light revealed the undecorated stone walls and floors of the basement. Walls that outlined the rooms were in place, turning the basement into a small maze. The clicking of their hooves on the cold stone seemed disproportionately loud.

“This way,” Prowl said, leading Phil down a hall. They walked down the hall, turned the corner, and paused, staring in shock. Their flashlights illuminated Flash: he was standing on his hind legs, held up only by his front hooves, which were secured to an overhead pipe with coils of rope: more rope bound his wings to his sides. A strip of duct tape sealed his mouth shut: his face and body were bloodied and bruised and he was standing in a puddle of his own urine.

“Flash,” Prowl breathed in horror as she and Phillip rushed over. Phillip gently wrapped his hooves around Flash’s torso and peeled the tape off his mouth while Prowl pulled out a pocketknife and started cutting the rope binding him to the pipe. Flash stirred with a moan and his eyes flickered open, fear flickering behind the dull pain and exhaustion.

“Sarge? Phil?” he whimpered.

“Shh, shh, it’s us,” Phillip whispered. “It’s us, mate. You’re safe now.”

Prowl cut through the rope and Flash collapsed fully into Phillip’s grasp. Phillip and Prowl both looped one of Flash’s forelegs over themselves. “You’re gonna be okay,” Prowl said as they started to half-carry, half-drag him back down the hallway. “We’ll get you out of—”

She abruptly stopped in place, looking up. Phillip looked up and felt his heart skip a beat. Standing at the mouth of the hallway was Charcoal, adorned in turnout jacket, gas mask, boots, and flamethrower. His face hidden behind the tinted lenses, he raised the hoof with the gauntlet and aimed it at them.

“Shit!” Phillip shouted, grasping Flash with both forelegs and diving to his right, through an open doorway. Prowl started to draw her gun but had to dive after them, narrowly avoiding a jet of flames that roared through the air towards her. Scrambling back to his hooves, Phillip tossed Flash over his shoulders and ran down the hallway. Prowl rushed after them, dropping her revolver with a clatter.

Mere feet ahead was an open doorway to the left. Phillip rushed forward, pushing himself towards his goal as hard and fast as he could, Prowl right on his tail. But just as he was within reach of the doorway, another jet of flames roared past his shoulder and struck the wall. Burning napalm dripped down the wall and onto the floor, blocking off the doorway with a seemingly solid wall of fire. Flash screamed as Phillip came to an abrupt halt, flinching away from the scalding heat. Prowl nearly crashed right into them.

Panting, Phillip and Prowl searched for another exit, but there was none: the walls to their right and their front were solid concrete, as was the low ceiling. Charcoal approached them, moving at a calm, languid pace, no hurry at all as he prepared to roast them alive. Illuminated by the half-light of the flames, his form became monstrous and terrifying: the lenses of his gas mask seemed to glow as they reflected the fire, the mask itself distorting his head and face into an inequine shape.

“Oh, shit,” Prowl breathed, her yellow eyes wide with terror and her shoulders heaving with every curse. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.”

Phillip looked past Charcoal and spotted Prowl’s revolver lying on the floor, only a couple feet behind Charcoal. He looked down at his vest, recalling the ward Twilight had applied. He looked up at Charcoal, who had paused, head tilted to the side as he considered his prey before him.

This better work, Twilight, he thought with a swallow. He lowered his rear to the ground, allowing Flash to gently slide off his back and onto the floor. Both officers looked up at him in confusion as he stepped forward, unzipping his vest.

Spurred to action, Charcoal raised his foreleg and aimed it at Phillip. As if the motion was a starting gun in a race, Phillip raced forward, fully undoing his vest and draping it over his head and shoulders like a shield. A jet of flame roared out of Charcoal’s gauntlet.

The flames struck the vest and washed around it, flowing to encircle his body. The heat transferred through the enchanted cloth: Phillip felt the burns forming on his forelegs and had to clench his teeth against the pain. He choked on a breath that scalded his throat and lungs and closed his mouth; the flames assaulted his eyes with a hot, stinging volley and he fought to keep them open. Against every instinct, he continued to run forward, towards the Scorcher, the heat and the pain intensifying with every step.

He bowled into Charcoal, knocking them both to the floor with grunts. Quickly rolling off of his enemy, Phillip spotted the revolver and dived for it: the metal barrel blistered his hoof as he spun it towards him and slid his hoof through the strap, rolling onto his back. Charcoal had tossed his vest aside and was struggling to get to his hooves, weighed down by his fuel tank.

Phillip squeezed the trigger. The revolver barked loudly and a .38 slug flew from its barrel, striking true into Charcoal’s skull. The pony’s head snapped backward and he collapsed to the ground. Blood leaked from the hole in his head, reddish-orange in the glow of the flames.

Panting, Phillip got back to his hooves, regathered his vest and ran back to Prowl and Flash. He tossed his vest over Flash’s head, giving him some protection against the flames.

“What the hell was that?” Prowl asked in disbelief as she and Phillip hoisted Flash back up.

“Twilight’s work,” Phillip answered. He and Prowl began to carry Flash back down the hallway, stepping over Charcoal’s body. Rushing back up the stairs, they hurried through the living room, coughing and choking on the thick smoke that was wafting through the building, and pushed through the front door. The rain greeted them like an old friend, the cold, wet air soothing their throats and their stinging eyes. Phillip hissed as the water assaulted the burns on his skin, but ignored the pain as he and Prowl carried Flash over to a nearby concrete mixer that was covered by a tarp.

Bumblebee and Daring rushed over. “Flash!” Bumblebee cried as soon as he got close. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“‘M okay…” Flash muttered, coughing. "She...didn't hurt me...too bad..."

Prowl tore the tarp off the mixer and laid it on the ground. Phillip gently set Flash down onto the tarp, wrapping his vest around his torso to keep him warm. Flash shivered in the cold and let out a soft whimper of mingled pain and fear, but nodded and gave Phillip a weak but genuine smile. “Thank you,” he croaked. Phillip smiled back and gently patted him on the shoulder.

Daring grasped Phillip’s shoulders and spun him around, her wide eyes scanning the burns on his forelegs and face. “Shit,” she breathed through clenched teeth.

“I’m fine,” Phillip reassured her, laying a hoof on her shoulder.

“What happened?” Daring asked, refusing to let go of his shoulders.

“Charcoal,” Phillip stated. “He’s dead.”

Daring relaxed her grip slightly, turning to look back at the house. Thick plumes of black smoke were now pouring out of the building.

“It’s not over, is it?” she asked as Bumblebee sprinted back to the cruiser to radio for an ambulance and a paddywagon.

“No,” Phillip replied, remembering the red hair on the mattress. “The other one’s still out there. The one with the Spark.”

Daring let out a noise that was a half-sigh, half-growl. “Fucking great.”

Case Four, Chapter Nine: The Spark Dances

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The ambulance arrived within minutes, red and white lights piercing the rain as it pulled up to where the group stood waiting. Two paramedics disembarked and set to work examining Flash, casting medical scans over his body and repairing some of his more minor wounds.

“Will he be okay?” Prowl asked, watching the medics as they carefully placed Flash up onto a stretcher.

“Burns and bruising, but nothing too serious,” one of the medics assured her. “We’ll give him some regnenerative spells and potions, and he’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Good,” Prowl said, stepping forward and bending over Flash. Flash, who was wrapped up in a blanket and had bandages wrapped around his torso and forelegs, blinked up at her.

“Ma’am, I—ow!” Flash cried out as Prowl smacked him over the head with her wing.

“If you ever do something that stupid again, I’ll have your badge before you can say ‘oops,’” Prowl said, her soft voice carrying more anger than any shout ever could. “We are a team, Sentry. We work together, not apart. We protect each other, like I should have been protecting you. You could’ve been killed out here. From now on, no more solo investigations. If you think you might have a lead on a case, you tell Bumblebee and I about it. Clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” Flash said, affecting a salute. He cast his eyes downward, biting his lip in shame. “I suppose you’ll be writing me up for insubordination,” he said.

Prowl cocked her head in thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I think you’ve been punished enough for this already,” she said. She reached down and squeezed his hoof momentarily. “Get better, Sentry. We need as many good ponies on these streets as we can get.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Flash nodded. The paramedics carried him back to the ambulance and carefully loaded him into the back, closed the doors, and the ambulance pulled away, its siren wailing.

Meanwhile, a trio of police officers were helping Bumblebee carry the cuffed security guards into the back of a paddy wagon. The dark green unicorn glowered at Phillip and Daring as he was ushered inside and placed on the bench, but said nothing. The doors of the wagon were slammed shut and the vehicle started back to the precinct.

Bumblebee walked back over to Phillip and Daring, taking out the notebook upon which he’d written down notes from their brief interrogation of the guards.

“So let me get this straight,” Bumblebee said. "These houses are built out of shoddy materials and Tinderspark burns them down so that Monopoly gets the insurance payments to himself, and so the city has to pay him more to get the construction back on time. Plus, he has her and her partner burn down the houses of ponies who won't sell to him."

"That's right," Phillip nodded.

"But how does a pipeline fit into this?" Bumblebee asked.

Phillip squinted through the rain at the road that led up to the security gate and into the forest, the dirt turning into mud beneath the constant rain.

"Eminent domain," he finally said.

"How's that?" Bumblebee asked.

"This land is in the way of the oil pipeline," Phillip said. "The Crown would have to claim this land under eminent domain and pay out Monopoly for it."

"And if the land is developed, that jacks up the price," Daring picked up, understanding dawning in her eyes. "But if the houses are all fake--"

"Monopoly defrauds the Crown for millions," Phillip nodded.

“So on one hoof, insurance fraud. On the other, there's a maniac on the loose, and she’s got this magical rock that lets her conjure dragonfire,” Bee added.

"Never easy, is it?" Daring commented.

“Bee, we need to get a description of Tinderspark out from the precinct and put a BOLO out on her,” Prowl instructed, having heard the conversation.

“On it, chief,” Bee said, hurrying back to their cruiser.

Phillip scowled at the clouds overhead. “Bloody rain. Erased any tracks of her leaving.”

“They said she left on hoof a few minutes before we got here,” Prowl stated. “She can’t have gotten far.”

“Boss!” Bumblebee shouted from the cruiser, his hoof clutching the hoofset. “There’s a call about a burning corpse found on the side of the road a few blocks from here.”

The ponies all looked at one another, then quickly climbed into the cruiser and sped to respond to the call, siren wailing and lights spinning. As Bumblebee skidded across the soaked tarmac, the BOLO for Tinderspark came over the radio, punctuated by the snaps, crackles, and pops of static:

“Suspect is an earth pony mare, orange coat, red-orange hair, cutie mark of a burning matchstick. Extensive burn scarring on face, torso, and forelegs. May be wearing turnout jacket, boots, and gas mask. Suspect is armed with a pyromancer artifact and is extremely dangerous. Do not attempt to capture alone. Officers are authorized to use lethal force in capture.”

The scene of the burning body was a stretch of road near the border of the Everfree Forest. Along one side of the road were the thick, skeletal trees that marked the Forest’s territory, very little light managing to claw through the heavy cover of branches and leaves. On the other side was nothing but overgrown grass and weeds, with occasional street lamps providing illumination for the frightened traveler. A set of glowing yellow flames splayed across the asphalt marked their objective.

Bumblebee shivered as they pulled up. “I hate being this close to the Forest,” he muttered.

“Me, too,” Prowl agreed. “That place gives me the creeps.”

Bee parked the cruiser, leaving the red and whites on, and they exited the vehicle. “You know, it’s kind of fishy how Tinderspark ran just as we were coming,” Daring said, turning up her coat collars against the wind and rain.

“It is odd,” Phillip agreed. “But worry about it later.”

They gathered around the corpse. The body was that of a well-built earth pony stallion, his coat blue. He wore a thick dark green fishing vest with a white undershirt, and his cutie mark was that of a hoofprint on a rock. The pony’s head was aflame, bright yellow flames coating his skull; only a few bits of his flesh remained. Horrifically, the skull’s jaw was hanging open, as though the pony was still screaming in pain. The body was splayed across the road and the grassy land between the asphalt and the trees.

“More nightmare fuel. Great,” Daring commented flatly, keeping her distance from the corpse.

Prowl pulled out a fire extinguisher that she’d taken from the cruiser and sprayed a jet of concentrated water at the flames. Instead of extinguishing, the flames hissed back at her and flared, brighter and hotter than before.

“Dragonfire,” Phillip grunted, taking off his vest and placing it over the corpse’s head, smothering the flames.

“You think Twilight could make wards like that for our uniforms?” Bumblebee asked, looking intrigued.

“Probably not, Bee,” Prowl explained. “Wards aren’t only hard to set up, they do need to be updated every so often. She’d be too busy recharging everypony’s wards to do any work, and it’d tire her out; it might even make her sick and kill her. We had similar issues with placing wards on soldiers’ uniforms.”

“Oh,” Bee said, his ears flattening a little.

Phillip was going through the victim’s vest, turning out his pockets for any evidence. “Hunter,” he muttered, glancing at then tossing aside a small field guide to tracking wildlife. Further investigation uncovered a first aid kit, a pocketknife, assorted bits, and a wallet containing a driver’s license for Mud Tracker.

“Missing something,” Phillip muttered. “Where’s his keys?”

“No way he was out here on hoof,” Daring mused, frowning.

Bumblebee cast his flashlight about the street. “Hey, look, over there,” he pointed towards the side of the road a few feet from the body. “Tire tracks.”

Phillip walked over and carefully bent over the tracks, which curved off the road, then back onto it. He swept his flashlight over the mud-splattered marks. “Pattern looks like a Four Horsepower. Wide tires, deep marks. Heavy vehicle. Probably a truck,” he muttered. He stood up and looked around again.

Some feet away was a telephone pole that had a sizable dent in the side of the wood. Phillip walked over and examined the dent and the ground around it. He picked up some pieces of orange plastic on the ground. “Broke the headlight,” he muttered, studying the dent with his magnifying glass. “White paint. We’re looking for a white Four Horsepower pickup truck with a broken right headlight, possibly something in the back based on the weight.”

“Got it,” Prowl nodded, already headed back to the cruiser. But before she could reach the hoofset, the radio crackled to life.

“Dispatch calling Pawn Five-Three.”

Prowl clicked the hoofset. “Go, Dispatch.”

“Relay message from hospital. Officer Sentry reports he overheard Tinderspark saying, quote, ‘Burn her and her animals,’ end quote, before leaving.”

“Her animals…” Daring whispered, her eyes widening in horror. “She’s headed for Fluttershy’s place!”

Everypony piled into the vehicle and Prowl floored the accelerator, switching on the lights and sirens and calling for immediate backup as they sped across the rain-spattered street.

They reached the street where Fluttershy’s cottage stood within minutes. Prowl pulled over to the side of the road, lights still spinning, and the four exited. The dark clouds had set the street in an unnatural darkness.

The lights of Fluttershy’s cottage were dark; it didn’t appear that she was home. “Daring, you and I search for the truck from the skies,” Prowl instructed. “Phillip, you and Bee search on hoof. Detain any suspicious ponies.”

With that, the two mares both flew up into the sky and began to circle over the rooftops. Bumblebee and Phillip walked the sidewalks, scanning the passing cars for any white pickup trucks. Pedestrians on the street gave them a wide berth as they walked up and down; Phillip noticed a flicker of movement in a window as he passed by that quickly vanished when he turned to look. The purple and orange lights of the Nightmare Night decorations cast everything in a strange glow, and reflected off the puddles of rainwater. A vaguely pony-shaped bundle of rags huddled up in the shadows of an alleyway shivered in the cold.

“There!” Prowl suddenly shouted. Everypony turned to see a white pickup truck trundling up the street. The blue and white Four Horsepower logo was embossed on the front of the vehicle; the right headlight was broken and cracked.

Bumblebee immediately raced out to the truck and paused on the sidewalk in front of it, drawing his sidearm and aiming it at the windshield. “Stop!” he barked. With a screech of tires, the truck halted.

Prowl landed next to the truck and ripped the driver’s door open. “Out of the fucking truck!” she snarled, grabbing the driver, yanking them out of the vehicle, and tossing them violently onto the ground. She quickly turned around to pin the driver to the ground.

“What did I do?! What did I do?!” the mare wailed. The officers both froze in shock. The mare wasn’t an orange earth pony with long reddish-orange hair: it was a small pale blue mare with short white-blue hair, her green eyes wide with terror and confusion.

“Shit,” Prowl muttered as Bumblebee checked the cab. “Where’d you get this truck?”

“Somepony I passed on the street tossed me the keys and said I could have it!” the mare babbled. “I don’t know who it was, I didn’t see their face! I’m sorry!”

“Hey!” a voice barked. “What are you doing?”

Several ponies had gathered around the group and were watching with anger in their eyes.

“Fucking cops, you’re all the same!” the speaker, Coal Dust, snarled. “Brutalizing ponies for no good reason cause you got nothing better to do!”

“You were gonna shoot her, weren’t you, pig?” an older mare snapped at Bumblebee.

“No, listen, it was a mistake—” Bumblebee started to explain.

“A mistake you yanked her out of a truck?” a zebra mare shouted back.

“Back off!” Prowl snapped at the crowd, half-raising her sidearm.

“We’re not doing nothing, copper!” Coal Dust shouted. “Like that means anything to you!”

“You beat us up, lock us up, shoot us!” another voice called from the crowd.

“Using your badges to trample on us!” came another voice.

“What’s going on?” a voice asked behind Phillip and Daring. Fluttershy had just walked up from behind them, wearing a thick rain jacket and carrying a couple bags of groceries on her back.

“Fuck the police!” Coal Dust spat at Prowl, who glared back at him.

“Fuck the police! Fuck the police! Fuck the police!” the crowd began to chant, raising their hooves in time with the chant. The officers were surrounded by the crowd; Prowl had tensed up and was still half-raising her revolver, while Bumblebee was looking around frantically, obviously having no idea what to do.

“Wait! Listen, please!” Fluttershy cried, starting towards the crowd and trying to push through them. “Listen to me!” she plead, but her voice was drowned out.

Daring turned to Phillip, opening her mouth to speak, but abruptly stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck seemed to stand up and her muscles tensed; some animal instinct, finely turned over the years, warned her of danger.

Sensing her distress and guessing the reason for it, Phillip looked around, ignoring the crowd, searching for any sign of trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the pony in the alleyway stand up, the rags falling off their body. A bright yellow glow illuminated their hoof.

Daring saw it as well and felt her heart leap right into her throat. “EVERYPONY DOWN!” she screamed, lunging forward and diving on top of Fluttershy, tackling her to the ground. With a great roar, a huge yellow fireball flew through the air, aimed at the truck. Ponies screamed and fled. Prowl grabbed the mare that she’d mistaken for Tinderspark and pushed her ahead of her as she and her partner ran for cover.

The fireball struck the truck and the vehicle exploded with a tremendous thunderclap, lighting up the entire block. A wave of heat and pressure washed over Daring; she clamped her jaws tight together as she felt her unprotected skin blistering and boiling, but the ward in her vest did its work, protecting her from the worst of the flames. She clung tightly to Fluttershy’s body.

The wave passed as quickly as it came, leaving Daring panting and trembling. Recovering herself, she pulled herself off of Fluttershy, who was trying to get back to her hooves. “Are you okay?” she shouted over the ringing in her ears.

“I...I’m fine…” Fluttershy stammered, shaking all over.

Daring looked around, staggering. Ponies were scattered everywhere, thrown by the explosion. A relieved sigh escaped her as she saw Phillip standing up, shaking his head and recovering his hat. Prowl and Bumblebee were both standing up. Other ponies were climbing back to their hooves, some of them trying to flee. A few were aflame, flailing or rolling around in agony. The truck was reduced to a pile of flaming wreckage.

A loud, wheezing cackle reached Daring’s ears. She turned around to see that the pony from the alleyway had fully emerged into the street. The figure wore a turnout jacket and a gas mask; her coat was a burnt orange color and her mane and tail were a long, fiery reddish-orange. She wore the Dragon’s Spark around her neck, the carved eye seeming to glow dark red, and there was a yellow fireball in her hoof.

“Let’s see you take this back from me now!” Tinderspark screeched, flinging the fireball at Prowl and Bumblebee’s cruiser. The vehicle exploded with another great thunderclap, flames once again lighting up the sky.

Ponies ran for their lives, screaming. Reorienting herself, Fluttershy seized a pony that was laying on the ground, moaning feebly and whimpering from the pain of the burns spread across his back, and dragged them a safe distance away behind another car. Ripping off her rain jacket, she pressed it down across the burns, speaking reassuringly to the victim. Daring flew over to join her, with Phillip sprinting across and sliding behind the car.

Prowl and Bumblebee both sprinted for the cover of another parked car. Immediately, Prowl leaned around the side and opened fire at Tinderspark. The pyromaniac conjured up a wall of fire; the lead bullets melted as soon as they touched the white-hot flame, spattering against her fireproof jacket. Cackling, Tinderspark threw another fireball at the car. Prowl grabbed Bumblebee and took to the air, carrying them both away just as the fireball struck the car and detonated it. Alighting in an alleyway, Prowl and Bumblebee both ran for cover.

“Run, pigs! Run!” Tinderspark howled, throwing a jet of flames at the house they were hiding behind. The entire facade burst into flame as though it were made of paper; the Nightmare Night decorations in the windows and on the porch caught alight, the flames making the facsimiles of Nightmare Moon even eerier. Screams sounded from within.

Phillip turned and grasped Daring’s shoulder with his hoof. “Please tell me you have a smoke bomb,” he hissed.

Daring reached into her pocket and extracted a single black sphere of tightly-packed aluminum foil, which she handed to Phillip. At the same moment, Fluttershy stood up and started to run towards the burning house.

“Fluttershy, stop!” Phillip shouted, grabbing her tail and pulling her back behind cover.

“There are ponies in there, I have to help them!” Fluttershy cried, looking towards the burning homes with terror. Tinderspark was setting the other houses on fire, cackling madly as she did so.

“It’s too dangerous!” Daring shouted back.

“We have to put out the fires somehow!” Fluttershy shouted. “We can’t just let these ponies die!”

Daring opened her mouth to reply and a drop of rainwater splashed into her open mouth. Looking up, she studied the rain clouds over their heads, dropping a slow, steady sheet of water down on them.

“I have an idea,” she said. “If the two of us can make a cloud big and thick enough, that might be enough water to douse the fires.”

“I have to try to get the Spark away from her,” Phillip said, a grim expression on his face. “Or at least keep her busy long enough for backup to arrive.”

“But—” Daring started to say, but stopped herself. She glanced up over the car to see Tinderspark hurling fireballs at Bumblebee, who had to duck back behind cover again. She turned back to Phillip and nodded resolutely, briefly gripping his shoulders.

“Be careful,” she breathed.

He gripped her shoulders back; she could feel him trembling slightly. “I will be,” he said. He unzipped his vest and draped it around his shoulder, gripping it like a shield, and handed her his hat. She tucked it carefully inside her shirt. Poking his head over the car that they crouched behind, Phillip took three deep breaths, clutching the smoke bomb, then broke cover and ran towards Tinderspark. The pyromaniac was currently holding a wall of flame between herself and Prowl, laughing as slag from Prowl’s melted bullets struck her gas mask and jacket.

“Oi, wanker!” Phillip shouted, tossing the smoke bomb at her. Tinderspark turned just in time for the smoke bomb to detonate at her hooves, blinding her. Tinderspark immediately hurled a jet of fire at where she last saw Phillip, but Phillip rolled underneath the fire and sprang into the air, delivering a flying kick to Tinderspark’s barrel, sending her tumbling onto the ground. Tinderspark fired a jet of fire at him, but he blocked it with the warded vest as he closed in. He delivered a swift kick to Tinderspark’s jaw, but she drew a knife from beneath her jacket and slashed at him. Phillip yelled in pain and stumbled back as the blade cut a deep gash into his hind leg, quickly dropping and rolling away to regain some distance.

Up above, Daring seized a hoofful of clouds, feeling the cold, wet softness squishing in her hooves, and pushed them against each other, forming a bigger, darker cloud. Frantically, she began to gather every cloud she could reach and pressed them all together into one larger ball, like making clay for a sculpture. A big, wet sculpture made of clay that was raining on her and frequently trying to run away on gusts of wind. Fluttershy set to work as well, gathering up as many clouds as she could into larger spheres, panting and muttering to herself in fright as she worked.

A fireball roared past Daring, missing her by mere inches. A yelp of fright tumbled out of her lips before she could stop herself and she glanced down. Tinderspark had gotten back to her hooves and was hurling fireballs at everything that moved. She watched as Bumblebee sprinted across the street and dove behind a tree; a fireball struck the tree and it instantly bloomed into flame.

Phillip threw his boomerang at Tinderspark, but she tossed a fireball at it and vaporized it in midair. Tinderspark started throwing more flames at Phillip, who rolled and did a backwards hoofspring to avoid the deadly projectiles. One of them struck a surveillance crystal on a pole, incinerating the crystal and turning it into a puddle of blue and red goo that dripped down onto the ground.

Far away from the battle, Charles August Silvertongue stared at a projected image in front of him. He watched as the fireball flew right at his face, enveloping the entire projection, then the image went white.

"Damn her." Silvertongue took a sip of Amontillado out of the glass that floated beside his head, stroking the crystal on the long black table in front of him. The image switched to another view of the street. He watched as the mad arsonist threw up another wall of flames to protect herself from the batpony’s gunfire, using it as cover to close the distance. Finder intercepted her by vaulting over a fence and kicking her to the ground, but had to immediately roll out of the way of another fireball. A flash of lightning lit up the sky outside, briefly illuminating the black room with its scarlet red curtains. The huge ebony clock standing behind Silvertongue chimed out the hour in a deep voice.

The telephone next to Silvertongue rang. Silvertongue seized the hoofset and held it up to his ear.

“You are watching this, right?” Monopoly’s voice said into his ear. The businesspony’s voice was slightly frantic.

“Yes,” Silvertongue said, swirling his wine. “From what I heard from the scanners, backup is still at least two minutes away. I’m not sure that Finder, Do, or the officers will survive this.”

“I don’t give a fuck about them!” Monopoly snapped. “This whole thing has gone to shit: I should’ve known it would after that idiot at Phoenix killed Gold Dust. She’s out of control.”

“I warned you that setting her up as the terrorist patsy and giving her the Spark would end badly," Silvertongue chastised him, watching as Tinderspark set yet another house on fire. "If you'd listened to me, this madness would never have taken place."

“Turn the Spark off,” Monopoly growled. “The only way we can recover from this is if she’s taken down by herself, without the chance to bring any of us down with her.”

Silvertongue turned to the other pony in the room. “Do it,” he ordered.

Zugzwang, whose empty black eyes had been fixed on the projection the entire time, extracted his goldleaf cigarette from his mouth and placed it in an ashtray on the table. Taking out a sheet of paper and setting it down on the table, he drew an image of the Dragon’s Spark on it, then drew a circle around it. He began to draw runes inside the circle, like numbers on a clock face. This completed, he took his cigarette and tapped some ashes into the circle, then bit his lip and spat into the ashes, wetting it with his saliva and blood. Finally, he closed his eyes in concentration. Taking in a deep breath, he lit up his horn with a pale golden aura. The drawing began to glow with the same-colored aura, the ashes hissing as a faint trail of smoke lifted up from the pile.

“Kühl,” Zugzwang whispered in his native tongue. The word was spoken softly, but with all the force of a bullet flying from a gun, projecting his will through the circle, which amplified it, sending it across space; invisible, intangible, but still very real and very powerful. “Kühl, kühl, kühl wie Stein.”

Phillip pounced on Tinderspark, tightly wrapping his vest around her body and squeezing her tight in a bear hug. He rammed his knees into her sides repeatedly as they fought back and forth, each trying to disrupt the other’s balance. Jets of flame danced around their hooves as Tinderspark tried to burn her way through the cloth.

“Finder, out of the way!” Prowl shouted, her revolver up and primed. Leaning away, Phillip pulled the vest off Tinderspark and kicked her in the stomach as he dropped onto his back, landing hard on the sidewalk. Tinderspark stumbled, but kept her hoofing.

Prowl’s gun barked, a single shot like a thunderclap. Tinderspark grunted in pain as a streak of red blossomed from her torso. With an animalistic noise that was a half-yell, half-crazed laugh, Tinderspark threw a bright red fireball at Prowl. The fireball struck the ground in front of Prowl and exploded in a plume of flames. Prowl screamed as she was hurled backward, her gun flying from her hoof: she crashed into a telephone pole and slumped to the ground, laying still.

“Prowl!” Bumblebee screamed. He stood up from behind the dumpster he was hiding behind, took aim at Tinderspark, and pulled the trigger. But the look of twisted fury on his face was replaced with one of shock and horror when the gun clicked on empty. Tinderspark turned towards him, gathering flame into her raised hoof.

Phillip rushed in, leaving his vest laying on the ground, and delivered a hard roundhouse kick to Tinderspark’s side, aiming for the bullet wound. A yell of pain escaped from beneath her gas mask and she staggered, turning back towards Phillip. Seizing her by the jacket, Phillip pushed her backwards as he hooked his hindleg behind both of hers, dumping her on her back in a perfect outer reap takedown.

Perfect except for Tinderspark seizing him about the neck and dragging him down with her. She rolled over, flipping him onto his back with her straddling his chest. Phillip found himself looking up at her. Her wet mane was in disarray, tumbling everywhere. The bright orange matched the color of the flames that surrounded them on both sides, crackling in defiance of the rain. Screams of terror and pain provided a constant background noise. The Dragon’s Spark glowed brightly, the carved red eye wide with delight. The pyromaniac’s face was hidden behind her gas mask, but the tinted lenses shone as though in delight as she raised her right hoof, conjuring up a ball of flames and preparing to thrust it down into his face. Phillip crossed his forelegs across his face, preparing himself for the agony, and for the end.

He heard the hoof swinging down, then a half-second later, felt her hoof impact against his forelegs. The pain of the impact resonated across his skin, but to his surprise, there was no burn.

“What?!” Tinderspark screeched. Uncrossing his forelegs, Phillip looked up to see her staring at her hoof in shock. There was no flame held within. The Dragon’s Spark had stopped glowing.

Immediately, Phillip punched Tinderspark in the face. The lenses shattered and Tinderspark fell off him with a howl of pain and fury. Getting back on top of her, Phillip punched her in the face three more times, leaving her groaning feebly on the ground, then yanked her mask off.

Hideous was not a strong enough adjective to describe Tinderspark. Her entire face was covered in pits and scars of previous burns. The skin around her left eye appeared to have partially melted, leaving her unable to open the eye completely; the eye itself was so bloodshot that Phillip briefly wondered if she could even see out of it. The skin around her right eye had been pulled back, exposing more of the eyeball than was natural. Her nose appeared to have molded back into her face, her lips were mostly gone, and the right side of her mouth appeared to have been pulled back into a permanent sneer, exposing her crooked, yellow teeth. She glared back at him dazed defiance and rage.

“You’re one ugly motherfucker,” Phillip grunted, then brought his hoof down onto her face one last time. Tinderspark splayed back across the ground, out cold. He seized the Spark, which was stone cold to the touch, ripped it off her, and crushed it into dust beneath his hoof.

Phillip panted as he got up off her, suddenly aware of just how exhausted he was. He felt the aching pain that spread across every inch of his body, especially the burning of the knife wound in his leg, but he seemed to be too tired to fully acknowledge it. He looked up towards Prowl, who was still laying against the pole. Bumblebee ran over and bent down, pressing his hoof against her neck. After a moment, his shoulders slumped as he exhaled in relief.

“She’s breathing!” he shouted to Phillip. “I think she’s gonna be okay!”

Phillip nodded, turning to look around at the still-raging fires all around him. Suddenly, he was aware that the rain seemed to have lessened. Looking up, he saw that the skies above him were mostly clear, exposing the stars above them, except for one enormous black cloud, two-stories tall and darker than an abyss. Daring and Fluttershy were pushing the cloud over one of the burning houses, both of them panting with effort as they shoved the heavy cloud into position; the thunderhead rolled and rumbled like a living thing, trying to run off on its own, but together, the two pegasi kept it under control.

“Now!” Daring shouted. As one, both mares turned and bucked the cloud, which let out a loud rumble of thunder that the ponies below felt rippling through their bones. As though a faucet had been turned on, the flow of water from the cloud turned from a moderate shower to a downpour like a fire hose, becoming a solid wall of water. The fires beneath them hissed and roared, but the water proved too great for them, smothering the flames with a hiss. Straining with effort, Daring and Fluttershy pushed the great cloud to the next house, and then the next, dousing the fires in seconds. The street was clear of flames in half a minute.

Her mouth hanging open as she panted, Fluttershy flew down to one of the burnt-out shells that used to be a house and pushed open the front door, determined to search for survivors. Daring flew down and landed next to Phillip. Her body was drenched in a mixture of rainwater and sweat and she coughed as she landed.

“You okay?” she asked.

Phillip lay back down on the ground. The wet, cold asphalt felt heavenly on his back. “‘M fine,” he mumbled. “Just gonna lay here for a minute.”

“Sounds good,” Daring nodded. “I’m gonna go help Fluttershy.” She picked herself up wearily and flew over to the house. A few moments later, she came back out of the house, gently carrying a trembling but miraculously unhurt blue colt in her forelegs as Fluttershy guided the coughing and whimpering parents outside. Bumblebee stumbled over to Tinderspark and placed the unconscious mare in hoofcuffs, then sat down next to Phillip and began to bandage the cut on his leg with a first aid kit from his belt. The enormous raincloud let out another rumble of thunder as sirens from responding police, fire, and ambulances approached.

Case Four, Chapter Ten: Cooling the Ashes

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The red and blue lights of the gathered police cruisers, ambulances, and fire trucks lit up the entire neighborhood, summoning the ponies who had fled back towards the scene to watch the aftermath with a horrid fascination. The unconscious Tinderspark was bundled into the back of a cruiser and driven back to the precinct.

“I said I’m fine,” Daring snapped, yanking the oxygen mask off her face for the third time. “Worry about them.”

“We’re taking care of them,” the paramedic replied testily, holding out a hoof to keep her on the stretcher that she was sitting atop. “But we just want to make sure that you’re all right. You might’ve inhaled some smoke and poisonous vapors.”

“I feel fine, okay?” Daring said, getting off the stretcher. Shooting the paramedic a final glare, she walked over to Phillip, who was sitting on the stretcher opposite hers, holding out a limb as another paramedic bandaged the burns on his foreleg.

“Ow,” Phillip said dully as the medic tightened the wrapped bandages.

Daring extracted Phillip’s hat from underneath her shirt and gave it to Phillip. “You doing okay?” she asked.

“I’ll be apples in a couple days,” Phillip nodded, smoothing his hat out and placing it atop his head, fitting his ears through the holes in the brim. He sighed softly. “Should’ve stopped her sooner than that.”

Daring nodded. “I know you don’t like killing, and I don’t either, but you really should think about getting a gun,” she said.

“Can’t afford it,” Phillip grunted. “License and testing fees alone would be too much for me.”

“Still, would be a good thing to have,” Daring pointed out.

Phillip nodded and laid back down on the stretcher. “We’ll try to start saving up.”

“Good,” Daring said, stepping back as the paramedics loaded Phillip into the back of a waiting ambulance. She watched as two paramedics walked past her, carrying another stretcher into the ambulance. This one was carrying Prowl, wrapped up in a blanket and still unconscious. A brace was placed around her neck.

“Prowl?” Bee said, walking alongside her with more bandages wrapped around his forelegs. He gently shook her shoulder. “Prowl, come on, wake up.”

Prowl groaned and her eyelids flickered open. “Bee?” she whispered, looking up towards her friend.

“Hey, boss,” Bee said, breaking into a wide, relieved grin. “You’re gonna be okay now. Hey, maybe they’ll give us the same room as Flash. It’ll be like a sleepover!”

Prowl laughed softly and shook her head as the medics carried her stretcher into the ambulance and set her down next to Phillip. Bumblebee climbed in after them with a final wave to Daring. The doors were shut and the ambulance trundled away towards the hospital, lights blaring and siren wailing.

Daring walked over to Fluttershy, who had already been treated and released by paramedics. The yellow pegasus was sitting on the curb, staring off into the distance. Daring walked up and sat down next to her.

“You okay?” she asked.

Fluttershy didn’t respond. Following her gaze, Daring saw that she was looking at one of the burned-out homes. Smoke still rose from the blackened wood structure; the plastic skeleton that had been hanging from the porch was charred, making it look even more ghastly.

Two firefighters were exiting the house, bearing a stretcher between them. A silver-haired mare, her body covered in soot, laid across it, unmoving.

“Mama?” a small colt standing next to the porch cried, looking up at the body with wide, fearful eyes. The colt walked over to the stretcher and grabbed one of the mare’s dangling forelegs. “Mama, wake up. Wake up, mama!”

But the mare did not respond. “Mama?” the colt whimpered.

One of the firefighters gently picked up the colt and carried him away, allowing the little pony to sob into his jacket.

Fluttershy trembled and started to cry silently. “I was too late…” she whimpered.

“Hey, listen,” Daring said, draping a wing around Fluttershy and pulling her close. “It’s not your fault.”

“If I’d been faster…” Fluttershy sobbed.

“No, you can’t think like that,” Daring interrupted her. “If it hadn’t been for you, that fire would’ve spread even farther and more ponies would’ve died. Look.” She pointed off at a small cluster of other ponies that were standing off to the side. Some were bandaged, many were clutching blankets in obvious shock, but all of them were alive. A few were hugging each other, while others simply sat close to one another, holding hooves or draping forelegs around each other's shoulders; neighbors and friends and families gathered close together, speaking in hushed, relieved tones.

“Those ponies are alive because you were brave enough to help them,” Daring said. “Even that pony you pulled out of the way when this first started, he’s going be fine because of you.”

“But ponies still died,” Fluttershy said.

Daring sighed. “We can’t save everyone,” she admitted quietly. “You have to try to focus on the ones you can.”

Fluttershy just let out a quiet whimper. Daring gave her a gentle squeeze. “Look, talk to your friends, okay? I think...I think I’m the wrong pony to talk to about this, but they’ll probably be able to help you.”

“Okay,” Fluttershy nodded. Daring gave her one last hug, then stood up and walked away. She didn’t know where she was going, but standing here much longer, amidst the smoke and the stench of death and loss, was more than she could bear anymore. She just knew that she had to go somewhere else. Maybe Phil and the others were at the hospital by now…

“Daring.”

She stopped at the sound of the voice and slowly turned. A few feet away from her was a parked car with tinted windows, the headlights piercing the darkness and the engine rumbling quietly. The driver’s side window was rolled down. Inside was Bright Sparks, glaring at her.

“Get in the back,” Sparks ordered.

“Nah, I like walking in the rain,” Daring replied.

“That ambulance driver works for us,” Sparks replied shortly. “Get in or something bad happens to your friends.”

Daring froze, slowly turning towards the mare that she had once called sister. Sparks’ eyes offered no comfort, each of them as cold as the rain, giving nothing away.

She’s bluffing, the rational part of Daring’s mind whispered. She has to be.

But Daring’s hooves refused to move. You can’t take that risk, another voice whispered.

Slowly, her heart thudding hard against her ribs, she walked forward and opened up the back door to the car, sliding into the seat and shutting it behind her.

Sitting next to her was a unicorn mare. The mare had a light pink coat and long, flowing black hair with red highlights. Her cutie mark was a letter and a quill. She had dark brown eyes accented with red eyeshadow. She laid back in the seat, smirking at Daring, twirling a Prench-brand cigarette in a silver holder next to her. She wore a flowing single-strap dark red dress that hugged the curves around her hips.

“Good afternoon, Miss Do,” the mare said, her voice carrying a curious mixture of Prench and Crystalline accents.

“The fuck are you?” Daring snapped back, lightly gripping the inner handle of her door as the car began to move.

The mare laughed daintily. “Ah, you’re just like Sparks said you were, mon ami.” She took a light puff on the cigarette, filling the car with the heady aroma of the highly perfumed tobacco. “I am Scarlet. Scarlet Letter. Enchante.” She extended a hoof. Daring refused to take it.

“I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you since I heard about you, Miss Do,” Scarlet continued, unperturbed. She paused, looking over Daring. “You really should put on your seat belt, mon ami. It’s quite unsafe to not wear it.”

“Maybe I like flirting with danger,” Daring replied. And not having to waste time unbuckling my seat belt if I have to get out of here in a hurry.

“Ah! A mare after my own heart,” Scarlet smiled. “I like you, Miss Do, I really do. That’s why I want to try to get you to see things my way.”

Daring was silent. Scarlet Letter took another drag on her cigarette and continued. “I hate this city, Daring. I hate the corruption. I hate the police being helpless. I hate the citizens being too cowed and fearful to do anything to take their city back. And I know that deep down, you hate it, too.”

Daring offered no reply. “But I intend to change things,” Scarlet said. “Silvertongue, Monopoly, Whitestone, Coin Toss, all of those ponies who trod on these citizens...they’re going down and going down hard. I’ve already—”

“Spare me,” Daring coldly interrupted. “You don’t give a shit about the citizens. You think I forgot about Miranda?”

Scarlet’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of cool disdain. “You’ll forgive me if I do not mourn for the employees of a thoroughly corrupt organization who worked to keep the mobsters out of prison and in control. This is war, Miss Do.”

“You’re no great hero,” Daring replied icily. “I bet the citizens love you for shooting up a bunch of ponies with illegal weapons.”

“Just as they love a former thief and a killer even as she defends them from their enemies.” Scarlet took a longer drag on her cigarette, ignoring the death glare that Daring gave her. “Vous ne pouvez pas faire une omelette sans casser des oeufs,” she replied flatly.

Daring scoffed, trying to ignore the stabbing pain of the cursed brand. “Those eggs are ponies with families,” she snapped back. “You can have your blood omelette if you want, but I don’t want any of it.”

Scarlet sighed. “Miss Do, one day you’re going to find that if you want things to change, you can’t play by the rules that other ponies have made.” She paused for a moment, then smiled. “But let me give you an offer, s'il vous plait.”

“You already did, and I said no,” Daring answered.

“I’ll make you a better one,” Scarlet answered. The glow of a red light filtering through the windshield cast her face in a crimson tint.

“We shall pay you,” the mare offered. “Provide you with weapons, intelligence, money, such as that book we so generously offered. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. We are both on the same side of this war, mon ami; we both want Silvertongue and Monopoly gone with minimal casualties. It is only logical that we help each other, n'est-ce pas?”

“What’s the catch?” Daring asked.

“No catch,” Scarlet shook her head. Daring glared at her. Scarlet laughed quietly. “All right. Call it a quid pro quo: you scratch my back, I scratch yours, oui?”

“You scratch my back, I steal and kill for you, you mean,” Daring snapped.

“And how is that different than what Phillip Finder makes you do? Or what you did before?” Scarlet replied. When Daring didn’t answer, she smirked at her. “Admit the truth, Miss Do.” Her chocolate brown eyes went to Daring’s right hoof, which instinctively pulled away from her gaze. “You are a thief because it’s what you are good at. It’s all you’ve known, it’s all you’ve ever done, it’s all you want to do, deep down.”

Daring breathed heavily through her nostrils, glaring at the other mare, barely aware that the car had stopped and was idling.

“Let me make you a counteroffer,” she finally declared. “I’ll give you the flying feather.” She extended her wing and held out her primary feather in the universally recognized traditional pegasus manner of declaring “fuck you.” Scarlet’s eyebrows raised, but her smirk did not waver for a moment.

“And you leave me and my friends alone,” Daring declared, opening the door and stepping back out into the rain.

“Miss Do,” Scarlet called back to her. Daring paused and turned back to face her. Scarlet reached underneath her dress and extracted a necklace. The chain of the necklace pierced several golden coins, each of which had an arcane symbol embossed on it. Dangling from the necklace was a carved jade fox. “Recognize this?” she asked.

Daring did: it was the necklace that Shifting Tone had stolen from Silvertongue’s gallery. For a brief moment, Shifting Tone's terrified screams and desperate sobs echoed in her ears.

"You saved Miss Tone's life; an act for which you have my gratitude," Scarlet said in a quiet tone, her expression slightly softer than before. "Had it not been for you, an innocent who put herself at risk for my cause would have died, while I was unable to save her. But had she fallen, she would have fallen to save this city." She gave Daring a hard look. “I always get what I want in the end, Miss Do. No matter what it costs. And if getting what I want out of you comes with your friends as the price tag, then so be it.”

White-hot anger flashed across Daring’s spine, lightning racing down her limbs. She glared at Scarlet, gripping the sides of the doorway. There was a click as Bright Sparks half-drew and cocked a pistol hidden beneath her seat, but Scarlet stopped her with a raised hoof.

“If you hurt them—Phil, Flash, Twilight, Prowl, Bee, any of them,” Daring snarled. “I will kill you.”

“Really,” Scarlet said, her smirk growing wider. “So you aren’t that different from us after all.”

Daring froze, feeling as though she’d been slapped in the face with a shovel. The pain of the cursed mark had faded into a cold numbness that was somehow worse than the regular burning. She slowly stepped back, feeling Scarlet’s smirk drilling into her with every step. Scarlet closed the door with her magic and, with a final glare from Sparks, the car pulled away, disappearing around the corner.

Turning, Daring saw that she was standing in front of 221 Honeybee Bakery. She stared at the house for a moment, then slowly walked inside. Unlocking the front door, she stepped into the hallway, switching on the light. Hanging her dripping vest and helmet on the rack, she walked into the living room. Everything was just where it had been left: her Jules Vanner novel was still laying on the coffee table, the jars from Phil’s experiments were all securely closed and laid in ordered rows on the experiment table.

Her limbs and head heavy with exhaustion and her cursed foreleg still aching dully, Daring dragged herself up into her room and flopped down on the bed, pulling the covers over herself. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, but it would be many long hours of tossing and turning before she was able to ignore the cold, empty silence of the house and drift off into the land of ambiguous and unmemorable but unpleasant dreams.

The hospital waiting room was bare bones: a few small, very uncomfortable chairs, flickering, humming lights, a couple vending machines and an old water dispenser and coffee machine, and a small foal’s area with some toys and books. Daring paced up and down along the line of chairs; though she’d only arrived at Ponyville General twenty minutes prior, she felt like she’d been waiting for a week.

“How long does it take to heal some burns?” she huffed to herself. She had already waited an entire day that she had spent in the quiet and silence of her empty home. To wait much longer was like having a cheese grater slowly rending her belly.

The nurse at the desk sighed and shook her head. “As I told you before, Miss Do, we held your friends overnight to make sure that there was no lasting damage while we applied potions and spells to accelerate healing,” she explained in a testy tone. “We’re doing some final checks on them to make sure that they are ready to be released. We will let you know once we have news. For now, you need to be patient.”

“I hate patience,” Daring grumbled, going back to pacing.

“Excuse me,” a voice asked. Daring turned around to see a thestral stallion walking towards her. He had a dark brown coat with two-toned purple hair, reddish-brown eyes, and the cutie mark of a red maple leaf. He was wearing a baby carrier around his chest that had a thestral filly inside it. The filly had a light-gray coat, blue-white hair, and blue eyes. She gurgled happily as she chewed on a bright green rubber teething toy.

“You’re Daring Do, right?” the stallion asked.

“Yeah,” Daring said slowly, subconsciously drawing her branded hoof away from him.

The stallion smiled and extended a hoof. “I’m Maple Leaf, Prowl’s husband. She speaks pretty highly of you.”

“She...does?” Daring asked dumbfounded, barely realizing that she was shaking his hoof.

“Yeah, you and Phillip Finder!” Maple Leaf grinned. “I heard about how you two helped take down that terrorist yesterday, that was awesome!”

The filly in the carrier blinked and tilted her head to the side, staring at Daring. “Oh, this is our daughter, Skysong,” Maple Leaf introduced her.

“Hey, kid,” Daring smiled at the family. Skysong cooed and tried to wiggle her nose at her. Daring laughed.

“Right this way, pastor,” another voice said. Daring looked up to see a nurse guiding Pastor Joyful Sound into the waiting room by the foreleg. Pastor Sound tapped the ground before her with her red and white cane with every step; she had a contented smile on her face, her eyes staring straight ahead of her blankly.

“Hello, Pastor,” Maple Leaf greeted her happily.

“Good morning, Maple Leaf,” Joyful Sound smiled. “And is that Skysong I hear?” Skysong babbled happily and reached out towards the pastor. Maple Leaf scooped up his daughter with a wing and held her out towards Joyful, who carefully took her in her forelegs and cradled her.

“I heard that Prowl was injured in the terrorist attack last night,” Joyful said. “How is she?”

“Flash burns and a mild concussion, but they said she should be fine,” Maple Leaf replied. “They’ll probably tell me to keep her in bed for a day or two.” He laughed. “That’s gonna go well with her.”

“Yes, I imagine that would be difficult,” Joyful said, allowing Skysong to suck on her hoof. “I am glad that she’s all right. I wanted to express my gratitude to her for helping save my son.”

“Your son?” Daring cut in. “Wait...Flash Sentry is your son?”

Joyful turned towards Daring. Even though she knew the elder unicorn was blind, Daring got the impression that her clouded blue eyes were fixed right at her heart.

“You’re Daring Do,” Joyful Sound said. “Yes, Flash is my son. He thinks very highly of you and your friend.”

“Well…” Daring said slowly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“So do I,” Joyful Sound continued, still smiling. “I believe I owe you and Phillip thanks as well.”

Daring was silent, her mouth hanging slightly open as her brain attempted and failed to come up with a suitable response to this unforeseen praise.

At that moment, there came a distraction in the form of four ponies entering the waiting room. Prowl and Bumblebee were both dressed in their uniforms, Flash had his hoodie on, and Phillip was wearing his vest and trilby. Bumblebee was walking with a spry spring in his step, Prowl was holding an ice pack to her forehead, and Flash was leaning against Phillip as they walked, but all of them were free of any marks or visible injuries.

“Ma!” Skysong squealed, reaching out towards her mother. Prowl instantly smiled and sped up to approach the group. She scooped up Skysong with a wing and hugged her close as her husband draped a wing around her. The two thestrals kissed.

“Mom,” Flash sighed in a relieved, tired tone, getting up off of Phillip and walking over to his mother. He paused in front of her, put off by the suddenly stern expression that crossed over her face.

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Flash said, hanging his head. “I just wanted to help—”

Joyful’s face broke into a wide smile and she extended her forelegs. Flash hugged her tightly, smiling in relief.

“I’m just so glad you’re safe,” Joyful whispered. “Praise the Holy Mother.”

Phillip walked up to Daring. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m apples,” Phillip said, giving her a small smile. “Can’t wait to go home though. Food here isn’t worth a zack.”

Daring laughed. “Well, no one comes to the hospital for the food.”

Phillip looked past Daring towards Joyful, who turned towards him as if somehow feeling his gaze upon her. “G’day, Joy,” he said softly.

“Good morning, Phillip,” Joyful Sound smiled. “I’m glad that you’re safe.”

“Me too,” Phillip said. He glanced at Flash. “Your boy's grown into a strong one.”

“He has,” Joyful said with a proud smile, tousling Flash’s mane. “He’s his father’s boy through and through.”

“Mooooom,” Flash whined, blushing. Prowl, Maple Leaf, and Bumblebee all snickered.

“Wait,” Daring said. “You two know each other?”

Joyful Sound nodded. “You remember that neighbor I told you about?” Phillip said quietly. “When I was thirteen?”

“When you got your cutie mark?” Daring asked. Her eyes widening, she slowly turned towards Joyful. “You?” she gasped.

Joyful looked down for a moment. “That was...not a time of my life I’m proud of,” she admitted.

Daring turned to Flash. “And that’s why you…?”

“Yeah,” Flash admitted. “I just...mom told me about it, and I feel like...if it hadn’t been for you, Phil, I might not be here.” He shuffled his hooves awkwardly and half-smiled. “So, I guess, I’ve been trying to say...thank you.”

Phillip was silent for a few moments, then a smile crept up half of his face. “Guess I do some good after all,” he said quietly.

“Awww, it’s a perfect Kodiak moment,” Bumblebee said, watching with Prowl and her family.

“Bee, shut up,” Prowl replied, not looking up from her embrace with her husband.

Daring looked back and forth between the stallions again, a question forming in her mind. “So,” she finally asked. “Is he your—?”

“Wh-what?! No!” Phillip cried, his ears turning bright crimson. Flash blushed furiously as well, stammering in shock. Joyful laughed loudly.

“No, Daring,” Joyful said, shaking her head as she recovered herself. “Flash’s father was an Army officer, by far one of the bravest and kindest stallions I have ever known.” The joy suddenly left her smile, leaving behind a weary sadness as Flash shifted uncomfortably. “He was killed during the Crystal War.”

“Oh,” Daring said, feeling like somepony had corner kicked a soccer ball into her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Joyful Sound said. “He gave me one of the best things in my life: my son.” She hugged and kissed Flash, tousling his mane again.

“Mooooom!” Flash protested, his blush deepening as the others snickered again.

“Much as I hate to interrupt a good moment,” Prowl cut in. “We have work to do.” She gave the other officers a hard stare. “Monopoly is going to pay.”

Flash buckled his duty belt back on and tilted his cap down low over his eyes. “How do I look?” he asked, turning back towards his partners.

“Like a badass,” Bumblebee said, grinning.

“Let’s get to work,” Prowl declared, turning and leading them out of the locker room. The trio exited and rejoined Phillip and Daring, who were waiting outside.

“We’ll talk to Trace and Red, tell ‘em what you told us,” Phillip said to Flash. “Tinderspark said Monopoly gave her the Spark. And from what I’ve heard, she’s been screaming and ranting about getting revenge on him since she woke up.”

“We’ll nail that fat bastard to the wall,” Daring said with a smug grin.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said. Everypony looked up to see Monopoly himself looming over them, his bulk blocking off most of the hallway.

“You were saying something about nailing me?” Monopoly asked, glaring at Daring. She returned his stare evenly.

“You are under arrest,” Flash Sentry declared, stepping forward and extracting his hoofcuffs from his belt. “You have the right to remain silent, any—”

“Hold your horses, rookie,” another familiar voice laughed. Night Waltz stepped out from behind Monopoly, smiling indulgently at Flash.

“Ah, kids, so eager,” he laughed to Monopoly.

“What are you doing?” Prowl growled at the detective.

“Is that any way to speak to someone of a higher rank, bloodsucker?” Night Waltz asked smarmily. Prowl’s eyes flashed dangerously and she spread out her leathery wings with an angry hiss, but Bumblebee quickly stepped in front of her.

“I simply asked Monopoly to come down here to give a brief statement regarding his possible connection to Tinderspark’s activities. He assured me that he had nothing at all to do with her,” Night Waltz said.

“Bullshit!” another voice yelled. Red Herring and Trace Evidence stomped up to Night. Trace was glaring in silent, stony fury, while Red was beside himself.

“His alibi is full of holes and you damn well know it!” Red continued. “You heard Tinderspark’s testimony same as we did, you read Flash’s statement. He’s got a lot to answer for!” He pointed at Monopoly. “Twenty-five ponies dead because this asshole thought he could get rich by giving a maniac a Class 1 artifact! And look how well that turned out!”

“Gentleponies, please,” Night Waltz said laughingly. “This is all conjecture. What’s your evidence? The testimony of a lunatic and the word of a young, inexperienced officer who, no offense, went through a traumatic experience.” Waltz smiled at the group around him, seemingly unaffected by the fact that everypony except Monopoly was trying to murder him with their eyes. Flash was shaking rather hard, partly out of anger and partly out of shock.

“Besides, what would I do without my number one informant?” Waltz added.

“Informant?” Trace asked coldly.

“Indeed,” Monopoly replied, looking at his manicured hoof as though it interested him far more than the conversation. “Alongside donating a hefty amount of money to this department over the years, I have also informed to Detective Waltz on a number of vice cases.”

“You mean ratted out ponies that didn’t want to work with you,” Red Herring growled. Monopoly shrugged disdainfully.

“Now, now, that’s just conjecture and rumors, detective,” Night Waltz said placidly. “Unfounded ones, I might add. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Night Waltz idly brushed some lint off his suit and gestured. Monopoly sniffed and walked ahead of him. The two of them headed down the hallway and turned a corner.

“He gets away with it?!” Flash shouted as soon as he was gone. “All that, and he gets away?!”

“Calm down,” Phillip said, laying a hoof on Flash’s shoulder. Flash was silent, but his trembling did not abate for several seconds.

“He’ll make another mistake,” Phillip said. “And when he does, we’ll be ready for him.”

“Don’t worry,” Daring added, laying a hoof on Flash’s other shoulder. “He’s a big figure in the crime world, so he’s way too large to hide behind Waltz for long.”

She grinned around at the others, who all groaned in response.

“Maybe I could invite Waltz down to the range,” Red commented to Trace as the two walked off. “I could arrange a little accident involving my gun and the back of his thick skull…”

“Red,” Trace cut him off.

“I was kidding,” Red replied.

The three officers started to walk off as well, looking forlorn. Daring looked after them, then got an idea. “Hey, how about you come down to the Apple Pie tonight after shift?” she called.

Flash, Bumblebee, and Prowl all looked up at them for a moment, then looked at each other and nodded. “Sounds good!” Bumblebee said.

“Cool,” Daring nodded. “See you later, then.” She waved goodbye, then turned to exit with Phil. They walked through the hallway down into the lobby, then out the revolving door into the street. The rain had thankfully stopped that morning, though the streets were still wet and puddles lay everywhere. The sky was still partly covered in clouds, but through the gray came the faint glow of a rainbow.

“What d’you wanna do now?” Daring asked Phil as they walked down the street, Daring hopping into every other puddle.

“Still got that experiment at home,” Phil said, keeping a wide berth from her to avoid getting splashed.

“And you need me there to make sure you don’t kill yourself,” Daring stated, landing in a particularly large puddle.

Phil paused as the cold water drenched his forelegs and sighed. “I’d like that,” he admitted.

“Ah, you just can’t stand to be away from me, can you?” Daring teased, bumping her flank against his. His ears turned red and he didn’t reply verbally, but he couldn’t hide a small smile creeping up his face.

Hailing a passing trolley, they climbed into the vehicle and found seats next to each other. As the vehicle started to trundle up the street, Daring felt eyes upon her. Looking up, she spotted a stallion looking at her from further down the aisle. The stallion, a tall green unicorn, made eye contact with her, then casually looked back down at his newspaper.

Daring’s curse mark stung, accompanied by a shiver down her spine. She suddenly smelled heavily perfumed tobacco and imagined Scarlet Letter’s mocking grin in front of her face.

“Daring?” Phillip asked. “You okay?”

Daring shook herself out of the reverie. She was silent for a moment of contemplation, then sighed and grasped Phil’s hoof.

“We need to talk when we get home.”

Case Four, Chapter Eleven: Afterglow

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“Scarlet Letter,” Phillip said, repeating the name that Daring had told him.

“She’s the one, Phil,” Daring said, looking down at her front hooves. The two of them were sitting side by side on the couch. “She’s the one who took in Sparks. She...she got her to do what she did.”

“What did she want with you?” Phillip asked.

“She…” Daring shifted, looking away from him and turning to look out the window instead. The day was sunny and clear, with a wind that made the branches on the faded cherry tree in the backyard shiver. A jazz record was in the player, projecting the sound of saxophone and piano music into the room. Daring swallowed and spoke. “She wanted to give me an offer to work with them. I do them a couple favors from time to time, she gives us intelligence, money, weapons. All so we can help her take down Monopoly and Silvertongue and the rest of them.”

“And no doubt help her take over,” Phillip commented.

“Exactly.”

“So what’d you tell her?” Phillip asked.

“I told her to go fuck herself and stay away from us,” Daring answered. “But she…” Her voice slowed. She swallowed again, licking her dry lips.

“Daring?” Phillip asked. She felt his hoof sliding across the cushions towards hers.

Daring sighed. “She said that she and I...we weren’t so different,” she admitted, feeling as though a heavy weight was pressing against her chest as she spoke. “We both steal, we both kill, and we both tell ourselves that...that we do it for the right reasons.” She paused. “And today, when Monopoly just walked away after all of that, after all those ponies died because of him…” Her chest tightened as a fire burned against the inside of her sternum, and she let out a noise that was a part growl, part frustrated sigh. “Sometimes following the law just sucks. Sometimes I see that Sparks had a point when they said that if you want to fight the status quo, you can’t follow the rules.”

“Given the chance, would you kill Monopoly or Silvertongue or any of them? Just gun them down after what they did?” Phillip asked quietly.

Daring felt her stomach turn at the image. “No, never,” she answered. “That’s...that’s not the right way to do it.”

There was another pregnant pause, then Phillip asked, “Daring, why do you do what you do?”

Daring paused in thought for several seconds, still staring out the window at the cherry tree shivering in the wind.

“I guess…” she finally said. “I guess it’s because...I just don’t like seeing ponies get hurt. And I...I want to try to help if I can, ‘cause, well...it’s the right thing to do.”

“Then that’s all you need,” Phillip replied. His hoof laid itself atop her hoof with the branded mark, squeezing gently. She turned to look up at him.

“Daring, I know you,” he said, his expression calm. “I know you’re more than your past, more than that mark. I know that you have a good heart. And I trust you to do the right thing. Always.”

Daring smiled back at him, squeezing his hoof back. “Thanks,” she said, pulling herself in close to him so that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. She tucked her head against his shoulder and he gently placed his chin atop her head.

“Glad I know you,” Phillip whispered.

“I’m glad I know you,” Daring replied. A smirk spread its way across her face. “You and your sexy butt,” she added, raising a wing and bringing it down on Phillip’s hindquarters with a loud smack. He started violently, letting out a surprised whinny, then glared down at her. She sniggered unrepentantly, and he sighed and shook his head.

“You’re never going to change, are you?” he asked.

“Nope,” Daring answered, draping a wing around his torso. “But you like me this way.”

Phillip didn’t reply for a moment; Daring felt his torso rise and fall as he breathed. “Yeah,” he admitted with a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

Silence fell upon them both again as they sat, nestled up against each other, listening to the record playing. After a moment, Daring looked down at their intertwined hooves, as if just now noticing that they were still touching each other. Phillip looked down as well, then, as one, they both turned to look at each other. As they locked eyes, some unseen message passed between them, like a spark of static electricity.

“Um,” Phillip stammered, his gray eyes widening slightly, the pupils dilated to the size of gold bits.

“Heh,” Daring let out a quivering laugh, glancing away from his gaze like his eyes were two bright lights. A smile danced around her lips, and she suddenly realized that the record was playing a very familiar song: a saxophone rendition of Can't Smile Without You.

Phillip leaned forward slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid that he’d move too fast and scare her away. Daring was still, her heart thudding against her ribs, half-closing her eyes in preparation. She could smell his breath—apples, coffee, and mint toothpaste—and briefly wondered what her own breath smelled like. But he paused a few inches away from her as though he’d just pushed against an invisible wall. She felt no wind from his breath upon her face and realized that she was holding her breath as well. The sound of a car passing on the street outside and the continuing saxophone melody underlined the awkwardness of the sudden pause, and Phillip began to pull away.

Daring growled. “Oh, fuck this,” she said, looping her free hoof around Phillip’s head and pulling him in, closing her eyes as she did so. She pressed her lips against his, tasting the remnants of his coffee and breakfast. Both ponies froze as soon as their lips touched, neither certain of what they were supposed to do after this, before relaxing and letting instinct guide them. What followed was a series of inexperienced, sometimes clumsy movements as the pair kissed, the passion of it all not reduced one iota by the fumbling, instead seeming all the more so for it.

After a minute, they finally parted for air. Phillip stared at Daring, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open, and his ears burning red. “Hooley dooley,” he breathed.

Daring sniggered, feeling her own blush spreading across her face. “You can say that again, mate,” she said in her horrendous imitation of his accent.

Phillip rolled his eyes with a smile. "So...what do we do now?" he asked.

Her body seeming to move on its own, Daring grabbed him with both hooves and pulled his face around, kissing him again, forcefully this time. He grunted in surprise as she pushed him down onto his back, her tongue invading his mouth and running across his teeth and gumlines. He closed his eyes, his forelegs instinctively looping around her waist, and began to kiss her back, his own tongue wrestling with hers like two snakes dancing together.

Daring pulled away, a wide smile across her face and her lidded eyes sparkling in a way that sent electric tingles across Phillip’s spine. “What do we do?” she smirked, a playful growl around the edges of her voice. “First, you do me.”

Phillip looked away for a moment, his ears turning bright red. “I...I’ve never…” he stammered through a nervous laugh.

Daring cocked her head to the side. "Really? Never?"

"Well...never with another pony," Phillip shrugged.

“Me neither, so don’t worry about it,” Daring admitted with a smile. She bent down and kissed him again, a softer, gentler kiss this time. “Come on, you. Your sexy butt is mine for the next few hours.”

The Apple Pie in Your Eye was in its usual full swing that evening. A zebra band was up on the stage, doing a blues set, with a female griffon singing a soulful rendition of Superstition. The balloons on the table were in shades of dark blue, black, and orange, there were Nightmare Moon masks and pictures on the walls, and posters advertised the Nightmare Night party in three days. Phillip and Daring sat side by side at the bar, dining on tonight’s special: hay steak and creamy pasta, with fruit salad on the side.

Phillip had borrowed the phone from Applejack and was speaking into it. “Yes, we got them all, Lily,” he was saying. “Nopony else is dying so that wanker Monopoly can line his pockets with insurance money.” There was a pause, then, “No, you’re right. He weaselled his way out of it...but we’ll get him eventually.”

Another pause. “Ma’am, I thought you should know,” Phillip said. “If it hadn’t been for your husband, we might not have found out what was going on until it was too late. He died doing the right thing. I want you to remember that.” He was silent for several long seconds; Daring thought she heard a noise like a sob from the phone.

“Yes, ma’am,” Phillip nodded. “Mother bless you, too, ma’am.” He slowly handed the phone back to Applejack behind the bar, who took it and placed it back on the receiver.

Phil glanced down at a paper spread out across the bar. Beneath the headlines of Monopoly's continued fight against growing scandal, two smaller pieces declared that the housing project would continue with funds from the crown, and the oil pipeline would be diverted to go around Ponyville.

“AJ. Bottle of Kanga-Rum, please,” Phillip said, sinking onto his stool. “Need to celebrate this.”

“Needs to get ready for round two, more like,” Daring sniggered, flicking her tail against his hindquarters. "Well, round seven, actually." He gave her a sideways look and half-smile, his ears turning slightly red.

“I’m just gonna pretend that I didn’t hear that,” Applejack said with a small smile as she retrieved the requested bottle from the rack behind her and brought it over. Bringing a glass up from beneath the bar, she poured Phillip a shot. “Gotta say, it’s about time,” she added.

“That’s what I said earlier!” Daring laughed.

“Shut up,” Phillip said, unable to hide his smile.

“Make me,” Daring cooed, giving him the lidded eyes with the sparkle that made Phillip’s spine (and other parts of his anatomy) tingle.

“Not in public, you two,” Applejack scolded, refilling Daring’s glass of cider.

“That’s the best damn cider I’ve ever had,” Daring said, watching the foamy liquid fill her glass to the brim.

“Aw, shucks, thanks,” Applejack said, trying to conceal a proud glow. “Say, you two alone again tonight?”

“Nah,” Phillip said. “Waiting on some friends.”

The bell over the door jingled and five ponies entered. Prowl walked in first, her eyes glowing faintly in the semi-darkness as she looked around. She was followed by Bumblebee, then Flash, and finally Maple Leaf with Skysong in a carrier. As Daring, Phil, and Applejack watched, Pinkie Pie bounced right up to them and greeted them with her usual cheer. Prowl looked slightly taken aback for a moment, but relaxed quickly after Pinkie Pie made some funny faces at Skysong and made her laugh. Maple Leaf shook hooves with Pinkie as Flash looked around and spotted Phillip. He waved at them.

“Best get you a table,” Applejack said, looking around the tavern. “Oh, hey, think you could share with my friends?” She pointed over at a larger circular table with a collection of multicolored balloons on it. The table only had five ponies around it: Twilight, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rara, and the rainbow-haired mare whose name Phillip and Daring didn’t know.

“You willing to join us?” Daring asked.

Applejack thought for a moment, then looked down towards the other end of the bar. A large red earth pony stallion was currently tugging on some oven mitts. “Hey, Big Mac!” Applejack called. “Think you can handle this for a while?”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac said, opening the wood oven, pulling out three covered plates, and sliding them down the bar towards their waiting customers.

“Thanks!” Applejack stepped out from behind the bar and followed Phillip and Daring over to the table. Phillip waved Flash and the others over and they joined them.

Flash paused some distance from the table, his face turning faintly red as his eyes locked on Twilight. "Flash!" Twilight cried, gesturing to the chair next to him.

“H-hi,” Flash said, sliding into the chair. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Oh, I come here with my friends a lot of the time,” Twilight said. “You’ve met Pinkie Pie. This is Rarity, Fluttershy, Rara, Applejack, and Rainbow Dash.”

“Hello!” Bumblebee said, waving cheerfully. The mares all waved back.

"Flash, are you all right?" Twilight asked, leaning in close to him, her eyes filled with concern. "I heard that Tinderspark kidnapped you, and you were in the hospital."

"I'm fine," Flash reassured her. "She beat me up a little, but didn't do anything really bad." He paused, his eyes suddenly distant. "Once or twice...she tried burning me with a lighter. I...I think she wanted me to show fear. But I didn't." He swallowed. "I think that might be why I'm still alive."

Twilight let out a soft gasp. "That sounds terrible."

"Really, I'm okay," Flash said. "But thank you for being concerned."

“You were the one who helped with the thundercloud,” Prowl said, looking at Fluttershy, who was sitting next to her.

Fluttershy shifted uncomfortably on her chair and lowered her head, seemingly trying to hide behind her mane. “Um, I was just doing what Daring told me to…”

“Don’t be so modest, Shy!” Rainbow Dash said. “Gathering up a stormcloud that big and keeping it under control in and of itself is awesome! Plus, you got to help Daring Do herself! The biggest bad guy asskicker ever! How is that not awesome?!”

Daring stared at Rainbow Dash, her expression one of befuddlement at her praise. Rainbow seemed to catch herself, then rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment, nervously grinning at Daring. “I’m...kind of a huge fan,” she admitted sheepishly.

“A...fan?” Daring asked, trying and failing to hide her puzzlement. “Um, thanks, I guess.”

“It was brave of you to help,” Prowl commented to Fluttershy, nodding approvingly. “I also saw you trying to intervene with the crowd earlier. I wish more ponies were like you.”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee agreed. “I mean, I get why they’re mad at us, but there are better ways to deal with it than screaming at us.”

Fluttershy seemed to think about it for a moment, then looked up. “Maybe we can find a better way right here,” she said with a smile.

Prowl smiled back. She, Bumblebee, and Fluttershy soon became enveloped in deep conversation.

“Hey, Daring...uh, Miss Do?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Daring’s fine,” Daring replied. “Miss Do makes me feel like an old lady.”

“You are old,” Phillip commented quietly, smirking. Daring playfully smacked him across the face with a wing.

“Can I have your autograph?” Rainbow Dash asked.

Daring stared at her for a few seconds, her face growing even hotter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Phillip smiling approvingly at her. “Sure,” she finally said, taking the notebook that Rainbow Dash handed to her and signing it. Rainbow Dash took it back, smiling broadly.

“You ever think about joining the Wonderbolts?” Rainbow asked Daring.

“I did see one of their shows once, when I was a filly,” Daring said. “Snuck out of my parent’s house to go see it.”

"They're awesome, aren't they?" Rainbow Dash asked enthusiastically.

"Yeah, they are," Daring agreed.

“I’m glad to see that my ward worked,” Twilight commented to Phillip.

“Saved our lives,” Phillip said. “Saved a lot of lives, in fact.”

“Including mine,” Flash added. “I guess I owe you my life, Twilight.”

“Oh, you don’t owe me anything,” Twilight said quickly. “I was just doing my part to help.”

“Well, I’m glad that we have an amazing mare like you on our side,” Flash smiled.

Twilight blushed and flattened her ears against her head at the praise. Flash covered his mouth with a hoof. “Oh, I, I didn’t mean to…” he started to say.

Rarity giggled. “Twilight, you didn’t tell me you had a coltfriend,” she teased.

“Wh-what?!” Twilight cried, her entire face turning as red as a tomato. “He’s not my coltfriend!”

“She’s not my marefriend!” Flash said simultaneously, blushing just as hard as Twilight.

Rarity just smirked knowingly and stirred her martini.

Flash cleared his throat. “So, how’s, uh, you-know-who?” he asked.

“Huh?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, you must mean Spike,” Rarity said. “He is such a little darling, isn’t he?”

“They know?” Phillip asked.

Twilight nodded, still fighting back her blush. “My closest friends here have all been to my house at some point or another, so…” She shrugged. “It means a lot to me that Spike has other ponies he can turn to. Anyway, he’s doing well,” she said to Flash. “He’s really looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow for card trading.” She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Keeps going on about how he’s going to finally get rid of some of his Joe Montaneigh cards.”

“I still can’t believe he has five of them,” Flash said. “I’ve been collecting for years, and I’ve never gotten even one!”

Twilight and Rarity both shot each other a weary smile that clearly said, Stallions.

“Okay, everypony, smile!” Pinkie called. Everypony looked up just in time to get blinded by a bright flash of light from Pinkie’s camera.

Pinkie pulled the picture out of the instant camera’s slot and held it up, grinning. “That’s a keeper!” she declared. She smiled broadly at them all and slid into the final remaining chair. “Isn’t it great to just spend time together, you guys?”

Skysong gurgled happily and clapped her hooves.

“I second that notion,” Bumblebee said with a grin.

Twilight raised her glass of vodka cranberry. “To friends, and to hope of better days!”

“Cheers,” everypony else said, raising their glasses as well and taking a long drink.

“This is not acceptable,” Silvertongue said, pacing up and down the length of the black and red room.

“Damn right it isn’t,’ Monopoly replied, glaring at his superior as he watched him pause at the large clock at the end of the room, looking up at the face as if he could divine some answers from there. “If it hadn’t been for Finder and Do’s meddling, I could’ve gotten a good million out of Phoenix. Instead, the city’s cutting me off completely, I only got a few hundred thousand bits, and to top it off, ponies are getting suspicious.” Monopoly pulled out a newspaper and tossed it onto the great table. Splashed across the front page was Monopoly himself, staring stoically ahead as he exited the police precinct, Detective Night Waltz at his side. The secondary headline read, “Business Mogul Under Investigation.”

“There was a time when no one in this city would have dared to touch us,” Monopoly growled. “And now this, all because of them!” He placed his hooves on the table and leaned forward to glare at Monopoly. “I want them gone,” he growled. “I want them dead.”

Silvertongue sat down at the table and placed his chin on his hooves. His coat of arms, the great hoof crushing the snake, framed his face as he pondered their dilemma.

“It won’t be easy,” he muttered, turning the newspaper over to reveal the real headline: “Private Eye and Ex-Thief Stop Terrorist!” Beneath the headline was a picture, taken from several feet away, of Finder being loaded into an ambulance, with Daring Do in her familiar pith helmet looking on, her back to the photographer.

“They are both too high-profile now; their deaths would be noticed and would trigger waves we could not turn back,” Silvertongue mused. “Also, we still have to deal with the rising threat of our new rivals.” He tapped his hooves together, then turned to look at the unicorn standing next to the door, casually smoking as though the conversation had nothing to do with him.

“Zugzwang, ideas,” he demanded.

Zugzwang slowly extracted the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a ring of smoke. “We cannot hope to fight a war on two fronts,” he stated calmly. “Phillip Finder and Daring Do have both made their moves and are gaining momentum, but they can be easily stalled. The apathy of the general populace is, after all, a strong force when used correctly.”

“So do nothing?” Monopoly snorted. “That’s what you suggest?”

“Why waste the energy killing a weed that will die by itself?” Zugzwang replied idly. “Besides, we have more important targets.” He leaned forward and faced Silvertongue over the table. “I have a name,” he whispered.

Silvertongue’s eyebrows raised in a silent command to continue.

“Scarlet Letter,” Zugzwang said. “She is the one who wishes to dispose of you.”

Silvertongue grunted. “Then let us give her a firm reminder of who is in charge in this city.” He turned to Monopoly. “Get every boss over here: Whitestone, Coin Toss, King Row, all of them. We are going to find this Scarlet Letter and end her little rebellion once and for all.”

Monopoly nodded, grinning, and retreated from the room. Silvertongue turned to Zugzwang, using his magic to open a closet and pulling out two bottles and two glasses. He filled one with Amontillado and the other with sparkling purple beerenauslese.

“Now, Zugzwang,” Silvertongue said, offering the glass of Gerwhin beer to his associate. “Tell me everything you know about Scarlet Letter.”

Case Five, Chapter One: Memories

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The breeze running through Memorial Circle in northwest Ponyville was cool, but not needlessly biting or harsh, just enough to make ponies shiver, tug harder on their coats, and nestle up closer to their special someponies.

The stands that had been set up around the concrete circle were packed full of ponies, their expressions pensive and quiet. In the center of the circle was the memorial itself, a tall granite obelisk column set in a fountain, topped by a bronze phoenix with its wings outspread. All four sides of the obelisk were inscribed with names. A flagpole was set on either side of the fountain. On the northern side was the flag of Ponyville, the city’s coat of arms displayed on a blue background. On the southern side was the flag of Equestria. This flag consisted of three horizontal stripes: blue on the top to represent pegasi, purple in the middle for unicorns, and green on the bottom for earth ponies. Three white six-pointed stars were in the purple stripe. Both flags flapped languidly in the breeze.

To the west of the memorial was a stage covered with a blue, purple, and green curtain. Standing behind a podium was Mayor Mare, tapping the microphones and causing a brief squeal of feedback through the speakers. Sitting behind her on a row of folding chairs were a few other ponies, including Chief Chilled Tumbler, who would look rather regal in his formal police uniform if he wasn’t nodding off in his chair. A line of ponies in military dress uniforms sat in front of the stage, given the seat of honor. Right behind them was the usual crowd of press ponies, their microphones and notebooks at the ready.

Mayor Mare cleared her throat and took in a breath. “Good morning, ladies and gentleponies,” she announced through the microphones, her voice cutting through the air and bringing everypony’s attention to her. “Five years ago on this day, the eleventh of the Moon of Frost, 1944, a peace treaty was signed between Princesses Celestia and Luna and the newly crowned Crystal Empress, Princess Cadenza, ending four years of bloodshed and violence between Equestria and the Crystal Empire. Many of you here will remember the role that Ponyville played in that war, and of the sacrifices that our neighbors and families made during the Crystal War…”

She continued, speaking of how many Ponyville citizens had served and died on the front lines, and how all citizens in Ponyville had served their part. Towards the back of one of the stands, Daring Do nestled up against Phillip, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Did you serve?” she asked him. “In the war?”

“No,” Phillip replied. “I was eligible to be drafted, but they decided that I was worth more as a cop than a soldier. But I knew a lot of officers that volunteered or were drafted. Good ponies.” He blinked. “Most of them didn’t come back.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “What was it like for you?” he asked.

“The thing I remember the most was the bomb raids,” Daring said. “Sometimes, Sparks and I would use them as opportunities; when the sirens went off, we’d wait a few minutes for everypony to get to the shelters, then hit a few houses.” Noticing the look on Phil’s face, she chuckled softly and added, “We only hit ponies who could afford the losses, don’t worry. And we gave a lot of that away to food shelves and stuff, for homeless ponies: Mojo would've been furious if he found out.” The smile evaporated from her face after a moment. “But there was always a chance...every time I went out during a raid, whenever I heard the planes overhead, I thought, ‘Is this it?’ One time, one plane hit the building I was in only a couple minutes after I got out.”

“That was dangerous,” Phillip said in a scolding manner.

“About as dangerous as taking on a psychopathic terrorist for hire who can throw fireballs?” Daring smirked.

Phillip looked down at her for a few moments, then smirked and let out a quiet laugh through his nostrils. “Fair,” he admitted.

“—the defeat of the Changeling Empire after the wedding of Shining Armor and Princess Cadenza, and the death of King Sombra allowed the Crystal Empire and Equestria to begin the long road to recovery,” Mayor Mare was saying. “And today, both nations are strong once more, and our alliance is as firm as ever. To commemorate the lives that were lost, and that their sacrifice might be remembered and honored, please welcome our own Lyra Heartstrings and the Green Clovers!”

The crowd applauded as a small band, led by a mint green unicorn with a lyre for a cutie mark, stepped up onto the stage and set themselves up on chairs, gathering their instruments. There was a pregnant pause, then Lyra began the song with a strumming of her lyre strings, which shuddered through the air. The lyre was joined by a drum, then a pair of pipes. Lyra closed her golden eyes and began to sing a slow ballad, every syllable heavy with emotion:

“As down the glen one early morn,
To a city fair walked I,
There marching lines of colts and mares
In squadrons passed me by.
No voice did brag, no battle flag
Did its proud colors show;
But brass bugles shrill o’er the northern hills
Called out from the bloodstained snow.”

The pipes sang out a brief melody while Lyra drew breath, and she began to sing again:

“Right proudly high in ev’ry town
They sent out the call of war.
‘Twas better to die ‘neath a free blue sky
Than to bend ‘neath a tyrant’s bar.
From humble plains and royal streets,
Brave souls rushed to and fro
While Sombra’s Huns, with their long-range guns,
Marched south through the bloodstained snow.”

Again, a pause for the pipes to sing out a brief bridge, and then the next verse::

“Oh, the night fell black, and the rifles' cracks
Made our fair kingdom reel.
In the leaden rain, tongues of magic flame
Did scream o’er the lines of steel
By each shining blade, a prayer was said:
To Equestria our loyalty show!
When the sun does rise, still our proud flag flies
In defiance of bloodstained snow.”

There was another pause, during which Lyra’s body tensed up as though she were bracing herself for the next stanza, then:

“The bravest fell, and the funeral bells
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died over land and tide
In the fighting of four years
While the world did gaze, with deep amaze,
At these souls with bravery endowed,
Who bore the fight so freedom’s light
Might melt away the bloodstained snow.”

The pipes wailed out in harmony with the lyre, while the drums beat out their time. Daring looked around during the bridge, watching the faces of the ponies sitting around them. Prowl was sitting in the same row as them to their right, dressed in her police dress uniform. She sat stiffly at attention, her eyes on the fluttering Equestrian flag, and Daring noticed that tears were running silently down her cheeks. Her husband, Maple Leaf, was sitting next to her in a semi-formal vest and tie, his hoof grasping hers; their daughter Skysong was fast asleep in a carrier hanging from his chest. Bumblebee was sitting directly behind Prowl, and he was also crying in silence.

Below her and to the left, she spotted Flash Sentry sitting next to his mother, Joyful Sound. Her head was on his shoulder, and he had a wing draped around her, holding her close. Twilight Sparkle was sitting not far from him; she noticed them both sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

Applejack was on the row in front of Twilight, sitting with Big Mac, a small yellow filly with a pink bow, and an old green mare. All four of them were hugging, and Applejack had her hat pressed against her chest with a hoof. Rarity, Rainbow Dash, and Fluttershy were all sitting nearby in a group.

Daring turned behind her and noticed Trace Evidence and Red Herring. Neither of them was in dress uniforms, but they both had taken the opportunity to dress up slightly better than normal: Red was wearing a pressed gray vest and tie, and Trace’s trenchcoat was much cleaner than normal. Both stallions nodded respectfully to her.

She turned back towards the stage as the music slowed and Lyra began to sing again:

“As...back through the glen...I came again,
And my heart with grief was sore…
For I parted there, with stallions and mares,
Whom I never shall see more…”

Her voice quivered, her chest heaving for a moment, but she forced herself onwards:

“But to and fro...in my dreams I go…
And I weep...for names I’ll never know…”

Her voice went up too high, her overwhelming emotion causing her to momentarily lose control. Tears were running from her eyes, which were now screwed tightly shut, and her lyre shook her hooves. The other band players paused, looking at her, all of them beginning to weep as well.

“For tyranny fled…” Lyra gasped out the last few lines acapella. “Oh, glorious dead...when you fell in the bloodstained snow.”

There was a moment of trembling silence as the song ended; the audience sat as though stunned while Lyra slumped in her seat, weeping. Then the applause started, the crowd stomping their hooves against the stands and cheering to signal their approval.

Lyra sniffled and got back to her hooves, wiping her eyes and smiling. “Thank you,” she croaked out to the crowd. Her band gathered around her in a group hug, then Lyra broke off to shake the mayor’s hoof, receiving a hug from her as well.

“Thank you, ladies and gentleponies,” Mayor Mare said, shaking hooves with the rest of the band members as they exited the stage. She then stepped back up to the podium. “In conclusion, I’d like us all to remember that we must not take our freedom and our lives for granted. Threats will come, and not all of them will be overt.”

“And some of them are very overt,” Daring muttered, her eyes panning to some of the ponies in the chairs behind Mayor Mare. Charles August Silvertongue sat straight-backed in his chair, a small smile that served as a very thin mask for his boredom. To his left stood one of his bodyguards, Secure Lock, dressed in a suit, tie, and sunglasses. Though she couldn’t see his eyes through the tinted lenses, the green unicorn’s head snapped up towards her, giving her the impression that he was looking at her.

“But we all must stand together to face them,” the mayor implored. “Despite our differences, in the end, we are all ponies of one city and nation, and it is what is in our hearts and not what is on our faces that truly counts.”

Daring scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Politicians,” she muttered.

“So, to conclude our ceremony today, will you please rise and join me in the singing of our national anthem,” Mayor Mare said.

As one, the crowd rose up on its hooves and faced the fluttering national flag. Phillip and Daring both doffed their hats and placed them over their hearts, looking up at the flag as a brass band began a slow introduction.

“O Equestria!” the ponies sang as one, their voices joining together in some semblance of harmony. “Our home and native land!
True friendship and love in all your creatures commands!
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The land of harmony free
From far and wide
O Equestria, we stand on guard for thee!”

The band finished the anthem with a flourish that garnered another round of applause from the crowd. Now dismissed, the gathered ponies began to flow out of the Memorial Circle. A few ponies walked up to the obelisk, while the press ponies mobbed the mayor and the esteemed veterans.

Daring stretched her wings as she followed Phillip down the steps. “You wanna hang around and say hi to some ponies?”

Phillip seemed to think about it for a few seconds of silence. Daring saw his eyes panning over towards Flash Sentry, who was guiding his mother towards the memorial. Prowl and Bumblebee both walked up to them and began a conversation. After a moment, Joyful Sound stepped forward and raised her forelegs towards Prowl who, after a moment of hesitation, stepped forward and hugged her.

“No,” Phillip said quietly, a twinge of regret in his voice. “Let’s give them some time to themselves for this.”

Daring looked over at the small group of the Apple clan that was gathered in a knot, staring up at the obelisk and talking amongst themselves, then sighed and nodded. “Yeah.” They turned and walked off respectfully, joining the flow of other ponies.

Daring noticed Silvertongue out of the corner of her eye, following behind Secure Lock as his bodyguard pushed the crowd aside. Reaching a flashy red car, Lock opened up the back door and held it for his boss, then climbed into the driver’s seat and the car pulled away, disappearing down a side street. She scowled at the vehicle and its occupant.

“Besides, we have other things,” Phillip muttered. “Like Scarlet Letter.”

Daring frowned. “We’ve been searching for anything ever since I met her, and we’ve come up with zip. Maybe she’s using a false name.”

“Likely,” Phillip agreed. “But I’m still working on tracking down her face and cutie mark. Might find something in the national records.”

“What about Janus? Her informant?” Daring asked. “You followed up about that, right?”

“Dead end,” Phillip scowled. “Different ponies bring the messages down to the Foal Free Press every time. Not enough info to work on.”

“Damn,” Daring snarled, kicking at a loose bit of gravel. “Why do some criminals have to be smart? The dumb ones are easier to deal with.”

“Just takes one mistake,” Phillip replied calmly, placing a hoof on her shoulder as they started up Honeybee Bakery. The familiar blue two-story with the hanging sign over the door was within sight. Instead of just a magnifying glass, it now had a magnifying glass and a compass rose. Beneath it was a simple title: “FINDER AND DO.”

“Could they fuck up a little faster?” Daring grumbled. “At least before next Thursday, I’m drying my hair then.”

Phillip chuckled quietly and looped a foreleg over her shoulders, briefly squeezing her to his side as he stepped up onto the porch before reaching out towards the mailbox.

“At least somepony thinks I’m funny,” Daring smiled as Phillip opened up the mailbox and started sorting through the bills and advertisements inside. “Hey, with a bit more practice, I could try stand-up if we ever lose the PI business…”

Her voice trailed off as both of their eyes focused on a single envelope. This envelope was a shade of very feminine pink, and the address was written in bright red ink. The return address was missing: in its place was a single word, “Scarlet.”

Without a word, both ponies hurried inside. Phillip carried the envelope over to the experiment table in the living room, pushing aside the jars of poison and setting the envelope down beneath the table-set magnifying glass.

“You think it’s poisoned or something?” Daring asked.

“Nopony’s stupid enough to put their own name on a poisoned letter,” Phillip said, turning the envelope over in his hooves. “Local postmark, common stamp.” He sniffed it. “No sign of perfume. Nothing that can really be traced back to her.”

He took out a letter opener and sliced the envelope open and extracted the letter, unfolding it. Neatly written on the sheet of pink paper was a message in flowing cursive.

Dear Mr. Finder and Ms. Do,
I am certain that you are not happy to receive a letter from yours truly, but in truth, I believe that I will be needing your assistance soon. In fact, I strongly believe that we can help each other and start a strong working relationship.
Secrecy has always been a necessity for me, but recently, our mutual friend Mr. Silvertongue has been putting a lot of pressure on me and has come uncomfortably close to catching me numerous times. I’ve had to go even deeper underground to protect myself and my crew, and because of this, there is not much I can do to help the pony that I am so concerned about.
His name is Headline Jot. He’s a reporter for the Foal Free Press. For the past several months, he has been gathering evidence against the mobs that rule this city, particularly Monopoly, who is in charge of most of the money that funds Silvertongue’s empire. However, the mob is onto him, and I have reason to suspect that they are already sending assassins after him. You must protect Mr. Jot; the evidence that he has accumulated could prove to be the undoing of Silvertongue and his rule. You would save many lives.
He lives in the Dockside District, at 782 Flotsam Street. I’d suggest you hurry over.
I wish you good luck,
Scarlet Letter.
P.S. I hope you enjoy the book!

“What book?” Daring asked.

“Worry about that later,” Phillip said, studying the letter. "Hang on, there's another postscript."

P.P.S. By the way, this letter has been charmed to burst into flame and burn to ashes sixty seconds after being opened, so I do hope you're fast readers!

And sure enough, as soon as Phillip read the last line, the letter abruptly burst into flames as though somepony had held an invisible match to it. He dropped the letter in shock, but the entire letter crumbled into nothingness as it fell, quickly vanishing into a pile of ashes on the carpet. Both ponies stared at the ashes for a moment, then looked at each other.

"What do you think?" Daring asked.

“Even if she's lying, we’d best check this out,” Phillip said.

“You know she’s going to want something for herself out of this,” Daring commented.

“Obviously,” Phillip replied. “But if it’s a chance to take down Monopoly and Silvertongue, I’m all for it.”

“Me too,” Daring nodded, placing her hat on her head. “Let’s fly.”

“Must we?” Phillip protested feebly, knowing what the answer was already.

Daring just opened the door for him and gave him a smirk that clearly said “Yes.”

“I thought so,” Phillip sighed, walking out the door before her and holding his hat onto his head with a hoof.

“Think of it this way,” Daring said, grasping him beneath the forelegs and taking off into the air. “I’m faster than a taxi, and you don’t need to pay me.”

“Taxis stay on the ground and they don’t do barrel rolls and flips,” Phillip commented, watching the city fly past several feet beneath his hooves.

“You mean like this?” Daring asked, her grin becoming wicked.

Phillip’s eyes widened. “No, no, don’t—Daaaaarrriiiiiiiinnnng!”

Author's Notes:

One of these days, Daring's going to have to have seatbelts and airsickness bags installed.

The Bloodstained Snow was inspired by The Foggy Dew, an Irish ballad commemorating the Easter Rising of 1916. I used The Chieftain's version of the song as a base but added one stanza.

Equestria's national anthem is, of course, inspired by O Canada. The Equestrian national flag was based on this fanmade version. I considered using the official version from the show, but because the alicorns aren't as integral to Equestria in this AU, I decided to do one that focused more on the foundations of Equestria: the ponies and the three tribes.

No prologue for this one: going straight into the case! Hope you're looking forward to it!

Like what you read? Please leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Five, Chapter Two: The Dockside Disappearance

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Flotsam Street was one of the oldest streets in Ponyville, a long wide road that was first built as a fast route for workers to carry goods and materials from the harbor to the markets and factories of what would become the Industrial District; naturally, it also came to be known as a place for weary sailors to waste their shore leave and pay. Homes, apartments for the more well-off citizens, and small shops hawking food, clothing, drinks, and sex lined the street.

Number 782 was a three-story brick and mortar apartment building located right across the street from a red-light establishment. Daring glanced over her shoulder at the shop while Phillip ran his hoof down the list of names on the doorway.

“Hey, they’ve got special pricing for couples,” she commented, reading the sign advertising prices next to the flashing neon display of a unicorn mare laying on her chest, lazily kicking her hind legs up in the air.

“Stay focused,” Phillip replied without looking up. “Ah, here he is. Headline Jot, apartment 19.”

They both pushed open the unlocked doorway and started walking up the stairs to the second floor. They rounded the landing and found themselves standing in front of a long hallway with doors lining either wall. Number 19 was on their left, the number displayed in golden letters on the white door.

Phillip knocked at the door. “Mr. Jot?” he called. There was no answer. Frowning, Phillip knocked harder. “Mr. Jot!”

Again, nothing.

“I’ll check to see if there’s a window,” Daring said, heading back downstairs. Phillip heard the front door open and close, accompanied by the sound of wings beating against the air. A door unlocked farther down the hall. Phillip looked up to see a young female griffon peering out her open door at him. Her yellow eyes fixed themselves on his cutie mark, then she quickly ducked back into her apartment. He heard the latch click shut a moment later.

Thirty seconds later, the front door opened again and Daring flew back up the stairs, banking hard and kicking off the wall on the landing to alight in front of him.

“We need to get in there,” she said breathlessly, crouching by the door and pulling her set of lockpicks out of the hidden pocket in her money pouch. She inserted the pick and tension wrench into the keyhole and defeated the lock in just under six seconds. Pushing open the door, Phillip led the way into the apartment.

The apartment was a modest, but elegant affair. A short hallway led into a sitting room with two sofas and a coffee table, upon which sat a tin of Black Bear chewing tobacco. There was a large radio set in the corner, next to a hutch with several glasses sitting atop it and a bookshelf. Adjoining the sitting room was a combined kitchen and dining room.

The place had been ransacked. Cushions were thrown off the sofas, the glasses on the hutch had been shoved aside, cupboard doors were laying open, their contents spilled all over the floor and counters. Books from the bookshelf were scattered all over the floor amongst the remnants of a wall clock like bodies after a battle. On the far wall of the apartment was a broken window, shards of glass laying atop some of the books and a cushion from the sofa.

“Looks like somepony else was looking for Jot,” Daring commented, panning her eyes over the scene. “Klutzy thieves; all this would’ve made quite a bit of noise, and there’s no organization to it. Plus, why’d they bother going through the cupboards?”

“Jot could’ve been hiding something in there,” Phillip stated, slowly walking into the apartment, his eyes darting everywhere in search of clues.

“Maybe, but only a rank amateur could pull a job like this,” Daring replied. “If it were me, I wouldn’t be wasting time fucking around in the cilantro—the heck is cilantro, anyway?” she muttered, mainly to herself. “I’d just get in, grab whatever valuables I could snatch up, and get out without making too much of a mess.”

“Might not be a petty burglar,” Phillip suggested. “Could be looking for something else.”

“Could be,” Daring admitted. “But if I had something important I wanted to hide, I wouldn’t put it in an unlocked cupboard. If I were too cheap for a safe, I can list off a dozen better places to hide something that would be easy to get to, but that most ponies wouldn’t find by accident.”

“Let’s keep looking,” Phillip said. They proceeded down a hallway that led to two doors. One door opened into a small bedroom with a double bed, a dresser, and a small closet. Only one side of the bed was rumpled. The room appeared to have been completely untouched, as the books atop the dresser were all standing in a neat row and the drawers remained closed. A daily calendar on the dresser was turned to the eleventh.

“Bedrooms are probably the first place I’d hit if I were hitting the place,” Daring commented. “Most ponies don’t keep their jewelry and shit in the living room.”

The other door opened into an office that had a desk covered in stacks of papers, with a pristine typewriter sitting in the middle of the organized chaos. More bookshelves lined one wall, groaning under the weight of several books, most of which seemed to be concerned with the history of Ponyville and the surrounding area, and binders stuffed with papers. A reel-to-reel tape recorder, about half the size of a small suitcase, sat on the floor next to several stacks of reels, some of which were labeled in marker with dates and interviewee names. A can labeled Brown Bear Smokeless Tobacco sat on the desk.

One wall was lined with framed copies of newspaper articles from the Foal Free Press. A theme quickly became apparent from a glance over the headlines: “Corruption in Local Auto Industry: Foreponies Take Bribes to Overlook Deadly Flaws!” “City Official Complicit with Sex Slavery Ring!” “Illegal Guns Flood City Streets: Where is it All Coming From?”

“Somepony’s got a hobby,” Daring commented, looking at the one photograph in the entire place. The picture showed Mayor Mare shaking hooves with a unicorn stallion with a white coat, two-toned ink black and light blue hair to include a short beard and mustache, glasses, and the cutie mark of a typewriter. He was wearing a powder blue suit with a black and white-striped tie, smiling broadly at the mayor.

Phillip studied the pony for several seconds, then turned to the stacks of papers on the desk. All of them were hornwritten, but the squiggles of ink were so small and short that they were totally illegible.

“Can you read any of this?” Daring asked, tilting a notepad to one side as though that might help. “Is this a code or just sloppy writing?”

“Dunno,” Phillip replied, turning to the desk drawers and trying each of them one by one. All of them were locked, save one. This drawer, however, was completely empty, save for one detail: a couple strands of blue hair. Phillip plucked some of it out with a set of tweezers and placed it into a small plastic bag from his vest.

“Can have Suunkii take a look at that,” he said, placing the bag back into his vest.

“Hey!” a voice called from the front doorway. “Who’s in here?”

Phillip and Daring exited the office and looked out into the hallway to find two police officers entering the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” one of them, a blue earth pony corporal with a bushy brown beard growled at Phillip. He had a cutie mark of a billowing sail.

“Following a lead,” Phillip replied, his tone flat and emotionless.

“Not anymore you’re not,” said the officer, whose nametag identified him as Trade Wind. “This is the scene of an ongoing investigation, and you’re trespassing. Both of you, out.”

Daring glared at the officer for a moment, but Phillip shook his head in warning. The two of them exited the apartment quietly, and the door slammed shut behind them.

“Assholes,” Daring grumbled.

“Leave it be,” Phillip said, already descending the stairs. “That told us a couple things.”

“What?” Daring asked.

“This break-in was recent: calendar was to today’s date and the clock stopped this morning,” Phillip stated. “The police already know about it, but they’re keeping it quiet. And there’s one other thing: break-in was faked.”

“You sure?” Daring asked, pushing the door to the apartment building open.

“You saw the same things I did,” Phillip said. “There was one detail that gives it away.”

Daring pondered in silence for a few moments, then her eyes lit up. “The glass from the window,” she said. “It was on top of the cushions and books. The window was broken after the place was trashed.”

“Good onya,” Phillip said with an approving nod. “So there’s more to this than a burglary.”

As they walked past the empty cruiser that the two officers had arrived in, the radio inside suddenly crackled to life.

“Any available units, APB on vehicle for Headline Jot update: vehicle spotted at Goldbeak’s Wharf. Any units to respond, Code Three…”

That was all Daring needed to hear. Before Phillip could say anything, he found himself being carried up into the air, the ground flying away from his hooves.

“You could at least warn me!” he snapped at his pilot.

Goldbeak’s Wharf, named for the immigrant griffon who had first dominated Ponyville’s fledgling shipping industry in the eighteenth century, was a stretch of flat concrete that touched on the northern banks of the Maresippi River. A tugboat sat in the water next to a dock, ready to bring any larger ships in close to receive or drop off cargo. A little farther north was a tangled route of train tracks, some of which had empty boxcars, gondolas, and other freight cars waiting to carry cargo into the city or further into Equestria. Dull gray office buildings and warehouses lined the concrete. As Daring approached, a train clattered along one of the tracks, generating a great cacophony of metallic noise.

A two-door green Chevroneigh sat abandoned in the middle of the train tracks, looking as out of place as a tomato stain on a white wall. Spotting it from the air, Daring swooped down and landed next to it. Their hooves crunched in the white gravel, the ground beneath it still muddy from the early morning rain and mist.

“No tracks here,” Phillip muttered, scanning the ground. “Gravel’s no good for it. Maybe a unicorn could--” He paused, looking at the ground next to the driver’s side door of the car. Daring looked down and spotted it as well: a pair of bullet cartridges, laying in the gravel.

Both of them looked up into the car. The driver’s side window was down, giving them both a good view inside. The interior of the car looked like a slaughterhouse: both seats, the dashboard, and the windows were smeared with blood, as though somepony had used it to paint.

Daring flinched, taking a half-step back away from the car. “Holy shit,” she muttered.

Phillip, impassive as ever, studied the interior of the car in silence, then slowly began to walk around the car, scanning the ground and the exterior of the vehicle. “The ground beneath the car is still wet,” he reported. “Car got here this morning.”

“Excuse me, are you with the police?” a voice called. Phillip and Daring looked up to see a male griffon walking towards them. He had a dark chocolate brown coat with yellow-white plumage and green eyes. He was wearing a reflective vest and a hard hat.

“That’s close enough,” Phillip said, approaching him with his hoof raised. “This is a crime scene, you might step on something.”

“Sorry,” the griffon said, pausing.

“You called this in?” Phillip asked.

“Yeah,” the griffon nodded. “Name’s Clyde. I was working here on my shift, doing a count of the cars and checking the rails, when I saw the car parked out there in the middle of nowhere. I went up to take a look, saw the blood, and ran to call the police.”

“You didn’t see anypony else around?” Phillip asked.

“No, sir,” Clyde shook his head. “And that car definitely wasn’t here when I got on shift at seven o’clock this morning. I’d have seen it as I flew over the yard.”

Daring glanced down at her watch and noted that it was currently eleven-thirteen.

“That’s helpful, thanks,” Phillip nodded.

“You didn’t hear any gunshots or anything?” Daring asked.

“This far out from anypony, with all the noise of the trains and ships and stuff, you could have a marching band go through here and nopony would hear it,” Clyde remarked.

“Privacy and a nice view of the river,” Daring remarked. “Perfect place for a murder.”

Clyde stared at her like he didn’t know what to make of her. “Pay no attention to her, it’ll just encourage her,” Phillip muttered.

At that moment, there was a crunching of tires on gravel and two more cars pulled up to the scene, parking several meters away. One of them was a cruiser, the other was a bright red Pontifact Series 26 convertible with the top down. Two police officers, one of whom Phillip recognized as Creek Dancer, stepped out of the cruiser and approached, followed by the stallion from the convertible. Said stallion was a dark purple earth pony with silvery blue hair and mustache, his eyes glittering with a smirk. He was dressed in an eye-catching yellow suit and a black fedora.

“Oh, good to see you two here!” he called, waving in good humor as he stepped forward.

“Night Waltz,” Phillip scowled. “What stakes does vice have in this?”

“I’m responding to the APB, simply doing my civic duty,” Night Waltz replied, signaling for the two officers to begin establishing a perimeter. “With you two on this case already, the three of us should be able to solve this one in no time.”

“Careful,” Daring commented. “If you do any actual work, you might crease the suit.”

Night Waltz frowned at her. “I don’t insult your fashion sense,” he said coldly. “Walking around in that ridiculous helmet of yours, I’m amazed you don’t get laughed out of every building you walk into.”

Daring glared back at him. “Least I don’t feel the need to look like I shop at Pimps R’ Us.”

“I’d like to see you afford a suit like this!” Night Waltz snapped back.

“If you want to look like a clown, you don’t need to spend six hundred bits for it,” Daring replied, ignoring Phil’s attempts to push her back. “You can just join the circus. They could probably use somepony like you!”

Night Waltz growled and looked like he was going launch himself at Daring when another car pulled up. A Hayson Commodore. The doors opened and Trace Evidence exited, tugging his trenchcoat up around his shoulders.

“Wave off, Waltz,” Trace said flatly, clearly done with this shit already. “This isn’t your jurisdiction.”

“I beg your pardon, sergeant,” Night Waltz replied, quickly recollecting himself. “I was merely offering my assist--”

“There’s blood in that car. That makes this a murder case, not vice,” Trace cut him off. “Go find a pimp to slap around, or I’ll call the captain on you.”

Night Waltz scowled and quickly stomped back to his car, looking mutinous. He threw it in reverse and drove away, disappearing around a bend.

Phillip let out a relieved breath. “Thanks, mate.”

“You couldn’t have waited for a couple minutes?” Daring huffed.

“Unfortunately, assaulting a police officer is a crime, and being an asshole isn’t,” Trace Evidence commented dryly. “What have we got?”

“Clyde called it in,” Phillip said, gesturing at Clyde. The griffon waved feebly, looking a little overwhelmed by all the new developments. “Car parked here sometime between eight and now.”

Trace gestured for Officer Creek Dancer to take Clyde aside for a statement, then walked carefully over to the driver’s side door. He noted the position of the two cartridges on the ground, then bent to look in the window. “Shit,” he commented. “Well, if our reporter friend was in there, he had a bad time.”

“Look again,” Phillip said calmly.

Trace glanced up at Phillip, then turned to look back into the car. A frown traced its way across his face. “Yeah, you’re right, Phil. Somepony wants us to think that Jot’s dead.”

“What?” Daring asked. “What do you mean?”

“Look in there again,” Phillip said, stepping aside. “What do you see?”

Daring took a quick look into the car, then looked away. “I see a whole fucking lot of blood.”

“Yes, but it’s smeared,” Phillip said. “Not sprayed, like it would be with an actual gunshot. Looks like somepony just took the blood and wiped it all over the place. And there’s no void space.”

“Void?” Daring asked.

“If there was somepony sitting in the front seat who got shot, then there’d be an outline in the blood where they were sitting,” Trace said. “There’s not.”

“Trace, can you do a tracking spell?” Phillip asked.

“I’ll try,” Trace muttered. He closed his eyes and lit up his horn. Phillip and Daring both stepped back as Trace cast his magic around. After a few seconds, faintly glowing gold hoofprints appeared on the ground.

“That’s us, the officers, and Waltz,” Phillip said, shaking his head. “Keep trying.”

Trace’s brow furrowed in concentration and he let out a quiet grunt of effort as he pushed more energy into the spell. More tracks appeared, those of a griffon approaching the car, then quickly running away again. Finally, more hoofprints appeared on the ground, exiting the car and walking a short distance away before disappearing.

Phillip crouched over the prints, frowning at them. “Damn. Can’t get any detail out of that.”

“No sign of teleportation or flight magic,” Trace commented. “Looks like they just flew away.”

“But Jot is a unicorn,” Daring said.

“So a pegasus or a griffon drove here, most likely,” Phillip said, looking into the car again. “No sign of any feathers...what’s this?”

Trace looked over his shoulder and spotted what Phillip had seen: a small clump of hairs on the seat. He plucked them up with his magic and held them out to Phillip, who dropped them into a plastic bag from his vest. He pulled out the bag from Jot’s apartment and held it up to compare. The hairs seemed to match.

“We’ll have to impound the car and do a more thorough search,” Trace said as Phillip tucked both bags into his vest. “Suunkii will probably be able to do something with this.”

“So, if I’ve got this right,” Daring said, casting a brief glance over at the two police officers, both of whom were standing too far away to hear them. “Somepony wants us to think that Headline Jot is dead.”

“Looks that way,” Phillip stated. “And that same somepony took something out of Jot’s desk.”

“Whatever it was, it must be something that got him into trouble,” Trace said.

“And chances are, the mob’s looking for him,” Phillip added. “Which means we’ve got to find him first.”

Daring paused, her eyes sliding over to Trace. Her heart beat out a warning tattoo against her ribs and she started to pull away. Trace looked up at her, his face creasing in confusion. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Daring said, quickly looking away.

Trace shrugged. “I’ll let you know what I turn up. In the meantime, it’d be smart if you two head down to the Foal Free Press and start asking about Jot.”

“Agreed. Drop these off at Suunkii on the way there,” Phillip said. “Daring?”

Daring nodded, spreading her wings and taking off. Grasping Phil underneath the forelegs, she took off into the air, headed northwest towards the city center and the police precinct.

“What’s wrong?” Phillip asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the officers.

“You know that there’s a mole in the PPD,” Daring said. "How else did Twisted Root find us at the motel? And how did Tinderspark know that we were coming and decide to run off?"

"I know," Phillip nodded.

“Are you sure that it’s not Trace?” Daring asked.

“If he wanted to screw us over, he’s had a dozen chances already,” Phillip replied.

“True…” Daring said slowly, her tone making it clear that she wasn’t fully convinced.

“We’ll be careful, all right?” Phillip said.

“Okay,” Daring nodded. There was a pause, then she added, “And what’s wrong with my helmet?”

“Nothing,” Phillip said. “I mean, it’s not really something that you see in the city, but I like it. It’s sturdy, adventurous. It’s you.”

Daring considered his words for a moment, then let out a brief huff through her nostrils. “Yeah, why should I let that clown tell me how to dress? Dude dresses like he’s colorblind or something.”

“Yeah, that yellow is really hard on the eyes,” Phillip agreed as they flew over the rooftops of Ponyville.

Case Five, Chapter Three: Hot News

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Daring dropped down in front of the Ponyville Police Precinct and she and Phillip walked through the doors into the lobby. Automatically, Daring’s eyes went up towards the surveillance crystal up in the ceiling overhead, staring down at visitors. Somewhere in this building, somepony was watching her right now, staring at her projected image.

Her eyes roved around the lobby itself. There were a few ponies sitting on the old, tacky seats, including a middle-aged brown zebra mare. As soon as the mare made eye contact with her, she looked away, frowning. A couple police officers shouldered past them through the door; she felt them shooting glares at them over their shoulders. The desk sergeant glared down at them from his high chair behind the desk.

Phillip led her over to the doorway to the offices and pushed through. They trotted down the hallway to the door at the end, entered the stairwell behind it, and descended the stairs to the basement. The sound of a string quartet playing a lively tune guided them into the laboratory.

Inside the laboratory, Doctor Suunkii was watching Twilight, who was squealing in delight as she bent over what appeared to be two microscopes conjoined with a single eyepiece. “Just imagine!” she was saying. “Hair samples, ballistic comparisons, all made so much easier! You know, it’s such a simple idea, combining two microscopes into one, I can’t believe that nopony thought of it earlier!”

Suunkii looked up at Phillip and Daring as they entered and gave them a small smile. “It appears that Hearth’s Warming has come early,” he commented.

“Geez, Twilight, take a breath,” Daring commented. “You won’t impress Flash if you go over the edge that easily.”

Twilight’s entire head turned red as a tomato and she started sputtering at Daring in mixed anger and shock. Daring smirked back at her.

“Suun, we’ve got some hairs for you to look at,” Phillip said, ignoring the two mares as he approached Suunkii. He pulled the two bags with the hairs out of his vest and handed them to Suunkii. “Found one of these at a reporter’s apartment, and the other in his car.”

“Am I to assume that this reporter is a pony of interest?” Doctor Suunkii said, examining both of the hairs.

“Yes,” Phillip said. “Faked death. Mob after him.”

“I see,” Doctor Suunkii said. “Well, Twilight Sparkle, it appears that an opportunity to use our new comparison microscope has come sooner than you anticipated.”

Twilight’s face lit up and she let out a squeal of joy. “I just polished the lenses! This is going to be great!” she said, taking both of the bags and carefully placing the contents on separate slides.

“Nerd,” Daring said beneath her breath.

“Need to check in at the Foal Free Press,” Phillip said. “Keep us posted.”

Twilight looked up at him and cleared her throat. Phillip sighed. “Please let us know what you find out,” he mumbled.

“We will, thank you,” Twilight said, placing her eyes back to the scope. Her frown was quickly replaced by several soft cries and squeals of delight.

Daring and Phillip both made to exit the laboratory, but as Phillip reached the threshold, Suunkii called him back. “Phillip.”

Phil paused and turned around to look at Suunkii. The zebra was looking back at him, his lower lip slightly extended in a frown and his head tilted to one side a bit. He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “Be careful.”

“I will, Suun,” Phillip replied with a nod, turning to exit. Daring was waiting for him outside.

She frowned at him and jerked her head towards the laboratory door. “You trust him?”

“As much as I trust you,” Phillip said without hesitation.

“And her?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Phillip answered. "They're not the mole. They can’t be.”

“You trying to convince me, or yourself?” Daring asked, raising an eyebrow.

Phillip looked at her for a moment, his face as infuriatingly inscrutable as always, then turned away. “Let’s just get to the Press,” he said.

Daring glared at the back of his head for a moment, then sighed. She glanced back at the door to the laboratory; she could hear Suunkii and Twilight in deep discussion.

“I hope you’re right,” she muttered and followed Phillip out of the precinct.

The offices of the Foal Free Press were located in the Financial District, a five-story glass and steel edifice that towered over its neighbors. The title of the paper was spelled out in two-foot-high steel letters on the roof of the tower. Two security guards stood sentinel next to the revolving doors; the black dog’s head logos on the sleeves of their uniforms indicated that they were members of Cerberus Security.

Phillip and Daring both approached the doors, but the security guards, as one, moved to block them. “No entry,” one of them growled.

“We’re here to investigate a case,” Phillip stated.

“We know who you are, snoop,” the guard snarled at him. “The police were here earlier, and they told us not to let you or your partner in.” He glared at Daring. “Like we need snoops and thieves like you making a mess of the place.”

Daring’s curse mark burned red hot, making the blood in her body boil over in moments. She glared back at the rent-a-cop, her wings partly spreading open to prepare for flight. Phillip quickly placed a foreleg across her chest to hold her back.

“Move along, you two,” the guard said, jerking his head. Phillip grabbed Daring’s foreleg and guided her away, walking quickly back up the sidewalk.

“Is being an asshole one of the work requirements for that company?” Daring growled, massaging her foreleg to try to ease the burning.

“Have to figure out another way in, and they’ll likely be on the lookout for us,” Phillip muttered, looking back at the building over his shoulder as they walked away. “Think you can get in there?”

Daring’s glower turned into a smirk. “Does the sun rise in the east?” She panned her eyes around and spotted a thrift store across the block. “Just need to make a quick stop.” She walked over and disappeared into the store without another word. Phillip stood outside the door, waiting.

A few minutes later, Daring emerged wearing a long purple dress that draped down over her tail with a high collar, a set of red-rimmed reading glasses, a cheap but elegant pearl necklace, and a floppy gray hat. She had tied her hair up in a bun and hidden it underneath the hat. A medium-sized satchel bounced against her side.

“What do you think?” she asked Phillip, slowly spinning around to give him a proper view.

“Remarkably plain,” Phillip commented.

“Good, that’s what I’m going for,” Daring nodded, handing him her pith helmet.

Phillip sniffed. “Is that flour?” he asked.

“Yup,” Daring confirmed, lifting her hat up to reveal that her mane was now a snowy-white color. “Just a few pinches and I’m all ready for baking. Just need to add one quick feature…” She pulled a small first-aid kit out of her pocket and extracting a bright green band-aid, which she placed on her cheek. “There. That should keep ponies’ attention away from my face.”

“When you get in there, get to Jot’s office fast as you can,” Phillip said. “Make a search. Find anything that might indicate where he’d go.”

“That’s the plan,” Daring said. “And don’t worry, I know how to get past those guards. It'll be just like that Hayana Pones novel where he has to sneak into the archeological dig."

“Yeah, well, these mooks can actually shoot straight. Be careful,” Phillip advised.

Daring smirked at him. “Hey, it’s me.”

“That’s what I’m worried—” Phillip started to say but was interrupted by Daring kissing him on the lips. On instinct, he kissed her back.

“I’ll be fine,” Daring reassured him with a wink. “Wait here until I get back.” She turned away and started to walk back up the sidewalk towards the Foal Free Press building. Phillip sighed and sat down on a bench, placing his hat in his lap.

Affecting a slower, wider slouch unlike her normal gait, Daring started to walk down the sidewalk, moving past the doors to the Press. As she’d hoped, the two guards didn’t give her a second glance: the different clothing and gait, along with the fact that she appeared to be paying no attention to them, proved an effective disguise. As she walked past a trash can a few feet from the doors, she subtly reached under her dress and extracted a couple of cherry bombs with two-minute fuses from a pocket on her cargo shirt. She lit these with a lighter beneath her dress, then tossed them into the trash can without slowing. She walked fully around the block and paused at the corner, watching the front entrance.

Moments later, the cherry bombs both went off with a pair of thunderclaps that echoed from within the trash can, causing everypony around them to jump and whirl around, searching for the source of the sound. As a bonus, the bombs actually set some of the trash on fire; the small but bright and merrily crackling flames providing an even greater distraction.

To Daring's great relief, the two security guards immediately rushed over to investigate. Moving quickly, but not rushing, Daring walked up to the door and pushed through to enter the Press’ lobby.

The lobby was decorated with green carpeting and brown walls. A small waiting area with cushioned chairs, a water cooler and a table with some magazines sat off to one side, opposite a desk behind which a male zebra receptionist sat. Down the hallway beyond the desk, Daring could hear ringing phones and several overlapping voices.

“There seems to be a strange affair,” the zebra said, pointing out the windows at the crowd gathered around the smoldering trash can. “What is happening out there?”

“Looks like some jokester set the trash on fire,” Daring said. “I was called down here to speak to...Hot Ink?” she said, recalling the name of another Press reporter that had written the article about her and Phillip’s defeat of Tinderspark.

“Go up the stairs to the third floor,” the receptionist said, pointing. “Somepony will meet you, wait by the door.”

“Thanks,” Daring said, walking forward to the stairs. She walked all the way up to the third floor and pushed open the door.

She found herself looking out into an open floor with several cubicles. Ponies of every shape and description were sitting in the cubicles or rushing back and forth, typing away at typewriters, handing off stacks of paper to runners, and speaking into telephones. At the opposite end of the room was a door with the label “Editor in Chief.”

“Okay, Headline Jot…” she muttered to herself, starting forward and walking down a hallway. She glanced in the cubicles as she passed by, searching for any clues as to their owners’ identities, like Hayana searching for the hidden Chamber of the Sun amidst the uncovered ruins (though, personally, she still had to wonder how that pharaoh managed to build a model of his city precise enough to work with the movements of the sun).

As she reached one towards the end, she paused. A photograph of Headline Jot, the same one of him shaking Mayor Mare’s hoof that was in his apartment, was staring back at her from the wall. She glanced around to make sure that everypony was too preoccupied to notice her, then ducked into the cubicle.

There was a minimum of decoration or fuss within the cubicle. The only furniture was a table with a typewriter and a few stacks of papers and a drawer cabinet. The photograph was the only personal effect. This was no miniature model city, but there still might be buried treasure here.

Daring started to search the cabinet first, beginning with the bottom drawer. It was unlocked, but only contained a spare tape recorder and blank tapes. The middle drawer had a camera and some empty film canisters. The top drawer had several folders, but these contained nothing but drafts for stories.

Frowning, Daring turned to the desk and started poking through the drawers. The bottom one just contained stationery, but the middle one was locked. The lock was charmed with a basic pickproof charm. Digging out her money bag, Daring extracted the charmed gem and the set of lockpicks from the hidden pouch. Placing the gem on the lock, Daring inserted the pick and tension wrench and started to feel around. Ten seconds later, the lock disengaged and she pulled the drawer open.

Inside were several assorted papers, including a number of receipts. The label at the top of each of the receipts read “The Gold Griffon’s Head.” Daring instantly recalled the griffon-run tavern in the Dockside District. The receipts appeared to be for light meals and drinks, going back several weeks. Each of the receipts was clipped to a sheet of paper that said “Reimbursement Form” on the top.

So, he was doing this on the job, Daring thought, scanning the receipts. Maybe this is where he was getting his info. She started poking through the rest of the papers in the drawer. Beneath some of the papers, she found a key. It appeared to have been recently carved, based on the shiny, sharp edges of the teeth, and it looked large enough to go to a house or a room. Maybe a spare? Daring thought, taking the key for herself.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?” a voice said behind her. Daring spun around to see a tall stallion with a salt and pepper mane and mustache and piercing green eyes staring at her suspiciously. He was wearing a white dress shirt and a red and gray striped tie.

“Oh, Jot just borrowed my pen, I was getting it back,” Daring said, affecting a sheepish, apologetic demeanor with a nervous grin.

“I don’t recognize you,” the stallion said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh, I’m AK Yearling,” Daring said, picking the name off the top of her head. “The new intern? I just arrived a week ago, and, uh…” She let out a nervous laugh. “I, uh, don’t think we’ve met.”

The stallion scowled at her. “You should get going.”

“Right. Sorry, sir,” Daring apologized, lowering her gaze. She walked quickly out of the cubicle and back down the hallway. Glancing behind her to make sure that the stallion wasn’t looking, she ducked back through the door and exited. Descending the stairs, she exited the lobby, giving the receptionist a brief wave as she pushed through the doors.

The security guards had extinguished the fire in the trash can and resumed their posts. Neither of them gave her a glance as she walked past them and headed back down the sidewalk. Phillip was waiting around the corner.

“What’d you find?” Phillip asked.

“Receipts to the Gold Griffon’s Head,” Daring answered, swapping the sunhat for her pith helmet and stuffing the dress and glasses into the satchel. “I think that whatever Jot found that got the mob’s attention, he found it there.”

“Then let’s get moving,” Phillip said. “And no drinking this time.”

“You are no fun,” Daring grumbled as she grasped Phil beneath the forelegs and took off, heading south for the Dockside.

The Gold Griffon’s Head was just where it had always been, a squat two-story bar sitting on a narrow street across from a construction site. The sign over the door simply read The Gold Griffon’s Head. Daring gave the flashing neon advertisement for Manticore Rare a brief but longing stare as they pushed through the door.

The bar was lit with old-fashioned oil lanterns that cast the entire room into odd, contrasting shades of dark and light. Several customers, mostly griffons with a few zebras, thestrals, donkeys, and ponies scattered amongst them, sat at the low tables, talking over their ciders. The bartender, Bottgilia, was standing behind the bar, washing a stein.

“Well, the heroes are back,” he grinned at them as they approached. “A shot of the regular, amica?”

“Not today, Bottgilia,” Phillip interrupted just as Daring opened her mouth. Daring closed her mouth and glared at him. “We’re looking for somepony who frequents this place.”

“I get a lot of repeat customers,” Bottgilia said, suddenly looking rather wary.

“This one was here at least three times a week for the past several weeks,” Daring said. “They were last here three days ago, they had a veggie burger with Prench dressing and shish kabobs.”

Bottgilia stared at them for a moment, then went back to washing the stein. “Sorry, don’t know them,” he said too quickly.

“Bottgilia, this is important,” Daring pressed. “You know somepony named Headline Jot?”

“No,” Bottgilia replied, still not looking at them. “You gonna order something or what?”

Something caught Phillip’s eye. He glanced up at the wall behind the bar and spotted a photograph that had been hastily hung up. He spotted something behind it, something that the framed picture failed to fully cover: a bullet hole. He heard shifty movement behind them and felt the gazes of several of the other customers fixating on the back of his head.

“Bottgilia, please,” Daring pleaded. “We—”

“I don’t know anything,” Bottgilia snapped, glaring at them as he slammed the stein back down onto the bar. “If you don’t have any business here, get out.”

“But—” Daring started to protest, but Phillip laid a hoof on her shoulder. He shook his head at her and pulled her towards the door. Bottgilia and several of the other griffons glared at them every step of the way.

“What was that all about?” Daring asked as soon as the door shut behind them.

“Somepony has them scared,” Phillip replied, his eyes checking around the area from beneath the brim of his trilby as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Whitestone,” a voice said from beside them. Both of them stopped and turned to see a tall griffon with a golden brown coat, dark brown feathers, and chocolate brown eyes sitting in the alley next to them. He was wearing a gray fishing vest and was lighting a Crystal Crown cigar.

“Mavri,” Daring greeted him. “How’ve you been?”

“Not too bad,” Mavri stated, inserting the cigar into his beak and puffing on it. “The fish have been biting more than usual, so I’ve managed to sell enough to get me through most of the winter.” He grunted and let out a small smile. “Soon, Bottgilia will start breaking out the spiced mead from Northern Griffonia. Damn, that stuff’s worth waiting for.”

“I bet it is,” Daring nodded.

“You said Whitestone?” Phillip asked.

Mavri looked to the side for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “After you...spoke to me a few moons ago, some local griffons who worked for Whitestone dropped by the Head. Somehow, they must’ve figured out that somepony there was involved. They started asking questions, then they started roughing some of the others up. One of them even fired a round at the wall right near Bottgilia’s head.”

“Holy Faust,” Daring breathed.

“No wonder he’s scared,” Phillip muttered. “Doesn’t change the fact that we need to find Jot before the mob does.”

Mavri perked up a bit at the mention of the name, ceasing his puffing on his cigar. “I don’t know anypony named Jot, but I think I might know who you’re looking for,” he said slowly, glancing around to make sure that nopony was watching them.

Daring looked up. A metal pole with a pair of security crystals was standing tall a few feet away up the sidewalk, an unblinking blue eye fixated right at her. However, the crystals couldn’t see Mavri from their position.

“Who?” Phillip asked.

“A fellow named Mint Breeze,” Mavri said. “He rents a room at the Head. He and I have spoken several times before.” He glanced downwards for a moment. “We griffons are pretty tight-knit, so I...hear things sometimes. Mint contacted me a while ago about helping find out about some...activities down here.”

“What does Mint look like?” Phillip asked.

“Light blue coat, greenish hair, green eyes. Pegasus. Cutie mark of a pair of clouds. He chews dip. I haven’t seen him today, but he usually swings by the bar around three in the afternoon.”

“Thanks, Mavri,” Phillip nodded. “Daring, we should get ourselves set up.”

“Right,” Daring nodded.

Mavri took a long drag on his cigar, his eyes downcast and heavy, then turned to walk away.

“Mavri,” Phillip called after him. The griffon paused and looked over his shoulder at them. “You don’t have to do this,” Phillip said.

Mavri took another drag on his cigar, then spoke. “After we met, I started thinking about how much was going on that everypony turned a blind eye to,” he said. “It’s especially bad amongst us griffons; you know, tight beaks don’t get broken and things like that. But…” He blinked heavily.

“I have a daughter,” he continued. “Well, had. She...walked out of my life a while ago after I objected to a friend of hers. But...every time some corpse turns up in an alley or gets dragged out of the river, that’s somepony’s kid, you know? Could just as easily be my Chiaro.” He paused for a moment, then added, almost beneath his breath, “Besides, Mint paying for my drinks was a pretty good deal. The stallion sure loved his mint juleps.”

A smile graced Phillip’s lips for half a moment. “You still got my card?”

“Yup,” Mavri said, extracting a small card from his vest.

“You can still call if you need me,” Phillip offered.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mavri nodded. “Take care of yourselves.” With a final nod, he walked down the alleyway and vanished.

“We can watch from up there,” Daring said, nodding to the rooftop of an empty shop down the road from the Head.

“Good,” Phillip nodded, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost three. Let’s get ready.”

They climbed up on the rooftop, watching in silence as the cars passed by the narrow street beneath them. A row of old street lamps stood sentinel on the sidewalk, their shadows stretching across the avenue. Minutes ticked by in silence.

“So if Headline Jot isn’t dead, what do you think happened to him?” Daring said, adjusting the strap on the satchel with her disguise in it.

“The scenes were set up sloppily,” Phillip stated, his eyes on the Griffon’s Head. “I can think of two possibilities. One, and the one I’m hoping for: he set them up himself and went underground.”

“And the other?” Daring asked.

Phillip was silent for a moment. “Somepony kidnapped him and made it look like he was dead.”

“I like the first option better, too,” Daring muttered. “Hey, look, down there.”

A pegasus was walking quickly up the sidewalk, their head held high, their green eyes darting around the street. They had a light blue coat and long, light green hair; it was hard to tell if it was a mare or a stallion. Their cutie mark was a pair of clouds, and they were wearing a long brown coat. Mint Breeze’s jaw worked convulsively as he walked up to the Head and pushed the door open.

“That’s our guy,” Phillip said.

“What’s the plan?” Daring asked.

“Wait till he comes out, then follow him—” Phillip started to say, but was interrupted by a cruiser pulling up to the Head and stopping on the curb. Two officers stepped out and pushed through the doorway. Phillip and Daring both recognized one as Trade Wind, the officer from Jot’s apartment. He was accompanied by a light golden griffon with narrowed chestnut brown eyes.

“That can’t be good,” Daring muttered, standing up.

“Wait,” Phillip instructed. “If we just jump in, we could make things worse. They might not even be here for—”

But their fears were quickly realized as the officers came back out, each of them with their foreleg looped through Mint Breeze’s forelegs. The pegasus had hoofcuffs on and was feebly struggling as they hauled him into the back of the cruiser, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Oh, shit,” Daring breathed.

“Follow them,” Phillip instructed. “When they stop at the precinct, we can try to get him out of there.”

“Okay,” Daring nodded. She grasped Phillip beneath the forelegs and lifted up into the air, following the cruiser from the skies. The black and white car rushed to a T-intersection at the end of the narrow road, then turned and started heading south.

“Wait....” Daring said. “Isn’t the PPD the other way?”

“Faster,” Phillip ordered.

Daring put on speed, chasing after the cruiser, but in her haste, she didn’t see the mass of clouds until she’d flown right into them. The two suddenly found themselves surrounded by thick, heavy gray that pressed down on them from all directions, blocking off most of their light.

“Fucking shit!” Daring spat, trying to push through the clouds, squinting as she tried to pierce the vapors with her gaze. Completely disoriented, she had to drop down beneath the clouds to try to see where they were. She found that they were hovering over a road that ran alongside the northern bank of the Maresippi.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she snarled, spinning around as she tried to spot the cruiser amidst the maze of buildings, streets, and cars beneath her. An image flashed before her eyes: Shifting Tone, laying on her side, gasping and sobbing in pain as blood leaked from the stab wound in her side, staining the pillow that she was desperately pressing against the wound and soaking into her hooves.

It was happening again. A pony that was relying on her for help was going to die. And there was nothing she could do about it. She’d fucked up, it was over, their lead was lost…

“Quit spinning around, I’m gonna hurl!” Phillip cried, his face turning greener by the moment. Daring, just realizing that she was still hanging onto him, paused in midair. “Where are we?” Phillip asked, shaking his head as he recovered.

Daring squinted down at a street sign beneath her, her natural pegasus eyesight making the tiny letters distinct even from so high up. “Jetsam and Riverside!”

“The cruiser was headed south on Rudder Avenue,” Phillip said, looking around to get his bearings. “That’s—”

“That way,” a voice said behind them. Daring turned around to see Rainbow Dash hovering beside them. She was wearing a bright yellow vest that identified her as a weather pegasus on the job.

“I just came from that direction,” Rainbow said. “Weather team sent me down there to direct these clouds, make sure they don’t mess up any—”

“Did you see a police cruiser headed that way?” Phillip interrupted.

Rainbow Dash thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, they were heading west. Come on, follow me!” She zipped off in a blur, leaving behind a rainbow trail in her wake. It took a moment for Daring Do’s brain to process what had happened, then she flew after her.

Rainbow Dash paused over another intersection. “Here’s where I last saw them,” she said just as Daring caught up. “And they were headed this way!” She zipped off again in a blur of colors, headed west.

“Hey, slow down!” Daring called, already breathing hard. “One of us is carrying a hundred eighty pounds over here!”

“A hundred sixty-one, “ Phillip muttered testily.

“Including the gear?” Daring asked, huffing as she readjusted her grip on Phillip.

Phillip fumed silently for a moment, then grumbled, “Point.”

Case Five, Chapter Four: The Witness

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Rainbow Dash zipped ahead down the street, her head panning from side to side as she scanned the streets below. Daring followed behind her, gripping Phillip tightly.

Rainbow Dash suddenly paused, her brow creasing in confusion. Frowning, she began to fly in enlarging circles, searching for any sign of the cruiser.

“Wait, there it is!” she suddenly shouted, pointing. The cruiser was parked in front of a warehouse that sat on a dock that jutted out into the river. The wooden structure had clearly seen little use in many years; several of the boards that formed the walls were rotten or missing, there were holes in the roof, and all of the few windows were grimy and had missing or broken panes.

“Thanks, kid,” Daring nodded. “Now stay out here.”

“What? Hey, I wanna help!” Rainbow Dash protested, starting to fly after them.

“No!” Daring snapped, glaring at her. “I’m not putting another pony at risk. Stay. Out. Here.”

“But—” Rainbow Dash started to protest, but Daring silenced her with a glare. The blue pegasus watched sulkily as Daring, still carrying Phillip, flew over to the warehouse and dropped straight down through a hole in the roof.

They landed on top of the second floor. The wet floorboards creaked softly beneath their weight. A few barrels, crates, and loose rope and tarps were scattered haphazardly across the floor; a single bulb set in a socket in the ceiling provided minimal illumination. Phillip paused to close his eyes, taking in a deep breath and reaching out with his senses.

“Voices below,” he muttered, nodding towards the faint, muffled sounds. “Three of them.”

They walked across the floor, stepping lightly to avoid making the boards creak. The voices grew louder as they reached a ledge with a ladder leaning up against it and a crane set into the ceiling over their heads to allow for cargo to be lifted up onto their floor. Crouching down, they peeked over the edge. Below them, the two officers were standing over Mint Breeze, who was sprawled across the concrete floor, coughing wetly. Bloodstains were spread across the floor around them, and the fresh red liquid dripped from their nostrils and mouth.

“Where’s Jot?” Trade Wind snarled. “Where are his notes?”

“I don’t know!” Mint Breeze cried, terrified; their voice was soft and moderately high-pitched, but distinctly masculine. “I don’t know what you’re—”

Mint’s plea was interrupted by a vicious kick to the gut from the griffon. Mint curled up into a ball, coughing.

“We’ll start here,” the griffon officer growled, grabbing his victim’s wing in both his talons. “And keep breaking until you talk.”

“Look, please listen, I don’t know!” Mint Breeze begged, but it was obvious that his pleas were falling on deaf ears.

“You take the griffon, I’ve got Trade,” Phillip said.

“Got it,” Daring nodded. She dove off the ledge, tracing a grayscale rainbow through the air as she crashed right into the griffon, knocking them both backward across the floor.

Phillip grasped the handles of the ladder and pushed forward. The ladder carried him downwards and he jumped off at the last moment, sailing right into Trade Wind. The officer saw him coming at the last second and jumped out of the way. Phillip hit the ground hard, grunting as the impact made the bones in his legs shudder, and tucked into a somersault. Turning, he spotted Trade Wind reaching for his holster, his hoof sliding through the strap attached to the handle of his revolver and pulling the weapon free.

Phil's left hoof dove into a pocket near his hip then snapped outwards. His boomerang spun through the air and struck the officer’s wrist, knocking the gun from his grasp. He charged forward, snapping his baton out in his right hoof and catching the returning boomerang in his mouth as Trade Wind snarled and drew his nightstick from his duty belt with a loud snick.

"Take this, snoop!" Trade yelled and swung horizontally at Phillip’s head. Phillip countered by striking him in the wrist with his baton, halting his attack, then hit him across the jaw, staggering him. He followed up with a left hook as he closed the distance, but Trade managed to raise his forelegs and he absorbed the blow, countering with a sloppy but effective punch to Phillip’s jaw. Phillip’s teeth grated against each other from the blow and he stumbled with a grunt.

Trade swung wildly, trying to hit him again, but missed as Phillip bobbed to the side around him. He drove his knee into Trade Wind’s gut, winding the stallion and causing him to double over, then dropped to all fours and bucked backward. His hooves hit Trade in the back and sent him sprawling, sliding across the floor. Giving Trade no chance to get back up, Phillip sprinted forward and finished him with a heavy blow across the head with his baton. Trade Wind slumped to the ground and lay still, groaning.

Phillip looked up to see that Daring and the griffon were engaged in midflight combat, tumbling and looping around one another as they struggled for dominance. Phillip spat his boomerang out into his left hoof and raised the weapon, but both combatants were darting around too quickly for him to get a good bead; he might miss, or worse, hit Daring.

Daring and the griffon engaged in a mutual grapple, but then Daring abruptly cried out in pain and let go of her combatant to clutch her bleeding shoulder. The griffon, one of his talons dripping with Daring’s blood, kicked away from her to regain some distance and went to retrieve his service weapon. Seizing his chance, Phillip took aim.

But at that moment, a rainbow suddenly streaked through the air and crashed right into the griffon with a loud shout. The griffon tumbled through the air, dropping his weapon, but recovered and turned to face his new attacker. Rainbow Dash flew towards him again with a yell and lashed out with another flying kick that hit him in the chest. The griffon grunted and fell to the floor, landing with a heavy thump. He lay still, one wing bent at an unnatural angle.

Rainbow Dash posed proudly in midair. “No need to thank me,” she said. “Just thought I could lend a hoof—”

“I told you to stay outside,” Daring interrupted, glaring at Rainbow Dash as she flew down to the ground. She glanced down at Mint Breeze, who was still laying on the floor, curled up into a ball and shaking in obvious fear.

“You okay?” Phillip asked Daring, walking up to examine her wound.

“He just scratched me, I’m fine,” Daring said, pulling a roll of gauze out from a pocket of her shirt and wrapping the injury.

“B-but I thought you could use some help,” Rainbow Dash protested, looking rather deflated as she landed beside them.

“We didn’t need help,” Daring snapped at her. “We—”

Phillip laid a hoof on Daring’s shoulder, stopping her tirade. Daring closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then turned back to Rainbow Dash. “I appreciate the gesture, but you’re inexperienced,” she explained. “You could’ve finished that guy off right away, but you gave him a chance to recover. If he’d been smarter and faster, he could’ve killed you. And if bullets had been flying when you jumped in here, you could’ve been hit.”

Rainbow Dash hung her head a bit but nodded. “I understand,” she muttered.

Daring finished wrapping up the wound with a grunt as Phillip walked over to Mint Breeze and bent down.

“You’re okay now,” Phillip reassured Mint. Mint slowly turned to look up at him. His eyes widened in astonishment and recognition.

“Detective Finder?” he breathed.

“Yes,” Phillip said. “Daring, the cuff keys.”

Daring fished a set of hoofcuffs keys from the griffon’s belt and tossed them over to Phillip. He uncuffed Mint and then tossed the cuffs over to Daring. She went to cuff the still unconscious griffon while Rainbow Dash cuffed Trade Wind.

“You hurt bad?” Phillip asked Mint Breeze, helping him up.

“N-no, no, thank you,” Mint said, dusting himself off. Blood still dripped from his nose and lips and he limped on his left hind leg.

“We’re gonna get you somewhere safe,” Phillip said, allowing Mint to lean against him as he carried him to the doorway.

“What about these two?” Daring asked, jerking her head towards the unconscious officers.

“Find a callbox and call some officers, somepony we can trust,” Phillip said. “Tell them what happened and have them pick them up.”

“Right,” Daring nodded.

“What about me?” Rainbow Dash asked.

Daring pondered her for a moment, then said, “If you’re tied to this, it could mean trouble for you. You did technically assault a cop.”

Rainbow Dash huffed dismissively. “I can handle a couple lowlife thugs with badges,” she scoffed.

“A couple, maybe,” Daring said. “Try all of them.”

“I’m not scared,” Rainbow replied. “It’s about time that some ponies started standing up to the gangs and the corrupt cops around here! I wanna help you guys!”

“You can help by staying out of trouble,” Daring replied curtly. “We appreciate the assist, but there’s nothing more you can do here that won’t put you in worse shit.”

Rainbow Dash opened her mouth to protest, but Daring gave her a glare. Rainbow Dash sighed and nodded numbly. “Okay,” she agreed. She spread her wings and took off, flying back up through the roof.

“Hey, kid,” Daring called after her. Rainbow Dash paused in midair and looked back. “Thanks,” Daring said.

Rainbow Dash managed to smile, apparently cheered up a bit, and gave a salute before flying out and disappearing.

Phillip exited the warehouse, still supporting Mint Breeze on his shoulder. “Callbox over there,” he said to Daring, pointing to a blue box attached to a telephone pole a few feet away.

Daring flew over and opened up the box to reveal a telephone inside. She plucked it out and held it up to her ear. The hum of a dial tone buzzed in her ear for a moment before there was a click.

“Ponyville Police, how can I help you?” a voice asked.

“Connect me to Detective Trace Evidence,” she said.

“Putting you through now…” the voice said. There were several more clicking noises, then a brief silence, then another click.

“What kind of shit are you in now?” Trace’s familiar voice sighed into her ear.

“We—” Daring started to say but stopped. A little nagging voice in the back of her head whispered to her: He’s a cop. He’s one of them. You don’t know if you can trust them.

For a moment, she flashed back to the motel all those months ago, on her first case. For a moment, she was clutching Shifting Tone, hearing her scream, smelling her blood, looking up at the masked unicorn with the switchblade knife. An assassin who had found them by tailing Trace’s car.

What if he was dirty all along? Worse, what if he was the mole that she and Phillip suspected was planted within the PPD?

“Daring?” Trace asked, concern in his voice.

Doubt rolled around in Daring’s stomach for a moment longer, then she pushed it down enough to make a convincing lie...well, half-truth.

“We’re at a warehouse in the Dockside District, near Trout Avenue,” Daring reported. “There are two cops in there; we saw them beating up a witness that we were hired to protect. We’ve got the witness, we’re taking them someplace safe.”

“And the officers?” Trace asked.

“Yeah, you should probably call an ambulance,” Daring admitted.

“With you two, that’s a given,” Trace sighed wearily. “So who’s the witness?”

“A client,” Daring said, reminding herself that it technically was not a lie.

“Where are you taking them?” Trace asked.

The little voice in the back of Daring’s head hissed in warning, and she faltered for just a moment. “Someplace safe,” she said. There was a silence on the other end. “Look, it’s nothing personal, okay?” Daring said in spite of herself. “We’ve just gotta be careful right now.”

“Right. You don’t know who to trust,” Trace said, his voice carrying no trace of an insult. “Okay, I’ll head down there.”

“Thanks, Trace,” Daring said.

“And Daring?” Trace added. “Both of you be careful.”

“Will do,” Daring said and hung up the phone. She turned to see that Phillip had hailed a cab and was bundling Mint Breeze into the back. He made eye contact with her and then pointed upwards, signaling her to fly after them. She nodded in understanding and took to the sky, hovering several feet over the cab.

The taxi pulled away from the curb and started driving north. Daring followed it from the sky, checking downwards every few feet to make sure that the cab with its precious cargo was still beneath her, and to make sure that nopony was following them.

The taxi halted in the middle of a neighborhood in northwestern Ponyville and Phillip and Mint exited. Phillip gave the driver some bits and started to guide Mint down the sidewalk, looping one of his forelegs through Mint’s. To most ponies, they would simply appear to be a couple out for a stroll.

Daring continued to follow from the air, watching the ponies around them for any sign that they were being followed. Phillip guided Mint through the neighborhood, frequently doubling back and occasionally making a circle around a block. Once, they paused at a trolley stop just as the trolley was pulling up and moved as though they were going to get on, but balked at the last moment. But these anti-surveillance tactics turned up nothing: nopony around them stopped suddenly in confusion, nopony quickly turned away to avoid making eye contact, and nopony paused and looked around. Nopony was following them.

Phillip and Mint continued on their path: Daring noted that he was deliberately choosing streets that weren’t observed by surveillance crystals. They finally reached their destination: a familiar two-story building colored in red, pink, and green.

Daring descended from the sky and landed next to Phillip as he approached the door. “You really had this in mind?” she asked incredulously.

“I trust Applejack and Pinkie,” Phillip said plainly. “And they can be really discreet if they need to be.”

There was a hoof-written sign on the door that read, “Closed for Cleaning.” Phillip frowned, then knocked at the door. After a moment, there was a noise from inside, then the door opened up to reveal Pinkie.

“Hey, guys!” she chirped happily.

“Pinkie, we...what the fu…” Daring trailed off, staring. Pinkie was hovering over the ground, supported only by her tail, which was rapidly spinning in a circle. Dust and litter were swirling in little puffs around it.

“I call it the Pinkie-Vac!” Pinkie giggled. “The most fun way to clean! Patent pending.” She spotted Mint Breeze and hovered over to him. “Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie! What’s your name?”

“M-Mint Breeze,” Mint stammered, staring at Pinkie’s physics-defying tail in utter bewilderment.

“Welcome to the Apple Pie in Your Eye!” Pinkie chirped. “We’re just finishing tidying everything up for the morning, but you can come on in!” She hovered back inside, leaving the door open.

“She...but...h-how…?” Mint Breeze stammered, pointing at the doors and staring at Phillip and Daring.

“Don’t ask,” Phillip and Daring said in unison, Daring punctuating the sentence with an eye roll.

The trio proceeded inside the Apple Pie. The tavern area was devoid of any customers: all the chairs were stacked atop the freshly scrubbed tables, the floor was shiny and swept clean, and all the balloons on the tables were newly inflated. Behind the bar, Steamed Carrot was applying the last of a fresh layer of wax, singing Le Festin as she worked. She looked up in surprise at their entry, the song stopping abruptly. She stared at Mint Breeze, seemingly frozen by the sight of a stranger.

“Steamed, we have some guests!” Pinkie called, hovering over to her. She hopped down to get back on her hooves. “There’s still some of those leftover grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches left, right?” She paused, then giggled. “Left, right, left, right, forward march!” she declared, marching around in a circle. “Soldier, we’ve got hungry stomachs to fill!”

“Oh, uh, right,” Steamed nodded, giving Mint Breeze a final nervous glance before retreating into the kitchen.

“You like grilled cheese and tomato, right?” Pinkie asked Mint Breeze, already gathering up some cutlery from beneath the bar. “And a glass of mint julep and a couple dill pickles on the side?”

“Uh...yeah,” Mint Breeze admitted, looking utterly astonished.

“Coming right up!” Pinkie declared. She pulled out a jar of pickles and placed it on the counter. Her expression suddenly turning serious and determined, she spat on both her front hooves, then grasped the jar and began to strain against it. She grunted and growled through gritted teeth as she pushed and pulled with seemingly Herculean effort, her face rapidly turning red and sweat trickling from her brow, but after several seconds of battling the seal, the jar refused to open.

Phillip and Daring exchanged unimpressed looks, then Daring reached out and tapped Pinkie on the shoulder. Panting, Pinkie handed the jar to her. Daring grasped it, twisted with a slight grunt, and the jar popped open.

“Thanks,” Pinkie Pie panted, wiping off sweat as she retrieved the jar. “You know, why are they called dill pickles? You never hear of pickles being named anything else,” she chattered as she plucked three long pickles out of the jar and dropped them on the plate for Mint. “Maybe there’s a pickle out there named Gordon or Mike or Jill or Theresa. You ever think of things like that?”

“Pinkie, I’m pretty sure you’re the only pony in the world that thinks of things like that,” Daring deadpanned.

“Good thing, too,” Phillip muttered under his breath. Mint Breeze just stared at her.

Steamed Carrot poked her head out through the kitchen doors, carrying a steaming grilled sandwich on a hot plate. “Ah, thank you!” Pinkie Pie said, holding out the plate for her to drop the sandwich on. Steamed dropped the sandwich on the plate, gave Mint Breeze a rather nervous smile, and retreated back into the kitchen.

“Is she okay?” Mint Breeze asked as Pinkie set his meal down in front of him.

“She’s fine,” Pinkie Pie reassured him, pulling out a glass, a bottle of whiskey, an ice shaker, a bag of sugar, and some mint leaves from beneath the bar and starting to make a mint julep. “She just takes a little longer to warm up to ponies. She’s really nice.”

“Mint, need to talk to you for a sec,” Phillip said quietly, jerking his head towards the other end of the bar. Mint Breeze nodded and followed Phillip.

Taking off her pith helmet and placing it on the bar, Daring glanced up to make doubly sure that the tavern was empty, then lowered her head and whispered to Pinkie. “We need to keep him here for a while.”

“Let me guess,” Pinkie said, nonchalantly muddling the sugar and mint leaves while shaking the ice shaker with her tail. “He’s on the run from the mob and you need to keep him safe because he’s got evidence that you could use to take down all of them?”

Daring blinked. “Yes. How the hell did you—?”

“With how nervous he is, and the fact that you two kept glancing over your shoulders when you walked in here, what else could it be?” Pinkie shrugged with a grin. “Besides, I read the script. Not bad, but a bit cliche here and there.”

“What scri—never mind,” Daring sighed, shaking her head. “You got any room?”

“Yup! Steamed and I are the only ponies living here right now,” Pinkie Pie nodded, pouring some shaved ice into the glass and briefly juggling the bottle of whiskey before filling up the glass with the brown liquid. “He can stay here as long as he wants to.”

“Thanks,” Daring nodded. “And keep it discreet, all right?”

Pinkie Pie slid the mint julep glass down the bar to Mint Breeze, who caught it and nodded in thanks, then smiled at Daring. She pretended to zip her lips shut and lock her mouth closed, then dropped the key on the floor, mimed digging a hole, dropped the imaginary key into it, then buried the key. She grinned widely at Daring.

“Yeah, thanks,” Daring nodded slowly. Why can’t I deal with normal ponies?

Daring walked down the bar to Phillip and Mint. Phillip looked up at her, then turned back to Mint. “Tell her what you just told me,” he instructed.

Mint Breeze took another quick swig of the mint julep and sighed. “Okay. I worked with Headline Jot,” he explained. “I gathered up some contacts in the Dockside and Industrial District and passed info to him about the gangs down there: Whitestone’s crew, Monopoly, the Nightmare Moon Disciples, Mareish Mob, all of them. It all helped him gather info on how they were connected.”

“And he found out something that made the mob want him dead,” Phillip concluded.

Mint Breeze nodded. “He found hard proof on Monopoly; he was laundering money through a bunch of business scattered around Ponyville. Construction, liquor stores, restaurants, theaters, the works. And from there, that’s when the pieces started falling into place. Monopoly is the key to all the mob’s money. If he’s taken out of the picture, Silvertongue, Whitestone, Coin Toss, and all the rest lose a bunch of money.”

“Do you know what he did with this proof?” Daring asked, feeling her heart rate speeding up.

“He gave some of it to me for safekeeping,” Mint Breeze stated. “It’s in my room at the Head, but those cops took my key.”

Daring suddenly remembered the key that she’d taken from Jot’s cubicle. She fished it out of her pocket. “Is this a copy?”

“How did you—?” Mint Breeze asked, his eyes widening for a moment, then he nodded. “Yes, that’s a spare. It’s in room nine, taped to the back of the middle drawer in the dresser.”

“I can go get it real quick,” Daring said, pocketing the key again. “You coming, Phil?”

Phil shook his head. “You can handle this on your own. I’m going to put a call into Suunkii to see what he found out about the scene, and try to take another look around Jot’s apartment. There might be something we missed. We still need to find him before the mob does.”

“If he’s still alive,” Mint Breeze added glumly.

“And if he is, we’ll find him,” Daring Do said, hoping that her voice sounded more confident than she actually felt.

“Be careful,” Phillip said.

“I’m always careful,” Daring smirked, and cut off his reply with a quick kiss on the lips. She walked back over to where she left her helmet and placed it back on her head. Remembering the satchel containing her disguise, she took it off and handed it to Pinkie. “Think you could hang onto that until I get back?”

Pinkie Pie nodded, then mimed digging up the imaginary hole that she’d made earlier and retrieving the key. She unlocked her lips and said, “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Daring said, watching Pinkie relock her mouth and go through the entire process again. Shaking her head, she retrieved her helmet and flew out the door, taking to the skies and heading south once more.

The skies became cloudier and grayer as she approached the Dockside District, forcing her to swoop lower to avoid becoming lost in the clouds again. She reached the Maresippi River, paused to regain her bearings, and started to travel back westwards. She flew over the warehouse where the corrupt officers had brought Mint Breeze. The cruiser was gone, but had been replaced by a familiar rust-colored Diplomat 600.

A red pegasus wearing a trenchcoat standing next to the car looked up as she passed over, then flew up to join her. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” Red Herring sighed, flying alongside her.

“What happened down there?” Daring asked.

“Trace and I found those cops, just like you said,” Red explained. “Of course, they were denying everything, saying you two just beat them up for no reason. Trace took ‘em both to the precinct to review their statements.” He gave Daring a sideways look. “You two better know what you’re doing, because you’re already in pretty deep shit.”

“If we hadn’t been there, they would’ve killed a witness and dumped them in the river,” Daring countered. “And that pony might just be our one chance of taking out Monopoly. Maybe even the entire mob.”

“Seriously?” Red asked, turning to look at her. When she nodded, he said, “Well, what the fuck are we waiting for?”

Daring Do put on speed, with Red Herring not far behind her as they flew for the Gold Griffon’s Head. Landing in front of the doors, Daring paused just long enough for Red to catch up, then pushed through the doors and entered the tavern.

The interior of the tavern hadn’t changed at all since she had left. The ponies and griffons inside looked up as she entered, then quickly looked back down as Red followed in behind her. Bottgilia was still behind the bar. He made eye contact with Red and slowly reached up to adjust his bow tie. Red stared back coolly.

“We’ll make this quick,” Daring quietly promised the griffon. She spotted a set of stairs in the back of the tavern and started to climb up them. Red followed on her tail. They found themselves in a narrow hallway with numbered doors on both sides. A door behind them led to a surprisingly tidy bathroom.

Daring walked down the hallway until she reached door number 9 and paused before it, retrieving the key from her pocket.

“Do I want to know how you found that?” Red asked.

“Probably not,” Daring admitted, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The single room behind the door was mostly taken up by a single-size bed with a woven quilt upon it. The only other furniture was a dresser.

Daring crossed over to the dresser and pulled the middle drawer all the way out. Taped to the back of the drawer was a manila folder. She peeled it off and opened up the folder. Inside were several sheets of notepaper, all of them covered in the same indistinct scrawlings that she had seen in Jot’s apartment.

“Got it,” she declared, tucking the folder into her shirt. She and Red exited the tavern, the eyes of the patrons following them nervously as they walked out the door.

“I’m gonna take this over to Phil,” Daring said, taking to the skies once again.

“I’ll take you to him,” Red offered, flying alongside her. “Let’s just head back to my car first.”

“All right,” Daring conceded, heading back south towards the warehouse. Red followed behind her.

“We’ve been putting a lot of pressure on the mob recently,” Red said as they flew by. “You hear about that Mareish bar that got shot up last week?”

“Yeah,” Daring nodded. “I heard three staff members died.”

“Well, when we investigated, we found out that it was attached to Coin Toss and the mob, and they were running money and guns through it,” Red explained. “And the kicker is, at least one of the shooters was a member of the Nightmare Moon Disciples. Guess somepony must’ve turned them against their old bosses.”

“That somepony is named Scarlet Letter,” Daring said.

Red glanced up at her. “Never heard of her. You got any proof of that?”

Daring felt a searing heat grow in the pit of her stomach. “No,” she admitted through clenched teeth.

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t issue an arrest warrant based on a name," Red commented. Then, with a grin, he added, "Even if it is dropped by the great detective Daring Do, the intrepid hero who breaks the law at every turn, and does it all while wearing a pith helmet, of all things.”

Daring glanced up at her helmet. “What’s wrong with the helmet? I like the helmet,” she grumbled.

Red smirked at her. “I’m just trying to make sure your head doesn’t get too swollen,” he said. “If it got too big, you wouldn’t be able to wear that thing anymore.”

“Fuck you,” Daring replied back with a large smile.

“Nah, sorry, you're not my type," Red replied.

They had reached the warehouse, where Red's Diplomat was still waiting. Both of them landed next to the car. Daring walked around to the passenger side while Red took the driver's side, pulling his key out of his pocket.

There was a flicker of movement from above and Daring looked up at the clouds. As she did so, three griffons, all of them clad in black clothing and masks, dived down from the clouds. Two of them dived right at her, carrying a net between them; the third headed for Red.

"Red, look out!" Daring shouted, diving out of the way, but she was too slow: the net descended upon her and she found herself entangled in the heavy ropes. She struggled, yelling in frustration, but only succeeded in freeing one foreleg. An unmarked white truck pulled up with a squeal of brakes and the griffons started carrying her towards the open back, where another griffon and two ponies, all wearing masks, waited.

Red looked up just in time to jump out of the way of his attacker, the masked griffon's claws missing him by inches. He countered by swinging his hoof right into his attacker's gut; the amber eyes widened in shock, and the griffon fell over with a wheeze. Red flew over the car towards the truck, but a unicorn in the back fired a wave of blue energy at him, knocking him to the ground.

As Daring was dragged, still kicking and struggling, into the back of the truck, she managed to pull the folder out of her shirt and tossed it out onto the ground in front of Red. "Take it! Take it and go!" she shouted just as the door slammed shut. With a screeching of tires against asphalt, the truck began to speed away.

Red dived for the folder, snatching it up and stuffing it into his coat. He made to fly after the truck, but there was a loud crack and something flew past his head. Turning around, he saw that the griffon he'd punched had gotten back up and pulled out a griffon-made lever-action carbine. The griffon racked another round into the chamber and brought the stock up to his shoulder.

Red darted into the sky, feinting left, then quickly changing direction and heading right. Another gunshot tore through the air, the bullet narrowly missing him as he flew in a zigzag pattern. Red turned over his shoulder to see that the griffon was flying after him, and gaining fast.

Red spotted a tall chimney a few feet ahead and sped towards it. He rounded the corner and flattened his back up against the brick just as another bullet crashed into the stone. Drawing his pistol from his shoulder holster, he sucked in a deep breath, then popped up over the top of the chimney. The griffon was flying right towards him, an empty cartridge flying from the ejector of his carbine. He paused in midair, bringing the stock up to his shoulder and taking aim at Red.

But Red was faster. He squeezed the trigger twice, one right after the other, and sent two .45 caliber rounds right into the griffon’s chest. His attacker’s eyes widened in shock and gravity seized him in its merciless grip, pulling him and his weapon all the way down to the sidewalk, where he landed with a sickening thwap.

Red quickly flew down to the sidewalk and approached his fallen enemy, gun still drawn. Griffons and ponies on the sidewalks watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as he kicked the carbine away and examined the griffon. The bloodstained chest was heaving rapidly, the eyes wide and twitching, but the body was already still; the Reaper was not far off, and even if there was an ambulance parked right next to them, Red doubted that there was much that could be done.

“You,” he grunted to a female griffon who was standing in front of a butcher’s shop, staring open-beaked at the scene. “Call an ambulance.”

The griffon swallowed and nodded, turning to head back into the store. Red picked up the carbine, flicked on the safety, then flew back to the warehouse as fast as his wings could carry him. He reached his car and stopped, panting, his head turning in every direction. But there was no sign of the truck that had taken Daring.

“Oh, shit,” he breathed, running a hoof through his sweaty mane. “Oh, shit.”

Case Five, Chapter Five: The Mole

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“Say that again,” Phillip said, frowning as he held the payphone up to his ear.

“As I told you, I have examined the hairs from Headline Jot’s apartment and from his car,” Suunkii said through the phone. “And while I can confirm that both of them match, I have not identified the species of origin. They do not belong to a pony, griffon, donkey, thestral, hippogriff, dog, cat, or any other species that I know of. Of this I am certain.”

Phillip frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the apartment behind him, his eyes traveling upwards to the window of Jot’s room on the second floor. There was no sign of any cruisers nearby, which means that he hoped that there were no more officers allegedly guarding the scene.

His eyes went downwards to the curb. Trace Evidence was leaning against the hood of his Commander, watching him with his heavily-bagged eyes. After ensuring that Mint Breeze was settled in at the Apple Pie, Phillip had hailed a cab and rode down to Flotsam Street. He had arrived just as Trace was pulling up. The detective had explained that he had finished a series of interviews at the Foal Free Press where he had learned very little other than Headline Jot spent a lot of time out in the field, lived alone, and did not associate with his coworkers. “Didn’t even attend the bimonthly cookouts,” Trace had snorted. “First stallion I’ve ever heard of who was willing to pass on free food.”

Phillip returned his focus to the conversation. “What else did you find?”

“The blood is pig’s blood,” Suunkii continued. “It was most likely purchased at a griffon butcher’s shop. Per my suggestion, some uniformed officers are already making inquiries at butcher’s shops in the Dockside District. I can also confirm that the cartridges you found are both from a .38 caliber hoofgun. Said ammunition is very common and, unfortunately, is likely untraceable. However, there was no sign of any gunpowder residue on or near the car.”

“Means the gun wasn’t fired there,” Phillip concluded.

“Correct,” Suunkii said. “Twilight Sparkle is comparing the cartridges to samples from recent shootings but has so far discovered no matches. Though it has not been for lack of trying or eagerness,” he added in a somewhat drier tone than normal.

Phillip imagined Twilight bent over the comparison microscope, squeeing like a schoolfilly as she examined cartridges beneath the lenses, and couldn’t help but smile. “But you don’t have anything that can ID who drove the car there?”

“Unfortunately none at this time,” Suunkii confirmed. “However, we shall both keep looking.”

“Good. If I find anything at the apartment, I’ll bring it down for you,” Phillip said.

“Phillip Finder, please be careful,” Suunkii said, his voice suddenly dropping to a lower volume. “I have had three officers come into my laboratory and ask me about this case since the car was impounded, and there has also been an unusual increase in requests for examination. I suspect that there is foul play about.”

“Noted. I’ll watch my back. And both of you watch yours.” With that final warning, Phillip hung up. Stepping out of the booth, he walked over to Trace, subconsciously glancing up at the sky above him for any sign of a greyscale rainbow.

“So what’d the doc have to say?” Trace asked.

“Blood was pig’s blood, hairs match but don’t belong to anything he knows of, and he has no idea who was driving the car,” Phillip relayed.

Trace sniffed and frowned. “So we’re nowhere with this,” he said.

“Not nowhere,” Phillip replied. “Just need to keep looking.”

“You sure that witness will be able to help?” Trace asked.

“We’ll find out,” Phillip said, unable to ignore the prickling of a warning in the back of his head like a thorn scratching the inside of his skull. He studied Trace carefully, scanning him with his eyes. The grease stains on his inner forelegs told him that he’d been tinkering with his car again earlier today: the little splotches of shaving cream along his jaw and the little red dot of dried blood beneath his chin told him that he had slept late this morning and shaved in a hurry, and the remnants of blue chalk dust in his neck told him that he’d been playing pool with Lug Nut again last night.

But there was nothing on him that told him for sure that his closest associate on the force was truly, completely trustworthy.

“I sure hope so,” Trace muttered. “Anyway, we—”

The payphone began to ring. Both stallions paused, looked at it, then at each other. Phillip walked back to the payphone, glancing up at a metal pole a few feet away from him. The blue eye of the surveillance crystal slowly swiveled to track his progress.

He grasped the payphone and held it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“You have two hours to bring the witness to the precinct, or you won’t see your marefriend alive again,” a muffled voice hissed into his ear, then there was a click as the line hung up.

Phillip stared at the phone in mixed confusion and disbelief, then slowly hung it up. “What was that?” Trace asked, frowning at Phillip’s expression.

“Don’t know who it was,” Phillip said. “But they said they had Daring. Wanted me to bring the witness to the precinct.”

Trace’s eyes widened slightly. “You think they’re bluffing?”

The radio in Trace’s car suddenly crackled to life. “Bishop Eight to Bishop Nine! Bishop Nine, come in!”

“That’s Red,” Phillip said, a ball of ice forming in his stomach in response to the urgency in his voice.

Trace opened up the door and grasped the hoofset in his magic. “Go, Bishop Eight.”

“Need a number for a 21, urgent.”

“What’s the number on that payphone?” Trace asked Phillip.

Phillip checked the label on the phone. “Eight-seven-six-nine-nine-zero-nine.”

Trace relayed the number through the radio, and a moment later, the payphone rang. Phillip answered it, his heartbeat speeding up. “Red?”

“Where’s Trace? I need you both on,” Red said, his voice quick and taut.

Phil beckoned Trace over and held out the phone so that they could both hear. “Red, what’s going on?” Trace asked.

“They got Daring,” Red panted. “Daring’s been kidnapped.”

Phillip’s heart stopped for a beat. “How?” he breathed.

“They ambushed us,” Red said. “Five griffons and two ponies, one unicorn and one pegasus, all wearing masks, plus at least one more driver. They carried Daring off in a white van, no marks or license plates, headed west on Trout Avenue. I’ve already canvassed for witnesses, but nopony saw anything. Of course they fucking didn’t,” he muttered under his breath.

“When?” Trace asked.

“No more than five minutes ago,” Red asked.

Phillip barely heard him: a rapid, heavy thudding noise was growing in his ears, drowning out all other sound, drowning out his own thoughts. He sucked in air like a drowning pony, his heartbeat hammering against his skull. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, Daring was gone, they took Daring, shouldn’t have left her, they took her, she was going to die—

“Phil? Phil!”

A heavy blow struck Phillip across the face, shocking him back out of his thoughts and into reality. He shook his head, forcing himself to breathe more steadily, and nodded at Trace. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Trace said. “Red and I have both been waiting to smack you for ages.”

“Just wish it could’ve been me,” Red said over the phone. “Listen, I’ll look around for any more clues, then meet you back at the precinct. You two get back to the precinct and start checking surveillance crystal footage.”

“Will do,” Trace nodded and hung up the phone. He and Phil both ran back to the Commander, Phillip vaulting over the hood and jumping into the passenger seat just as Trace turned the ignition with his magic. The car peeled away from the curb with a roar of the engine and a loud shriek of tires, the siren wailing out its warning cry.

Trace fastened his seat belt with his magic, glancing over at Phillip. The stallion hadn’t bothered with his seat belt; instead he was braced against the dashboard, every muscle taut, as though he was preparing to jump out of the car before it even stopped.

“We’ll find her,” he reassured him.

Phillip didn’t reply, keeping his narrowed eyes on the road. Trace tried to suppress the uneasy squirming in the pit of his stomach.

He recognized that gleam in Phillip’s eyes, like distant lightning flickering beneath the clouds of an oncoming storm. Whenever he got that look in his eyes, it ended with somepony going to the hospital.

Trace pulled the Commander into the side parking lot of the PPD Precinct. Phillip jumped out almost before the car stopped and started running towards the side door. Trace switched off the ignition and jumped out, sprinting after him.

Phillip shouldered his way through the door and rushed down the hallways, shoving past several ponies. He finally reached his destination: the dispatch room. He barged into the room, shoving the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall. Everypony in the room stopped in the midst of their tasks, their heads turning towards him.

Phillip looked towards the back of the room and spotted a familiar rotund white unicorn with brown hair standing in the back. “Roger,” he called, approaching the head dispatcher as Trace entered the room. “Need you to check footage for Trout Avenue in the Dockside, about twenty minutes ago.”

Roger Breaker blinked at him and swallowed. “Uh, okay.” He walked to one of the crystals embedded in the walls and began to tap it. A projected image appeared on the wall in front of him, Phillip, and Trace, showing the abandoned warehouse on the dock with the Diplomat 600 sitting in front of it. The trio watched as Red and Daring both appeared and walked to the car. Suddenly, a trio of masked griffons descended from the sky; two of them dropped a net on Daring, while the other attacked Red. A white van pulled up to the scene, partially blocking the crystal.

Phil let out a short exhalation through his teeth, the muscles in his shoulders and forelegs tightening. “Shouldn’t have split up,” he muttered. “Should’ve stayed with her—”

“Phil, stay focused,” Trace interrupted. “You need to concentrate on finding her, not on what you should’ve done differently.”

Phillip nodded and refocused on the image. The truck moved away, headed down Trout Avenue; the viewers caught a brief glimpse of Red Herring flying out of the frame in the opposite direction, pursued by a griffon armed with a carbine.

“Follow the truck,” Phillip said.

Roger turned and pushed some more crystals. The image disappeared and was immediately replaced with a view looking up a street, traveling along the northern bank of the Maresippi. The white truck passed by the crystal, headed west along the bank.

“That’s further down Trout,” Roger explained. “Um, let’s see if they turned off at Jetsam Street.”

Phillip glanced at the map at the head of the dispatch room, a web of streets and labels covered with blinking colored dots that marked cruisers, unmarked cars, and surveillance crystals. He located Trout Avenue and followed it west along the bank until it reached Jetsam Street, a T-intersection traveling north-south.

The door opened again and Red Herring stepped into the room. “Oh, there you are,” he said, walking up to Phillip. “I didn’t find anything useful at the scene, but I did turn over the body of the guy I killed to Mortis, and gave his gun to Suunkii. They’re examining them now.” He paused for a moment. “I did see something on his body, though.” He pulled an instant photograph out of his pocket and held it out to Phillip. Phillip took it and studied it.

It was a close-up photograph of the dead griffon’s neck. Tattooed on the skin was a mark: a curved silver claw. “The silver claw,” he observed, handing the photograph back.

“We both know what that means,” Red Herring replied, his face a grim mask.

“Whitestone,” Phillip said.

“I’ve already done what I can to track her down, but you know she spends most of her time out on the river,” Red said. “And even if we do manage to track her down, she obviously won’t have fuckshit anything to do with this.”

“Find Daring first. Worry about her later,” Phillip muttered.

“Found it!” Roger suddenly cried. Red and Phillip both looked up to see a projection of a T-intersection, where Trout crossed with Jetsam. The white van from before trundled into view, heading up towards the intersection, then turned south and drove out of sight. Breaker brought up another view that showed the truck driving over a bridge across the Maresippi River and disappearing over the southern border of Ponyville.

“We lost ‘em there,” Breaker said, pausing the image. “They could be miles away by now, probably in Fillydelphia or Appleloosa. You could—”

“What’re you playing at?” Phillip suddenly growled at Breaker.

Breaker stepped back, his eyes widening. “Uh, what?”

“The shadows,” Phillip said, pointing at the image. Everypony turned to observe the shadows on the bridge that extended from the light posts and the cars, noticing that they were long and extended perpendicular to the bridge.

“It’s nearly four o'clock now, but those shadows are long and facing west,” Phillip said. “That’s from early this morning. Show me footage from twenty minutes ago!”

Breaker swallowed and nodded, turning back to the crystals and pressing them, causing more projections to appear before them. He scanned the moving pictures, his eyes twitching from one to another.

But Phillip’s eyes were on Breaker himself. Specifically on the bead of sweat that was slowly trickling down the back of his neck. He noticed the unicorn’s tense posture, the way he kept licking his lips and swallowing. A suspicion grew in the back of his mind. He looked over at the map at the head of the room. His eyes focused on a blue dot that marked the position of a cruiser traveling along Pear Street, then on a cluster of blue and yellow dots that surrounded the precinct.

The suspicion grew stronger, feeling like a growing flame against the back of his head. He looked over at Roger, causing the unicorn to quickly look away from him.

“Planting the crystal on Trace’s car was easy, wasn’t it?” he said.

Roger Breaker froze, his hooves halting over the crystals embedded in the walls. His throat convulsed as he swallowed: his eyes, locked straight ahead, dilated into pinpricks. Trace and Red both tensed up, instinctively drawing their coats away from their holsters in a calm, trained motion.

“It was you all along,” Phillip said, his voice suddenly very quiet and very calm, like the wind that heralded a massive storm. “You track us with that map of yours, watching with your crystals, calling your bosses whenever we get too close for comfort. You called in Twisted Root when we stopped at the motel; that’s how he teleported in to attack us. You called Tinderspark and warned her we were coming.” He glared in silence, compelling Roger Breaker to slowly turn around and face him. The unicorn had paled, his eyes wide.

“How many ponies have died because you were greedy?” Phillip growled. The room had gone abruptly silent, every head turned to watch the confrontation.

Roger Breaker let out a quiet, indistinct noise of fear, then bolted like a rabbit, shoving past Phillip and making a beeline for the door. He barely made it three steps before he was halted in his tracks by Trace’s stunning spell to the face, quickly followed by Red punching him across the jaw, knocking out some teeth and sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Cocksucker!” Red roared at the cowering Breaker. “Traitor! Whore! Two-faced son of a bitch!”

Phillip walked calmly over to Breaker and glared down at him. “Where is Daring?” he whispered.

“I’m n-not telling you!” Breaker stammered through his bloodied mouth, trembling.

Phillip glared at Breaker for a moment more, then looked up at Trace and Red. “Five minutes alone,” he said.

Trace frowned. “Phil, I know you’re desperate, but this is the precinct. You can’t expect us—”

“Trace, you think he’s gonna listen?” Red replied curtly. “Listen, if this piece of shit knows something, we gotta get it out of him and fast. And you and I both know that Phil can do that.”

“Thought you hated it when he did that,” Trace muttered at his partner.

“I do because it makes a mess out of our lives,” Red replied. “But I’ll take the extra paperwork if it gets us Daring back.”

Trace frowned at Red, then at Phillip. Phillip just glared stonily back at him, the same gleam in his eyes. Slowly, he nodded.

“Five minutes,” he said, trying to ignore the acid bubbling in his stomach.

Phillip nodded and seized Breaker by the scruff of his neck, dragging him out of the room. Breaker kicked and struggled all the way, letting out indistinct bleats of fear and pleas for help. Nopony dared to intervene as Phillip and Breaker disappeared around the corner, followed by Red.

“You,” Trace barked to one of the other dispatchers, a young unicorn mare. “You know how to work these things?”

“Y-yes, sir,” the mare nodded.

“Good, come here and help me track that van,” Trace said, shooting one last nervous glance at the door.

Red opened the door to an adjacent office and glanced inside. “Nopony home,” he grunted, holding the door open for Phillip. “Five minutes.”

“Just need that,” Phillip said, dragging Breaker into the room behind him. The room was furnished with desks gathered in a few rows with a center aisle, facing a podium and a blackboard up at the head of the room. Phillip tossed Breaker against one of the desks; the traitor crashed into it and tumbled to the floor with a pained grunt.

“One last time,” Phillip growled, approaching slowly. “Where did they take Daring?”

“I ain’t t-telling you shit!” Breaker cried, crawling away from Phillip, clambering over the overturned desk and chair.

“Whatever happens next is entirely up to you,” Phillip said, looming over Breaker, his shadow casting him in darkness.

“Go...to...hell!” Breaker cried, his voice containing slightly more fear than actual defiance. His horn lit up and the table flew up from the floor right at Phillip.

Without missing a beat, without even blinking, Phillip snatched the table out of the air, yanking it free of the magical grip and tossing it aside. “You asked for this,” he whispered, and lunged, bringing his left hoof and, with it, his full weight down onto Breaker’s knee.

The screaming was faintly muted by the closed door, but it was still loud enough for Red to pause in his pacing and glance up at the door. “Traitorous little bastard,” he muttered, turning his head away and resuming his pacing.

“Detective Herring!” a voice called. Red looked up to see Flash Sentry running towards him. The younger pegasus skidded to a halt in front of him.

“Where’s Phillip?” Flash asked. “I just overheard that there was a call about a kidnapping in the Dockside District. They said it was Daring?”

“It was,” Red replied. “But Phil’s—”

A loud crack and a scream from inside the room cut Red off. “What the—?” Flash asked, walking into the room before Red could stop him.

Phillip was standing over Roger Breaker, pinning him to the floor with one hoof to the head. Roger was trembling, tears of mixed pain and fear running down his bloodied face; every breath came in a whimper.

“You’re going to tell me,” Phillip growled. “By my count, I still have six more ribs I can break. You want to spend a month in traction? I can arrange it.”

“P-please!” Roger wailed. “They’ll kill me if I t-tell you anything!”

Phillip’s reply was to press down on Breaker’s broken knee, eliciting a howl of agony. “And I’ll make you beg me to kill you. Where are they?”

“Okay! Okay, okay!” Roger sobbed. “Th-they took her to a truck depot on 1516 Northway Drive! I helped them plan a route that would take them out of view of any crystals, then had them take that fake route to throw anypony off! That’s all I know, I swear!”

Phillip stepped off Breaker with a disgusted grunt. “Make a full confession, or I’m coming back for you,” he warned, then looked up. He noticed Flash standing in the doorway and froze, his heart suddenly seeming to pull away from the younger stallion. Flash was staring at him with an expression of open-mouthed shock, his eyes flicking from him to Breaker to his hooves. Phillip glanced down and realized that his hooves were stained red with blood.

“I…” Flash stammered slowly, fear and confusion shining in his blue eyes. “You...what the hell?”

Phillip glanced back at Breaker, and for a moment, he flashed back to a small apartment room. It was dark, the only light coming from the flickering bulb of an overturned lamp. The remnants of a coffee table were spread out over the golden carpeting before him, like rubble after a battle. A body lay sprawled across the floor, covered in a dressing gown whose scarlet coloring matched the blood that was everywhere. A bloodied knife lay on the floor next to Phillip’s hoof.

He shook his head and refocused. “He’s a traitor who sold us out to the mob,” he explained to Flash. “Get him booked.”

Flash swallowed and nodded, sticking his head out of the room. “Hey, uh, we need a medic down here!” he called. A few moments later, two officers appeared carrying a stretcher. They and Flash carefully lifted Breaker onto the stretcher and carried him out of the room.

Red followed them out. “Once the docs have looked you over, you and I are gonna have a very long talk, scumbag,” he growled at Breaker.

Phillip exited the room, closing the door behind him. He looked down at his bloodstained hooves again and realized that they were shaking slightly, along with his own breathing. Spotting a stallion’s bathroom across the hallway, he walked into it, shutting the door behind him, and bent over the old, slightly cracked sink. He turned on the faucet and held his hooves beneath the ice-cold water, scrubbing away the red.

Try not to think about how it smells. Try not to think about that night. Try not to think about how heavy the bags were when you dropped them in the river. Try not to think about the sound of the saw as you carved his limbs and his head off…

He paused, gripping the sides of the porcelain for support, sucking air through his mouth. In and out, slowly.

You had to get him to tell you where Daring was, he told himself. He wasn’t going to talk otherwise, and her life was in danger. No other choice.

“Right,” he muttered, nodding at his reflection in the dirty mirror. “Right.”

The door opened and Trace entered. “You okay?” he asked Phil.

Phillip shook his head and wiped his face, realizing as he did so that there were tears in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he grunted. He exited the bathroom with Trace.

“I managed to pick up the van again, but I lost it somewhere near Promenade Avenue,” Trace explained. “You get anything from Breaker?”

“Daring’s at a truck depot at 1516 Northway,” Phillip stated. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“As tempting as letting you both get killed can be sometimes, if you think I’m gonna let you go on this alone, you’ve got another thing coming,” Trace scoffed.

Phillip blinked at Trace. “Trace, I…” He swallowed, licking his lips as he tried to forge his emotions into actual words. “You and I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Trace replied quietly. “I know.”

“FINDER!” a voice bellowed. Both stallions looked up to see Cold Case storming towards them.

“Would you care to explain to me why our head dispatcher is headed to the infirmary with several broken ribs, a cracked jaw, and a broken knee?” she spat at Phillip.

“Ask Red about the jaw,” Phillip said. “The rest was because he wouldn’t tell me where Daring was.”

“There are laws about this, Phillip!” Cold snapped. “It was bad enough when you did this as an officer, but now—!”

Cold’s rant was interrupted by the sharp barking of a gunshot from up the hallway, followed by panicked screams and yells. Cold, Trace, and Phillip all froze, then sprinted up the hallway. The shouting became more distinct as they ran towards the corner.

“What the fuck, Current?!” Red Herring’s voice was shouting.

“He was going for your gun!” a stallion’s voice replied.

“Luna, there’s blood everywhere!” another voice cried. “Ah, shit, it’s on my uniform!”

The trio rounded the corner and saw a group of ponies standing in front of them. They pushed through the crowd and froze at what they saw. The stretcher upon which Breaker laid was sitting in the middle of the hallway. Breaker was sprawled across it, a bullet hole carved through his skull. Blood and brain matter was sprayed over the wall and on the uniforms of several officers gathered around the scene. Flash was standing off to one side, his eyes wide with shock, pink goo spattered across his shirt. Red was berating another officer, a blue earth pony with white hair and the cutie mark of a running river who had his revolver held by his side.

“So you’re gonna tell me that some busted up dumbfuck being carried on a stretcher tried to grab my gun while I was five feet away from him, much less that I wouldn’t notice if he tried?” Red snarled. “And put that thing away, you’re gonna shoot somepony’s eye out!”

“Give me that!” Cold shouted, snatching the officer’s gun away in her magic. “All of you, out! This is a crime scene!”

The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving Cold Case standing in the hallway, staring at the corpse and the stretcher. Officer Current walked away quickly, his expression cold and his brow slightly furrowed. Red followed Trace and Phillip around the corner; Flash came after them, still shaking a little and trying to wipe the goo off his uniform.

“So what now?” Red asked.

“I’m going to get Daring back,” Phillip said, already walking away.

“And we’re going with,” Trace said, following. “Right, Red?”

“Damn straight,” Red Herring grunted, joining the group. “I must be losing my marbles,” he muttered to himself.

“Wait for me!” Flash cried, running after them.

Phillip paused and turned around to face Flash. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“You’re going to rescue Daring, right?” Flash swallowed. “I want to help.”

Red, Trace, and Phillip all glanced at each other. “It might be dangerous, kid,” Trace warned.

“I took an oath to protect and serve,” Flash said firmly, his shaking slowly subsiding as he spoke. “If I back out of this, that oath is meaningless.”

Phillip considered for a moment, then nodded. “Fifteen sixteen Northway Drive. Let’s go.”

The group walked quickly out of the precinct and out into the parking lot. Phillip, Trace, and Red climbed into Trace’s Commander, while Flash sprinted over to his motorcycle and kickstarted it to life. Flipping on the bike’s lights and sirens, Flash escorted them out of the parking lot and onto the street, heading southwest.

Hang tight, Daring, Phillip prayed from the backseat of the Commander. The clouds above their heads finally broke and the rain began to fall, drenching the streets and casting everything in gray.

Case Five, Chapter Six: The Rescue

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The depot was a small warehouse in the eastern part of Ponyville, near the vague borderline between the Dockside and the Everfree Districts. It stood in the middle of a mostly-empty lot of dirt and weeds, with a heavily cracked driveway leading up to the five doorways, as if somepony had just dropped the building there and forgotten about it. Inside the warehouse, three of the available parking spaces were occupied. Two of them were occupied by a pair of trailer trucks, neither of them sporting logos. The third was the white van, which had received new fabricated license plates.

Five griffons and four ponies milled about the depot. Two unicorns were currently applying a fresh coat of yellow paint to the getaway van with spray cans. The others were sitting in a group around a card table in front of one of the trailer cabs, playing poker and taking chugs of cheap cider. Their laughter and voices mixed with the blaring of a rock and roll song playing from a radio in the corner and the rain pattering against the roof. Each of the thugs had a gun either on their person or within arm’s reach, a mix of hoofguns and shotguns.

Daring was laying on the cold concrete floor in the corner, a few feet from the poker game. Her captors had removed her from the net, but had cuffed her front hooves behind her, tightly bound her wings and legs with strong cord, and secured a blindfold over her eyes. They’d also removed her hat and shirt; the memory of the griffon’s rough claws groping and harshly stroking her body as they stripped her made Daring’s stomach turn.

At least they didn’t gag me, she thought bitterly, testing her bonds. The ropes were tied tightly and secured with strong knots that didn’t budge a bit. The cuffs were police-issue, which meant that they carried a charm for disabling her magic and sapping her energy; her limbs were sluggish to respond to her commands, and the familiar static electricity-like tingling of magic energy traveling through her wings was uncomfortably absent. The blindfold was made of black cloth, and while some light leaked through the material, she couldn’t see anything except the folds in the cloth.

“Okay, boys, next hand wins her hat,” one of her captors said, shuffling the cards.

“Hey, maybe we should get the bitch on her and take her for a quick bounce,” one of the griffons guffawed, a slight slur already evident in his longer syllables. “Bet she’d scream real loud.”

“She’s certainly got a big mouth,” another griffon said. Daring recognized his voice as one of the captors in the van. “You should’ve heard her cursing all the way here.”

“Bet she sucks great with it!” another pony said, causing the entire company to burst into raucous laughter.

Daring scowled towards the voices and let out a quiet growl. Anything you fucks put in my mouth is gonna get bitten off, she silently promised, even as her stomach clenched and her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs.

She took in a quick breath, then slowly exhaled all of the air in her lungs, relaxing all of her muscles. She’d pulled her legs and wings apart while her captors were binding her; relaxing now gave her some wiggle room. Not enough to slip out of her bonds, but enough that it might help her escape.

When she was in the Family, one of their favorite pastimes was learning how to escape from bonds, a skill that she had quickly become adept at. She had also learned how to hide useful equipment on her person. And one of those tools, one that she never left home without, was going to help her.

She flicked her tail up, feeling it brush against her cuffed hooves, and started to feel through the strands of hair. She grasped what felt like a simple snarl in the hair, and deftly untangled it. She paused to listen for any signs that she was being observed, but the sounds of the poker party continued unabated, her captors too engrossed in their game to pay much attention to her.

What had felt like a simple tangle in her tail hair unwrapped to reveal its contents: a hoofcuff key and a razor blade with a plastic covering on the edges. Grasping the key, she started to maneuver it into the keyhole of the cuffs. Her heart continued to hammer against her chest, and she concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and quiet.

Phil’s coming, she promised herself. He’ll come. He’ll find you.

Sirens wailing, Trace raced through the streets of Ponyville at high speed, weaving around traffic and dashing through traffic signals and stop signs. Flash followed as close behind as he dared, leaning hard into the turns and frequently squeezing the brakes as he directed his bike in between cars.

“The cap’s not gonna be happy about this,” Trace commented as he steered around an oncoming truck, causing the other driver to blare his horn at them. The wipers on his windshield fought a valiant battle against the rain.

“Worry about her later,” Phillip grunted from the backseat.

“Yeah, let’s worry about not dying right now,” Red said through gritted teeth, gripping the dashboard hard as Trace ignored a red light and hydroplaned across an intersection to the music of screeching tires and brakes. “If you love this car so much, Trace, why are you trying to wreck it?!”

“Relax, Sweetpea can handle worse than this,” Trace said, affectionately patting the steering wheel.

“Who...Sweetpea?” Red asked incredulously. “Who names their car?! And who names their car Sweetpea?!”

“I do,” Trace said, an edge of defensiveness entering his voice. “Train tracks.”

They hit the train tracks so hard that the rear wheels bounced off the road completely, the motion flinging Phillip and Red around the interior of the car like rag dolls and causing Red to hit his head against the headrest of his seat.

“Ow! For fuck’s sake, Trace, we—”

“Detective Evidence and Detective Herring, this is Chief Tumbler,” a voice spoke through the radio.

Everypony in the car fell silent, glancing at each other. “Do we answer?” Red asked quietly.

“Maybe if we ignore it, he’ll think that we can’t hear him,” Trace muttered.

“Turn around and come back to the precinct immediately,” Chief Tumbler ordered. “Both of you are associating with a criminal and are guilty of insubordination.”

Trace glanced at the others, then grasped the hoofset in his magic and held it up to his mouth. “Sir, we can’t do that,” he replied. “We have viable information that a pony’s life is in danger.”

“You will return to the precinct and submit to questioning, by choice or by force,” Chief Tumbler replied, danger in every syllable.

Trace frowned and clicked the mike. “Come and fucking get us, then,” he dared.

“All units, Trace Evidence, Red Herring, Flash Sentry, and Phillip Finder are to be arrested immediately,” Tumbler’s voice ordered. “Lethal force is authorized; if they don’t stop, shoot them until they stop, and then shoot them again. Currently headed east on Saint Megan Road.”

“Well, great,” Red muttered. “You had to go and antagonize him—”

A heavy blow struck the right side of the car and sent all three ponies lurching. Turning, Phillip saw that a police cruiser had pulled out of a side street and slammed into them, trying to shove them off the road. The cruiser began to drive alongside them and slowed down, the driver trying to align themselves with Trace’s rear right wheel.

Trace responded by braking quickly, causing the cruiser to shoot past them, then jerking the wheel hard to the right. He slammed into the cruiser’s rear left wheel, causing it to spin out of control, jets of water shooting everywhere. It tumbled into the sidewalk curb and rolled over onto its roof.

“One down,” Trace said, speeding past, Flash right behind them.

“There’ll be more,” Phillip grunted, turning to look behind them.

As if his word had been a command, another cruiser pulled out of a street to their left and began to pace them. The passenger side window rolled down and the officer inside leaned out, carrying a Trotson .45 submachine gun. With a twisted grin, the unicorn pulled the cocking lever back.

“Down!” Trace yelled. Everypony ducked just as the cop opened fire, the Trotson chattering loudly. The bullets slammed into the reinforced chassis and windows; the bulletproof glass cracked and splintered, but did not break. Trace swerved and smashed into the cruiser, but the other driver pushed back. The two vehicles engaged in a deadlock, grinding against one another. The passenger reloaded his Trotson; at this range, the bullets would smash right through the already-damaged windows.

Flash accelerated up behind the other cruiser and drew his sidearm. Balancing the bike carefully with one hoof, he took aim and fired off three shots, hitting both of the rear tires and blowing them out. The driver of the cruiser skidded, fighting for control, and Trace rammed him again, knocking the enemy vehicle into a lamppost and bringing it to an abrupt halt.

“They’re tracking us,” Phillip stated as they drove past the smoking wreckage. “We gotta ditch the car somewhere.”

“Agreed,” Trace said, turning left at the next intersection, with Flash close behind them. “We’re almost to Northway Drive anyway.”

“There’s a parking garage,” Red said, pointing at the four-story concrete building to their right. “We can shake them off there.”

Trace nodded and turned right, headed into the garage. They slid down a short ramp into the belly of the beast, weaved past several lines of parked cars, and started driving up the ramps towards the top of the building. Flash remained close on their tail; the screaming of sirens came from outside.

“Just park it here,” Red said tersely.

“I hate leaving her like this,” Trace muttered, pulling the car over to the side slightly and stopping, turning off the engine. The trio piled out of the vehicle. Flash parked his bike behind them and dismounted, taking the shotgun out of the attached holster and slinging it over his shoulder.

“We can fly across to the next building and make it to Northway on hoof,” Phillip said. “Let’s move.”

The group ran to the edge of the building, to the short concrete wall that opened up to the outside. Red grasped Trace beneath the forelegs and took to the air; Flash took hold of Phillip and followed. As they flew over the street, they could see several cruisers stopped outside the parking garage, officers pouring out of their vehicles with their guns drawn.

They landed atop the building next to theirs, an apartment building. Dashing across the roof, they climbed down a fire escape on the other side to the alleyway below.

“Right, Northway is just a few miles,” Phillip said. “Let’s move.”

They turned to go, but a voice at the head of the alley called out: “Stop. Turn around slowly.”

They turned to see Prowl standing behind them in the rain, her revolver raised. Bumblebee was standing next to her, one hoof on his gun and a nervous expression on his face, panting through an open mouth.

“How did—?” Red sputtered.

“Saw you flying over us,” Prowl answered.

“Sarge, please,” Flash pleaded. “They’re trying to stop us. Daring’s in trouble.”

Prowl gave him a brief glare and he fell silent. Prowl looked at Phillip, who stared back evenly.

“Detectives,” Prowl said, not taking her eyes off of Phillip. “Are you sure that you trust him?”

“With my life,” Trace said without hesitation.

“And with Daring’s life,” Red added.

Prowl hesitated for a beat, then holstered her weapon. “That’s all I needed to hear,” she nodded. “You’re headed to Northway Drive?”

“Yes,” Phillip nodded.

“Then let’s get moving,” Prowl declared. She turned and took to the skies, headed up the alleyway. Trace, Phillip, Flash, and Red all followed.

Bumblebee brought up the end of the line, huffing and puffing. “Wish I was a pegasus,” he grumbled to himself as he ran through the rain.

“Where the hell are they?” Chief Tumbler snapped, the veins in his neck throbbing with rage as he stared at the map in front of him. Several blinking dots were gathered around a single parking garage on Southern Wind Street.

“They’re searching the garage now, sir,” a dispatcher said next to him, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he pressed his headset against his ears. “They found the car and the bike, but no sign of them yet.”

“Tell them to turn that garage inside out if they have to, I want them found!” Chilled Tumbler roared, alcohol-scented spittle flying from his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” the dispatcher said.

“Sir, is this necessary?” Cold Case asked, watching from behind the chief.

“I thought you hated Finder and Do,” Tumbler grunted, not turning to face her.

Cold Case was silent for a moment, then said, “They need to be reined in, yes, but I never said I wanted them killed. And going after our own officers—”

“Shut up, mare,” Tumbler snapped at her, giving her a death glare that would’ve been much more effective if his eyes weren’t jittering about in their sockets, a clear sign of his drunken state. “Your job is to listen to your superiors. And if I say that a pony needs to be brought in dead or alive, then your job is to support that, fully.”

Cold glared at her chief but said nothing. “Good, somepony who knows their place,” Tumbler muttered. He licked his lips. “Fuck this shit,” he grunted, turning and exiting the dispatch room. “Let me know if they turn anything up.”

He stormed down the hallway to the set of stairs and clambered up them, grunting with every other step and hanging onto the hoofrail for support. He reached the top floor and walked all the way down to the office door at the end. Unlocking the door with a key that he extracted from his belt, he let himself into his office, already thinking of the bottle of Sweet Apple Acres cider that he had stowed in the bottom right drawer. A shot or three of that would make this all much easier.

But before he had even made it halfway across the carpet to his desk, a flicker of motion at the edge of his already blurry vision made him aware of another presence in the room. He spun around, one hoof going for his holster, then stopped when he recognized the other pony.

“Oh, it’s you,” he grunted. “What does Charlie want now?”

The other pony didn’t reply, except to step forward purposefully.

“Now wait a fucking minute,” Tumbler said, backing up. “What the hell are you—?”

In a blur of motion, the other pony raised his right foreleg up across his chest, then drew it through the air with a vicious slashing motion. After a moment of confusion, Tumbler noticed that there was a blade extending from the sleeve of the other pony’s suit, and blood was dripping off it. His blood.

It was then that he realized he couldn’t breathe: when he tried, all that he could produce was a gurgling noise as thick, heavy, hot liquid filled his lungs. He reached for his gun, tried to shout out, but all the strength left his limbs. The office tilted to the side, and he found himself lying on the floor, choking on the blood that was pooling on the carpet, trying desperately to stem the bleeding even as his vision faded.

The last thing that Chilled Tumbler saw before he shuffled off this mortal coil was his killer’s eyes staring down at him, as cold and black as the abyss that was opening up beneath him to swallow him whole.

The group arrived at Northway Drive, breathing hard from their run and sopping wet. The truck depot was within sight, a few blocks ahead of them.

“Why are you doing this, Prowl?” Trace asked, turning to the thestral. “The orders came from the Chief himself.”

“I don’t trust the Chief,” Prowl replied, turning back towards the others. “But I do trust all of you.”

“Yeah, you guys are awesome,” Bumblebee said, smiling through his pants.

Red flew ahead to quickly scout out the depot, then flew back. “No one’s outside, but there are lights on. Hopefully, Breaker was telling the truth, and this isn’t a trap. There’s a back door with a padlock, and it looks like one of the sliding doors isn’t shut all the way.”

“Okay, let’s move in,” Trace instructed. “And Phil,” he added, turning to Phillip. He reached underneath his coat, pulled out a spare pistol, and held it out to him.

Phillip blinked at the weapon, then slowly took it. The Moon Model S felt abnormally heavy and clunky in his hoof; the hoof strap fit, but was itchy, and the metal grip was cold to the touch. “You know I don’t like these,” Phillip muttered, pulling the slide back to make sure that there was a round in the chamber.

“I know,” Trace said. “But there’s going to be a lot of ponies in there, and hoof to hoof isn’t the best option. You’ve been damn lucky before, but it’s not a good idea to test the odds too much.”

Phillip nodded and tightened the strap enough so that the gun wouldn’t slide off his hoof. He tilted the weapon back to “safe” mode so that he could walk without difficulty and followed Trace up the sidewalk towards the depot.

They approached from the side, out of sight of the windows. Phillip, Trace, and Red went around to the front, while Prowl, Bumblebee, and Flash went around to the back. “Standard flash and clear,” Trace instructed. “You three wait for my light spell, then bust the door and head inside.”

“Yes, sir,” Prowl said. “Sentry, you have breaching rounds?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sentry nodded, extracting a couple of heavy slug rounds from the side saddle cartridge holder on the stock of his weapon and loading them directly into the breech.

“Good. Blow the hinges. We’re not wearing any flak jackets, so shooting out the lock is a bad idea; too much shrapnel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sentry said, his hooves shaking slightly as he checked the chamber of his shotgun.

Prowl paused beside the door and made eye contact with both stallions. “Remember your training,” she advised. “Don’t think about what you’re doing. When the moment to act comes, you’ll be ready.”

“And don’t worry, Flash,” Bumblebee added with a genuine grin, patting his rotund belly. “I’m a bigger target than you, so they’ll probably be shooting at me first.”

Flash managed to smile, gripping the shotgun tightly as he pressed himself against the wall.

Out in front, Phillip, Trace, and Red stopped at the furthest left door, which was indeed partly open. Phillip crouched in front of the entrance, pulling a hoof mirror out of his pocket and sliding it through the entryway. “Three vans,” he whispered. “I see...at least seven hostiles. Two unicorns at one van, the rest in the corner, playing poker. Can’t see around the corner.”

“Armed?” Red asked.

“Pistols and shotguns,” Phillip said. “They’re just mucking about, not on guard. Don’t see Daring...wait…” He paused, squinting, then his eyes widened. “That’s her hat on the table. She’s here.”

“Right,” Trace nodded, lighting up his horn. “Red, get ready to open the door and give ‘em the news.”

Red stepped up and grasped the rusty door handle. Phillip took his place next to the door, gripping his pistol in both hooves. Trace gathered energy into his horn, generating a ball of light at the tip.

“Ponyville Police!” Red shouted through the opening. “Come out with your hooves up!”

There was an instant uproar from inside, several voices and stamping hooves mixing with the clicking of weapons.

“I don’t think they’re coming out,” Red commented dryly to Trace. Trace nodded and lowered his head slightly.

“One,” he said, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Two...three!”

Red yanked the door upwards as Trace fired the sphere forward into the garage. Everypony turned their heads aside as the ball of light exploded outwards with a great flare like a star being born. Several voices from inside yelled in confusion and shock, giving them the cue to enter, weapons drawn.

The two unicorns that had been standing beside the van were staggering, hooves over their eyes. One shot each from Red and Phillip dropped them both. At the same moment, the officers entered. Bumblebee in the lead, Prowl slightly behind him and to his left, and Flash bringing up the rear, using his wings to levitate slightly off the ground so that he could fire over his partner’s heads.

A griffon, blinded and enraged by the noises, charged towards the sound, raising a .357 revolver. Prowl promptly put him down with a quick headshot. The officers rounded the cab to find three griffons and one pony standing around a poker table that was covered in scattered cards, plastic cups, poker chips, and a familiar green cargo shirt and pith helmet. The goons were already drawing guns and opening fire, shooting wildly from their hips. A shield of energy instantly blossomed from Trace’s horn, protecting the officers as they opened fire. Five bullets and a single round of buckshot all struck true, and all four thugs fell, dead or dying.

Together, they rounded around the cab and faced into the corner. A single unicorn had backed into the corner, holding the bound and blindfolded Daring up in front of him as a shield, pressing a pistol underneath her jaw.

“Drop it!” Prowl barked. “You’ve got nowhere to go!”

“Take another step and I’ll blow her head off!” the unicorn shouted.

Phillip kept his gun hoof up and steady, aiming at the gunpony’s face. But the target was too small; a squeeze of the trigger in between the rapid beats of his heart would be enough to put a round through Daring’s head instead of her captor. Daring’s teeth were gritted and her chest rose and fell rapidly with heavy breath. He tried to say something to reassure her, some kind of taunt that would force the gunpony to drop her, but his throat had dried out and his tongue wouldn’t work. He swallowed, gripping the gun tightly.

Flash’s eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything that he could use. His gaze fell on the poker table and paused there. His subconscious sounded an alarm in the back of his skull; something wasn’t right. He made a quick count: seven chairs, seven plastic cups of cider. Four bodies around it, which meant three more players. The two unicorns standing near the van hadn’t been sitting there, and if this gunpony and the other griffon had been...he did a quick mental calculation and realized that there was one pony missing.

Some instinct made him look up and behind them. A small black griffon was perched on the rafters above them, holding a Trotson with a drum magazine, lowering a talon from his eyes. The griffon brought the weapon around to bear, aiming down at his distracted comrades.

“Behind us!” Flash shouted, spinning around. In a smooth, controlled movement that he’d practiced a thousand times in the academy, he guided his shotgun up to the target, placing the bead right over the griffon’s chest, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon kicked in his hooves, barking like a thunderclap, and the griffon tumbled off the rafter like a sack of potatoes. The other officers turned their heads to see what had happened.

The gunpony holding Daring, trying to seize some advantage out of the turn of events, took his gun off Daring and aimed it at Phillip. But as soon as the gun was no longer aimed at Daring, there was a click and Daring had her hooves in front, one cuff open and the other dangling from her left wrist. She let out a shout of rage and struck her captor in the chest with an elbow strike, winding him and forcing him to loosen his grip on her. She threw herself forward and down onto the ground.

Phillip did not hesitate. Three gunshots roared out of his weapon. The gunpony jerked with the impact of every bullet, his blood spattering against the back wall. He slumped to the floor, let out a final gasp, and was still.

Dropping the gun, Phillip ran over to Daring and tugged her blindfold off. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Daring said, uncuffing her other hoof as Phillip untied the rest of her bonds. “What the hell took you so long? I like bondage as much as the next mare, but I prefer we keep the damsel in distress routine to the bed—”

Daring’s sentence was cut off by Phillip pulling her into a tight hug. She hugged him back and kissed him on the lips, both of them shaking as the adrenaline washed through their systems.

Flash Sentry lowered his shotgun, clicking on the safety and shouldering the weapon. His eyes remained on the body of the griffon that he’d killed. Dark blood was spread across his chest from the multiple holes that the buckshot had ripped into him; his green eyes were open and staring at the ceiling, his beak hanging open as though in shock. Flash’s eyes went to the golden ring around one of his talons, then to the tattoo of intertwined hearts on his shoulder—one labeled “Cassie,” the other “Nicki,” and underlined with the word “Forever.”

“Nice shooting, Flash,” Bumblebee said, studying the scene. “Maybe we should sign you up for the PPD’s skeet shooting team.”

Flash shuddered. “Guys?” he said. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Prowl gently took Flash by the foreleg and guided him over to a corner opposite the others. Flash bent over and heaved, vomit splattering onto the floor.

“Let it out, Sentry,” Prowl said, gently patting him on the back.

“I’m sorry, ma’am—” Flash stated to say, then retched again and doubled over.

“Don’t be,” Prowl said. “There’s nothing to apologize for; killing another sentient being isn’t a normal thing to do. The first time I shot somepony, I went into shock; I wet the bed every night afterward for a month.” She paused, then added in a quiet hiss, “If you tell anypony, I will hunt you down.”

Flash came up for air and gave Prowl a brief salute with his wing, managing a weak grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now what?” Red Herring asked, pacing in a small circle. “We got Daring back, but the whole department’s gonna be after us now.”

“We could become fugitives,” Bumblebee suggested with a half-grin. “Jump a train, head on down to Manehattan or Fillydelphia, start dealing out vigilante justice to those who need it. Picture it: a group of former police officers, accused of a crime they did not commit—”

“Somepony smack him,” Prowl said, rolling her eyes. Trace gave Bumblebee a quick cuff over the head, silencing him.

“Do you still have those notes?” Daring asked, retrieving her shirt and hat, trying not to look at the dead bodies around the table.

“Yeah, here,” Red said, pulling the thankfully-dry folder out of his trenchcoat. “You think they’re in a code or something? I can’t make heads or tails of this.”

“I’m hoping our informant can help,” Daring said, tucking the folder into her shirt. “We’ll take these to them.”

“And we’ll—” Trace started to say, but was interrupted by the sound of tires pulling up to the building and stopping outside. Everypony froze. Trace walked up to one of the garage doors and peeked out the window.

“That’s the Captain’s car,” he breathed. “She’s stepping out now.”

“Any cruisers?” Phillip asked.

“No, looks like she’s alone,” Trace said. “She’s stopping outside.”

“Trace, Red, I know you’re in there,” Cold Case called from outside. “I followed your hoofprints from the garage. I’ve called off the search, I need you back at the precinct. Something’s happened, and you need to be debriefed.”

Everypony exchanged glances, none of them sure what to do. Trace pondered for a few moments, then turned to Phillip.

“You two get to your informant,” he said. “We’re going back to the precinct.”

“You sure?” Phillip asked.

“No point in running forever,” Trace said grimly. “When we leave, get moving.”

He turned and walked out of the open door. Red, Flash, Bumblebee, and Prowl all followed, all of them with grim faces that were quickly draining of color. Phillip and Daring remained inside. There was the sound of voices from outside, then tires crunching on gravel and driving away.

Phillip took a deep breath. “Let’s get going,” he said.

Daring nodded. Taking Phillip beneath the forelegs, she took off and flew out the door. Cold Case and the others were long gone. Banking northwest, Daring flew for the Apple Pie.

“I just want this over,” she breathed, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Me too,” Phillip nodded.

Case Five, Chapter Seven: Mint's Secret

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Her wings aching from the exertion of the day, Daring landed in front of the Apple Pie and together, she and Phillip pushed through the door. The Apple Pie was in full swing for the beginning of the evening: most of the tables were occupied and the sound of music and chattering filled their ears. A jenny and donkey couple were up on the stage, doing a boogie-woogie duet on piano and electric guitar. Pinkie Pie was floating from one table to the next, taking orders and trading jokes, laughter following in her wake. Despite her weariness and the still-lingering cold shock of what she had just gone through, Daring found herself slightly smiling; the atmosphere was just too positive and electric to not feel good.

Pausing at the door to shake themselves off, Phillip and Daring proceeded to the bar. Applejack was behind it talking to Steamed Carrot, who had stepped out of the kitchen. Both mares looked up at the detectives’ approach.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you two,” Applejack scowled, walking up to them. “Pinkie told me about Mint Breeze, that friend of yours.”

Daring glared at Phillip. “Discreet, huh?”

“I have a right to know what goes on in my own business,” Applejack replied. “What in Sam Hill were you thinking, bringing a mob witness here to hide? You couldn’t have taken him to your place or something?”

“Too obvious,” Phillip replied flatly.

“You’re putting my customers and my friends at risk!” Applejack snapped. “What do you think’s gonna happen when Monopoly or Whitestone or Silvertongue and his goons come in here and start shooting the place up? You think Steamed over here is gonna fight them off?!” She pointed at Steamed, who flinched.

“I like him,” Steamed said quietly, looking at the ground. “He’s actually pretty nice, and—”

“Being nice don’t mean he’s not dangerous,” Applejack cut her off.

“Don’t get crook, AJ,” Phillip said. “We’ll get him out of your hair pronto.”

“You’d better,” AJ grunted. “I keep Bessie around for a reason, but I’m not up for tempting fate.”

“Who’s Bessie?” Daring asked.

AJ reached underneath the bar and produced an old but well-polished double-barrelled shotgun. “This is Bessie,” AJ said, putting the weapon back underneath the bar. “I might like looking for the best in ponies, but that don’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Wise,” Phillip commented.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Daring suddenly said, looking up. Mint Breeze had just walked into the tavern from the stairs leading up to the bedrooms on the second floor. He tugged his coat around his form and looked around, licking his lips.

Daring quickly walked up to him. “Are you nuts?” she hissed. “You have to stay out of sight!”

Mint Breeze blinked at her, and for a moment, didn’t seem to recognize her, or realize that she was speaking to him. But the moment quickly passed and he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just...it was boring sitting up in my room by myself, and I was hungry…”

Daring grabbed him by the foreleg and guided him to the kitchen, walking at a quick but casual pace to avoid attention. They passed through the swinging doors into the Apple Pie’s kitchen, followed by Phillip.

Steamed Carrot nervously stuck her head in through the doorway. “You said you were hungry?” she asked Mint, preferring to look at the floor instead of at him. “Do you want me to make you something real quick?”

“Uh, maybe just something real quick,” Mint Breeze nodded, digging into a pocket. He took out a tin of dip and pulled out a small piece, popping it into his mouth and chewing hard. “Hungry,” he muttered distractedly.

The thought of cooking seemed to make Steamed Carrot perk up enough to lift her head and look at her customers. “What about you two?” she asked Phillip and Daring.

Phillip and Daring’s stomachs both grumbled at the offer of food, reminding them both that they hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Steamed giggled quietly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “I think I’ve still got the stuff to make my famous five-minute egg foo yong with mushroom sauce!” She walked over to the griddle and set to work, humming quietly.

Daring pulled the folder of notes out from beneath her shirt and handed it to Mint. “Can you read any of this?” she asked.

Mint Breeze took the notes and looked them over. “You found them, good,” he nodded. “What took you so long?”

“Ran into some other ponies who wanted them,” Daring said. “Can you read that shit or not?”

“Well, I can,” Mint Breeze said, his eyes on the sheaves of papers. But Phillip noticed that his hooves were shaking slightly, and his eyes kept sliding out of focus. He chewed maniacally at the dip as he spoke.

“You okay?” he asked.

“J-just hungry...withdrawing,” Mint Breeze said, shaking his head. “I need my dip fix.” He forced himself to refocus. “Okay, this is in a code, but I know how to break it. I’m gonna need some time by myself, though.”

“Just tell us how to break it, we can do it ourselves,” Daring said impatiently.

“No!” Mint Breeze cried, suddenly jerking the papers away from them. There was a clattering from the griddle and everypony looked up to see that Steamed had dropped her spatula in fright in reaction to the raised voice. She stared at Mint Breeze, her eyes wide and her chest rapidly rising and falling.

Mint Breeze flinched. “I-I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered, looking away.

Steamed Carrot forced a smile on her face. “No, no, it’s okay!” she chirped unconvincingly. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” She turned back to the griddle and went back to work, moving at a rather frantic, hurried pace.

Mint Breeze turned back to Phillip and Daring. “I would if I could, but…” He sighed and turned back to the kitchen door for a moment. He started shaking even harder now, biting down on his lip. “Hungry…” he whimpered.

“Mint, we need you to focus,” Phillip said, laying a hoof on his shoulder.

“Sorry!” Mint Breeze said, shaking his head. “Anyway, I—”

The conversation was interrupted by Applejack sticking her head in through the kitchen door. “Keep him in here and stay quiet,” she hissed, then pulled her head back out.

“What’s going on?” Phillip muttered. Gesturing for the others to stay back, he walked up to the door and peeked out.

A tall green earth pony stallion with black hair and green eyes was standing at the bar, leaning forward slightly. He was wearing a light brown trench coat, open at the top, and had a dark gray fedora sitting on the bar in front of him.

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” Applejack was saying, her voice casual but strained. “I don’t know anypony named Mint Breeze.”

“Look, I’m real concerned for my friend here,” the stallion said, sincerity practically dripping off his barbed tongue. “If you’ve heard anything about him—”

“Nope,” AJ said, shaking her head and snatching up an already-pristine glass and starting to polish it. “Haven’t seen him.”

“But I have heard about Mint Breeze™, the new breath mint that’s been crowding shelves everywhere!” Pinkie Pie chirped, sliding into the scene and draping an arm around the stranger. She pulled out a tin labeled Mint Breeze and flashed it to the audience with a huge grin. “Mint Breeze™ can quickly take care of the nastiest bad breath, making it a cool way to break the ice!” Pinkie Pie continued. She opened up the tin and held out the box of mints to the stallion. “Here, try one!”

The stallion stared at Pinkie with an expression of complete bewilderment. “Dude, seriously, take one,” Pinkie Pie said.

The stallion just grunted and turned back to AJ. “Listen, I don’t think you know what’s at stake here,” he started to say.

“I think I’m beginning to,” Applejack replied coolly, one hoof slowly reaching for Bessie.

Phillip looked back inside the kitchen. Steamed Carrot, having apparently realized the danger, was crouched down in a fetal position underneath the griddle, covering her head with her hooves and whimpering quietly. Daring was crouched in front of her, holding her hoof with one of her own, the other gripping her kusarifundo, glaring at the door.

But Mint Breeze was now pacing in a small circle, shaking even harder than before. His teeth were gritted and his eyes were wide, unfocused on anything.

“Mint, get under the table,” Phillip instructed him.

“I’m hungry,” Mint Breeze muttered, licking his lips and jerking his head in an insect-like motion. “I’m hungry, I’m hungry…”

“Mint, get under the table!” Phillip repeated more firmly.

Mint’s response was to whirl around and hiss at Phillip. Phillip flinched, fixing his gaze on Mint’s eyes. His pupils had suddenly become vertical and his eyes a washed-out blue.

Phillip’s eyes went to the box of chewing tobacco, and something in his mind clicked. He knew what had happened to Headline Jot, he knew who had faked the crime scenes, and he knew why both Headline Jot and Mint Breeze liked Black Bear chewing tobacco. And he knew what he was facing.

“Daring, Steamed, get away from it!” he warned.

“What the hell is—?” Daring started to say, but then cried out in shock as Mint Breeze was suddenly consumed with emerald flames.

A moment later, the flames vanished, and Mint Breeze was replaced by what looked like a cross between a bug and a pony. It had a shiny, black, almost shell-like skin, a curved horn, and transparent blue-green insectoid wings. It had spiky blue hair and a short tail, and its eyes were a bright solid pupilless blue. It hissed at Phillip, revealing a long tongue and fangs.

“Changeling!” Daring cried, her face blanching as she scrambled away from the beast.

With a snarl, the changeling flung itself at Phillip, who ducked. The changeling flew through the swinging doors into the tavern and landed on top of the bar, hissing. The music and chatter were immediately replaced with screams of terrors as patrons and employees ran for the exits or dove underneath their tables.

“Luna fuck me!” the stallion in the trenchcoat cried out, reeling away from the creature. He reached into his coat and extracted a large pistol, firing a wild shot at the changeling that completely missed.

“Feed!” the changeling snarled, diving off the bar and onto the thug, biting down onto his neck. The thug let out a scream of pain and fear, flailing and struggling beneath the changeling, pounding futilely against his hardened hide. The changeling clung to him, growling like a rabid animal as he sucked at the wound. Within seconds, the stallion’s struggling slowed and ceased and he went limp, staring up at the ceiling.

The thing that had been Mint Breeze suddenly drew back, mouth hanging open. Shock was displayed across its face; it stared around at the tavern, its eyes widening as he saw all the ponies fleeing from it in terror.

“No, no, no, no, no…” it whimpered in a low, buzzing voice. It seemed to cower, lowering its head and looking around, panting.

Recovering from the shock, AJ drew Bessie from underneath the bar and took aim at the changeling’s back just as Daring burst from the kitchen. “Don’t!” she shouted, grabbing the barrel and yanking it down just as Applejack fired, sending a burst of buckshot into the floor.

The thunderous report of the shotgun seemed to snap the changeling out of its shock. It whirled around to face Applejack, spotting the gun. It froze for a moment, then flew for the door, its wings buzzing loudly.

“Get off!” Applejack shouted, shoving Daring back and taking aim once more. She fired again just as the changeling shoved its way through the door; buckshot peppered the door and the wall.

Phillip exited the kitchen, glanced around the room, then walked over to the stallion. He checked his pulse and listened to his breathing, then tried rousing him by shaking his shoulder and waving a hoof before his eyes.

“He’s breathing,” he reported. “But unresponsive. Can’t get him up. AJ, call an ambulance.”

“Where the hell did that thing come from?!” Applejack shouted.

“That…” Daring said. “That was Mint Breeze.”

Applejack stared at Daring for a few moments, her mouth hanging open in shock, then shouted, “You brought a changeling to my tavern?!”

“Hey, we didn’t fucking know!” Daring shouted back.

“Enough,” Phillip said firmly. “Arguing gets us nowhere.” He turned to Applejack. “I’m sorry, Applejack. I made a mistake.”

“Damn right you did,” Applejack growled.

At that moment, the phone rang. Applejack snatched it up and listened for a moment, then handed it to Phillip. “It’s for you,” she said coolly.

Phillip took the phone and held it up to his ear, listening. “Captain,” he grunted after a moment.

Daring looked back into the kitchen. Steamed Carrot was still huddled underneath the counter, rocking back and forth and whimpering. The eggs on the griddle were burning, jets of black smoke rising from the crispy forms.

“Steamed?” she asked, walking over and crouching down in front of her. “Steamed, can you hear me?”

Steamed just let out a soft whimper. Pinkie Pie, her hair even more frazzled and tangled than normal, entered the kitchen and walked over to Steamed. She slowly sat down next to her and draped an arm around her. Steamed curled up against Pinkie Pie, shivering.

“It’s okay,” Pinkie Pie soothed her, nuzzling her head. “It’s okay, it’s over…”

Daring took one last regretful look at the scene, then picked up the dropped folder and notes from the floor and exited the kitchen just as Phillip hung the phone up.

“We’re needed at the precinct,” he said to Daring.

Daring nodded numbly. Tucking the folder into her shirt, she followed Phillip out of the tavern. The scent of cordite hung heavy in the air and what few ponies were left in the Apple Pie were hiding underneath their tables. The stallion with the two puncture wounds in his neck was still laying on the floor, staring catatonically at the ceiling.

They pushed through the door, pockmarked with bullet holes, and out into the rain, hailing a passing cab.

When they pushed through the revolving door into the lobby of the PPD, Phillip and Daring were greeted with the sight of Trace Evidence standing in front of them. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced and he had been pacing in a circle when they arrived, stopping only when they entered.

“Captain wants us in her office,” he said and turned to lead the way. The trio walked through the doorway that led to the interior of the precinct, then up a set of stairs to the top floor. They walked down a hallway past several doors until they reached one labeled “Cold Case, Captain Special Investigations.”

The doorway at the end of the hallway had a sign that read “Chilled Tumbler, Chief of Police.” This door was closed and had bright yellow “CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS” tape stretched across it. Noticing this, Daring raised an eyebrow at Phillip. He frowned in response and shrugged as Trace opened the door and ushered them in.

Cold Case’s office was utilitarian: there was a large desk, a few chairs, a couple shelves nailed up on the wall that held certificates and trophies—Daring’s eyes went to a large golden trophy that proudly declared that Cold Case was the winner of the 1936 Ponyville Winter Sports Biathlon and a certificate that marked her as the holder of the highest score in the 1942 Ponyville Hoofgun Shooting Competition—and a coat rack in the corner that held a trenchcoat and a blue scarf. Cold Case herself was sitting behind the desk, glaring at them; her hooves were clasped in front of her, and her shoulder holster with the Filly M1912 was clearly visible. Most of the wall behind her was taken up by a rain-streaked window.

Red Herring, Bumblebee, Prowl, and Flash Sentry were all in the room as well. Red was leaning against the wall, his bangs shading his eyes. Bumblebee was sitting down in a chair in the back of the room; he tried to smile at Phillip and Daring, but ended up looking like he was going to be sick. Prowl was standing stiffly at ease next to him, her tight posture betraying her nervousness. Flash was sitting on the other side of the room, gnawing at his wing. He glanced up when Phillip and Daring entered, then started gnawing even harder, staring at them.

“You two, sit,” Cold Case said, gesturing to two chairs in front of the desk. Phillip and Daring sat as Trace closed the door behind them.

Cold Case licked her lips, her eyes going from one pony to the next in quick succession. “I want you two to tell me everything that’s been going on, starting from the beginning,” she ordered.

Phillip began to speak, telling the gathered ponies about Scarlet’s letter, their investigation into the apartment and the false crime scene, rescuing Mint Breeze from the corrupt officers, Daring’s kidnapping and rescue, and finally, their discovery that Mint Breeze and Headline Jot were one and the same, a changeling.

“And now our witness is out on the streets and there’ll be a panic over a changeling sighting,” Phillip concluded.

Cold Case licked her lips again and lowered her head to think. She was silent for a few moments, the only noise in the room the pattering of rain against the window and Flash continuing to chew on his wing.

“This Scarlet Letter,” Cold finally mused. “We’re going to have to investigate more into her. But right now, we have other problems.” She looked up with a scowl.

“Chief Tumbler is dead,” she stated flatly.

Phillip and Daring both blinked in surprise. “How?” Phillip said, noting that none of the others reacted, which meant that she must have already told them.

“Somepony broke into his office, cut his throat, and exited without being seen or leaving a single trace,” Cold explained without any emotion at all in her voice. “Don’t bother wasting your breath on crocodile tears; nopony else is. Chilled was an incompetent sexist drunk on top of being dirtier than three-week-old socks, and none of us are going to miss him. Least of all me.”

Still clasping her hooves together, Cold sat up straighter in her chair. “I’m going to be the chief of the PPD,” she announced. “I’ve already spoken to Mayor Mare, and she is going to be doing everything she can to make sure that I can get past the city council.”

“Well, congratulations,” Daring said dryly.

“Thank you,” Cold replied icily. “But there’s going to be some changes now that I’m in charge. This department is rotten to the core, as I’m sure you’ve all noticed. Cops on the take, our own witnesses getting killed within the precinct, and officers going off on rogue operations with vigilantes who get their information by beating suspects.

“But that’s all going to end now,” Cold Case announced, turning her gaze to the other officers in the room and ignoring Daring’s icy death glare. “I need to make sure that this department is staffed by officers and supported by ponies whom I can trust.” She licked her lips again, wiped a hoof across her tired, baggy eyes, and spoke.

“I want you to find this changeling and bring them in for questioning,” Cold Case instructed. “Do it fast and be careful who you trust. And do it by the book." She scanned the room, fixing everypony with a measured glare. "If I find that I cannot depend on you to do your jobs, you will turn in your badges." She turned back to Philip and Daring. "And if I'm given just one more reason why I shouldn't trust you two, you'll be arrested and charged with any and all crimes I can pin on you. Am I clear?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Trace nodded. The others all nodded silently.

“Now get moving,” Cold Case ordered, dismissing them with a wave of her hoof.

The group exited, Trace closing the door behind them. “Now what?” he sighed, wiping his face.

“Twilight might be able to help,” Phillip suggested. “Let’s go see her.”

They descended the stairs to the basement laboratory. As they approached the door, Twilight leaned out. She spotted Phillip and scowled.

“Ah, there you are,” she said. “I wanted to speak to you.” She re-entered the laboratory.

Phillip looked back at the others, shrugged, and walked into the lab. Twilight was standing in front of him, still scowling. Doctor Suunkii was standing at a nearby table, watching impassively. The music playing from the radio in the corner—Winter from Vivaldam’s Four Seasons, if Phillip was correct—added to the tension of the scene.

"I apologize for not realizing that the sample was from a changeling," Doctor Suunkii stated when Phillip entered. "I was being overworked with mundane tasks and it got pushed back."

"It's fine," Phillip shrugged it off. "Changelings are rare enough that this doesn't happen often."

“I looked over the phone records from Roger Breaker’s dispatch phone,” Twilight said, her tone as cold as snow. “He did make a number of phone calls to suspicious numbers—for instance, he called Twisted Root’s home a few minutes before Shifting Tone was attacked at the motel room, and he called the payphone outside Headline Jot’s apartment soon after Daring was abducted.”

“Good,” Phillip said.

“And I’d like to mention that I didn’t torture anypony to get that information,” Twilight added. “I obtained it legally.”

Phillip just stared at her. “Your point?”

Twilight growled in exasperation. “My point is, torturing Breaker was completely unnecessary and over the top!” she shouted. “What if you made an honest mistake and he was innocent? And what if he lied to you just to make the pain stop? And what if you got arrested and thrown in jail for assault?! Do you even consider things like that?!”

“Yes,” Phillip said flatly, completely unfazed by her arguments. “I don’t hurt ponies unless I’m certain I’ve got the right one. I know when a pony is lying to me, and he wasn’t. And that’s the risk I’m willing to take to get the job done.”

“So the ends justify the means, is that it?” Twilight replied. “You’re completely fine with ignoring the law, so long as you get your results and somepony goes to jail, or, or, or ends up dead?! Are you fine with that?”

“No,” Phillip said, glowering and turning his head away. The tip of his tail twitched slightly in irritation.

“Twilight Sparkle, that is enough,” Suunkii interrupted, walking around the table and trying to lay a hoof on his protege’s shoulder.

But Twilight didn’t seem to hear him. “So why do it, then?” she pressed, raising her voice slightly. “Because it’s easy? Because you just like hurting ponies? You’re better than this, Phillip! You—!”

Phillip suddenly whirled around and pushed his face right up into Twilight’s, stamping his back leg onto the floor with a noise like a thunderclap. Twilight immediately backed away, her ears flattening against her head. Suunkii froze where he was, eyes wide.

“Don’t pretend for a moment that you can understand how hard it is,” Phillip growled at Twilight, his voice low and deathly quiet. “Don’t pretend that you know what it’s like to have blood on your hooves, to carry that around every waking moment of your whole fucking life. I don’t do it because I like it or because it’s easy. I do it because it’s what’s necessary; sometimes, there’s no other way to get something done than to get your hooves dirty, and it’s better that I get my hooves dirty so that good ponies like you don’t have to. If I had wasted my time having Breaker interrogated, Daring could be dead.” He stepped back a pace and took a breath.

“I’m not a hero, Twilight,” he said. “There are no heroes in Ponyville.”

Twilight stared up at him for a moment, tears forming in her fearful eyes, then turned and bolted from the lab. Phillip glared after her for a moment, then sighed and lowered his head, rubbing a hoof through his mane as his shoulders slumped.

“Damn,” he muttered.

Suunkii frowned at Phillip. “You should not have lost your temper, Phillip Finder,” he scolded Phillip.

“I know, Suun,” Phillip said, refusing to look at him. “I came in here wanting to ask for her help, and now look.” He was silent for a few moments, then muttered, “She wasn’t completely wrong.”

“The world is very different to the young,” Suunkii mused. “It might not be inaccurate to call her naive, but she wants nothing more than to try to improve our broken city; an admirable goal, if nothing else.” He paused, then added with a small smile, “She actually reminds me of you when we were much younger.”

Phillip let out a quiet grunt and managed to smile. “I once said we were going to change this city, didn’t I?” he said. “That we were going to clean it up, put all the wankers in prison where they belonged?” The smile slowly disappeared from his face. “Look how that turned out,” he muttered.

“You owe her an apology, at the very least,” Suunkii said calmly.

“You’re right,” Phillip nodded. He turned and walked back out of the lab.

“Phillip Finder,” Suunkii called him back. Phillip paused and looked back at the zebra. Suunkii’s face was as stoic as always, but there seemed to be something hidden in his eyes, like a silhouette behind a curtain, an indistinct yet somewhat familiar shape.

“We both believe that you are one of the good guys,” Suunkii said, his tone making it clear that he wished to say something more but couldn’t form the words.

Phillip opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then silently nodded and exited.

The others were still gathered outside. Twilight was sitting next to Flash, sniffling. Flash was awkwardly patting her on the back, trying to reassure her.

“What happened?” Daring asked Phillip, her eyes narrowed slightly.

“We had words,” Phillip said. “Twilight,” he called.

Twilight looked up, a ghost of fear in her eyes as she looked at him. Phillip took a breath to speak, swallowed, then took another breath and started over.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You’re right to be angry at me. What I do…” He sighed. “I’ll tone back on it. Okay?”

Twilight stared at him for a moment, then wiped her eyes with a hoof. “Thank you, that means a lot,” she nodded, extending a hoof. Phillip shook it.

“All right,” Twilight said, returning herself to seriousness. “What did you need?”

Phillip and Daring quickly explained the situation. Doctor Suunkii paused at the threshold of the laboratory to listen. When Phillip got to the part about Mint Breeze turning out to be a changeling, everypony else gasped in shock.

“A changeling?” Suunkii repeated, his eyes wide. “That would explain why I couldn’t identify the species of origin of the hairs.”

“I don’t care if he’s a full-grown bull dragon, he’s our best chance of stopping the mob right now,” Daring said. She extracted the folder out of her shirt and held it out to Twilight. “Unless you know some kind of code-breaking spell.”

Twilight squinted at the writing. “I...I can’t understand any of that,” she admitted.

“It’s changeling language,” Prowl said, her face creased in a particularly bitter scowl. “Unless you can find an expert in changeling language, you need a changeling to translate it.”

“Well, there’s at least one changeling in Ponyville,” Daring commented.

“Hey, so finding them should be easy, right?” Bumblebee chirped. “Anypony got a can of bug spray?”

Everypony else glared at him. He lowered his head slightly, flattening his ears. “Sorry, not funny,” he murmured.

Twilight frowned in thought. “I could try a long-range location spell,” she said. “Thaumaturgy is a little harder, but we have the changeling’s hair, so it could work…”

“It’ll work,” Flash said, his voice one of absolute certainty.

“I shall get the hairs,” Suunkii announced, turning back into the laboratory.

“I’ll also need a map of Ponyville and some salt,” Twilight said.

Suunkii returned after a few moments with the requested items. Twilight laid the map down on the floor, then sprinkled the salt into a circle. She placed the changeling’s hairs into the center of the circle, then used more salt to draw symbols around it and the map.

“All right, I need everypony to be quiet,” Twilight said, closing her eyes in concentration. Her horn flared with magic and began to pulse at a steady rate. Everypony stepped back and watched in silence. After about a minute, the salt circle began to glow faintly with purple energy.

“Quearite,” Twilight whispered, her soft voice charged with energy. “Sequor. Indago. Quearite. Sequor. Indago.”

The magical symbols around the map began to glow as well, prompting gasps and soft cries of amazement from the observers. Twilight continued her low, monotone chant, her horn glowing brighter and brighter. Suddenly, the salt all lifted up into the air and, like metal dust attracted to a magnet, flew onto the map, forming a small pile on a single block.

“He’s there,” Twilight said. “Corner of Dawn and Honeysuckle.”

Flash blinked, his eyes widening as he regarded the indicated location. “Isn’t that a gun shop?”

Everypony stared at each other for a moment, then bolted for the stairs.

Case Five, Chapter Eight: Hunting

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The rain continued to pour down mercilessly outside Billy Bull’s Gun Shop, pattering against the sidewalk and the front of the shop. Twilight and Phillip exited the shop, Twilight casting a shield spell to repel the rain as they rejoined Flash, Bumblebee, Prowl, Trace, Red, and Daring.

“Somepony did purchase a gun not long ago,” Phillip reported. “A .357 Magnum revolver and a box of ammunition. Blue unicorn, red hair, green eyes, cloud cutie mark. That’s all we could get out of them.”

“Twilight, can you try the spell again?” Flash asked, pulling his cap down over his face to try to stave off the rain. “Find out where he is?”

Twilight’s eyes widened and she cringed. “Oh, no! I left the map and the salt back at the precinct!”

“I can do a tracking spell,” Trace offered, then frowned. “No, wait, there are too many ponies walking around.”

“Wait,” Twilight said, her eyes brightening with an idea. “I do have the changeling’s magical signature. If we could combine that with your tracking spell…”

“You think that could work?” Trace asked.

Twilight smirked. “I’m the valedictorian of the Royal Academy of Magic Class of 1948. This is foal’s play.”

Her horn sparked with its signature lavender tinge, small blue-green stripes dancing within its color. Trace nodded and closed his eyes. With a small grunt of effort, he lit up his horn, casting the tracking spell. Glowing hoofprints appeared on the sidewalk beneath their own hooves, all of them overlapping with one another.

Twilight cast her own spell, generating a small glowing ball of green energy that floated down onto the ground. As soon as the ball touched the concrete, all of the glowing hoofprints disappeared, save for one set that proceeded north along the sidewalk.

“You can drop the spell, Detective Evidence,” Twilight announced, breathing a little hard from the exertion of maintaining the tracker spell and the rain shield. “I’ve got it from here.”

“Go Twilight!” Bumblebee cheered.

The group walked down the sidewalk, following the trail of glowing hoofprints with Twilight in the lead. Trace walked alongside her, his police badge bouncing against his chest; ponies in their path quickly stepped aside to allow them to pass. Overhead, a trio of weather ponies in yellow vests flew through the clouds.

“So how do we find the changeling once we get to the end of the trail?” Bumblebee asked.

“I do know a few spells that might help reveal them,” Twilight said.

“I’d think somepony carrying a .357 Magnum in their pocket might be a bit hard to miss,” Daring Do commented, flying over the group. “Those things are powerful enough to drop a manticore in one shot.”

“That also means that they’re dangerous, doubly so from being a changeling,” Red commented. “We’ve got a freak that can transform to look like anypony or almost anything, and they feed on emotions.”

“You’re all talking about the changeling like it’s...some kinda monster,” Flash said, holding his wing up close to his mouth as though he was about to start chewing on it again. “Are they?”

Prowl let out a little growl. “What do you know about changelings, Sentry?” she asked.

“I know that they can use an illusion spell to look like another pony,” Flash said. “I know that they survive by feeding off of emotions, like love. I know that they fought for King Sombra during the Crystal War when he allied with Queen Chrysalis and that most of them were captured or killed after Chrysalis tried to attack Princess Cadance’s and Prince Armor’s wedding in 1944. And I know that we're supposed to be allies with them now that King Thorax is in charge."

“You ever see one for yourself?” Prowl growled.

“Easy, Sarge,” Bumblebee said bracingly.

“N-no, ma’am,” Flash admitted.

“I have,” Prowl snarled. “In the war.” A small tremor ran through her body, and a distant look filled her eyes; everypony instantly knew that Prowl was no longer there on the sidewalk, but back in the snow-covered fields of the Crystal Empire’s southern lands.

“Windigo Valley, Nineteenth of the Moon of Hunters, 1943,” she recited. “My wing was assigned to a FOB, performing recon and SAR flights for the Army. My squad had landed on a routine flight to scout out some woods. The Master Sergeant got separated from the rest of us for twenty minutes, but he seemed fine when he got back.

“But then the next night, two of our wing members were found dead, one stabbed to death, the other with his throat slit with his own knife. Over the next month, more and more of our ponies turned up dead or just vanished. Everypony was on edge all the time: we stopped trusting each other, kept glancing over our shoulders and sleeping with one eye open. By the end of the Moon of Frost, half of the original members of the wing were either KIA or MIA.”

Prowl had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and was now shaking slightly. Her eyes were wide, focused on nothing, and shining with fear.

“Eighth of the Moon of Snow, 2214 hours,” she reported, her breath coming faster and faster. “I was on post, patrolling the northern boundaries of the base. I hear a noise in an alleyway a few feet ahead and go to look. I find...body...it’s Quick...he’s dead, is he dead? Not moving...Sarge is there...just standing there. His eyes. His eyes are wrong He...oh shit, oh shit! Changeling! Changeling! It’s coming right at me, shoot it, shoot it, missed, it’s on me—”

“Prowl!” Bumblebee said, stepping forward and grasping her shoulders. “Prowl, look at me.”

Prowl’s wide yellow eyes focused on Bumblebee’s blues. “Breathe, Prowl,” Bumblebee said. “Breathe. Look at me. The swings at St. Megan’s. Uncle Honeydew’s candy shop.”

“Song Stream Reservoir,” Prowl said, speaking along with him, her breathing slowing as she spoke. “Greenleaf Nursery. Third bench from the statue of Stinking Rich at the park. Thirty-two West Wind Street.” She closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply.

“You’re okay,” Bumblebee said quietly, hugging her.

“I’m okay,” Prowl whispered, hugging him back. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded, releasing him. “Thanks.” Shaking herself back to seriousness, she turned to Flash.

“This changeling is not a pony,” Prowl said. “It’s a freak who could go feral and start sucking out all of everypony’s emotions.” She nodded at Phillip and Daring. “You two saw what that’s like.”

The image of the goon that the changeling had pounced on at the Apple Pie suddenly flashed before Daring’s eyes: she could still see him laying on the floor, staring catatonically with a thin line of drool leaking from his mouth. She flinched, then scowled.

“Like I said, I don’t give a damn if it’s a changeling or a dragon or a ninja pirate zombie,” she declared. “It’s our biggest lead to taking down Monopoly and the rest of the gang bosses in this city, and we need to find it. Let’s go.”

Twilight took the lead once more and they continued down the sidewalk, following the changeling’s trail. Flash walked alongside Prowl, occasionally glancing up at her. As they turned a corner onto another street, he looked up and said, “So all changelings are bad?”

“I haven’t met a changeling who didn’t try to kill me,” Prowl growled.

“So how many changelings have you met?” Flash challenged.

Prowl started to answer, but stopped, her mouth hanging open slightly as she pondered.

“And, you know, it’s kinda unfair for you to say that another creature is a freak just ‘cause they’re different,” Flash said. “I mean, there are still lots of ponies that think thestrals like you are bloodsucking vampires. Plus, you eat bugs. You can see why that’s kinda weird, right?”

“He is kinda right, sarge,” Bumblebee said slowly. Prowl still said nothing.

“Just saying, I don’t think it’s fair for you to think of him as a monster when you don’t even know him,” Flash said.

“I can’t just get over something like that, Sentry,” Prowl growled at him.

“And I’m not asking you to, ma’am,” Flash said gently, taking a small step back. “I’m...I’m just asking you to give him a chance.”

Prowl frowned at him for a few moments more, then grunted and looked away. “We’ll see,” she said.

“The trail’s getting fresher,” Twilight announced, her head down as she watched the trail of glowing hoofprints, which led across the street. She stepped off the curb to follow them. “He can’t have passed here more than five minutes—”

“Look out!” Trace shouted, grabbing Twilight’s tail and yanking her back onto the sidewalk. A car streaked past, close enough that the spray from its tires splashed Twilight in the face.

“Watch it, lady!” the driver shouted at Twilight as he sped past.

Twilight exhaled and shook her head, pushing her sopping mane out of her eyes. “Thanks,” she said.

“Well, that building looks familiar,” Red said, frowning across the street.

The glowing trail led right up to the front door of a seven-story building of glass and steel. The windows were tinted, allowing nopony to see inside. Two Cerberus security guards stood outside the front doors, staring down in confusion at the glowing tracks. The sign over the door read “Monopoly Investments.”

“Doesn’t Monopoly work here?” Prowl asked.

“His offices are in there,” Trace confirmed. “And that’s his car outside.” He nodded towards the Silver Phantom parked at the head of the parking lot.

“If our armed changeling is headed in there…” Red said, the implication hanging in midair.

“Twilight, you stay out here,” Phillip instructed her. “This could get hairy fast.”

Twilight nodded. “Be careful,” she warned.

“We’ll be fine,” Flash said, laying a hoof on her shoulder briefly. The two of them smiled hesitantly at each other for a moment, then Flash followed the others across the street to the front doors of Monopoly Investments.

As they walked towards the doors, Daring glanced up, then smiled quietly. "Should've known," she muttered to herself, so softly that only Phillip heard her. He glanced up as well, but his only comment was a soft grunt.

The glowing trail stopped at the doors of Monopoly Investments. The two security guards both looked up at their approach.

“Police business,” Trace announced to the guards outside. “We’re searching for a suspect. We need you to lock this building down. Nopony in or out.”

“Does that include them?” one of the guards, a bulky green earth pony, growled at Phillip and Daring.

“Package deal, asshole,” Daring replied coolly.

“Give us a description of the perp,” the other guard, a unicorn with a blue beard and green eyes, said. “We can lock down the building and search for you.”

“Negative,” Trace replied calmly. “You lock the building down, we search.”

The unicorn frowned at them for a few moments, then nodded. “No reason we can’t be cooperative,” he said, stepping aside. His coworker reluctantly followed his lead.

“Thanks,” Trace said, leading the way into the building.

The lobby of Monopoly Investments was wide and opening, with polished granite flooring and marble columns. A massive portrait of Monopoly himself was on the wall behind the receptionist’s front desk, fixing all visitors with a welcoming if slightly smug smile.

“How much do you think he paid the artist to take off thirty pounds?” Daring commented, examining the picture. Phillip smirked, and Bumblebee and Flash both had to cover their mouths stifle their giggling.

With a loud whine, a PA system over their heads crackled to life. “Attention: for your own safety, this building is on lockdown due to a search by police officers. Nopony is to enter or exit the building. All security guards to the doors.”

At the command, other security guards moved towards the exit doors and took post, blocking any movement through them.

“Nice to get some cooperation,” Red muttered. He walked over to the front desk. “Has anypony entered this building in the last five minutes or so?” he asked the wide-eyed receptionist. “They would’ve been wearing a coat or something.”

“Um…” the receptionist stammered. “A unicorn mare did come in here a few minutes ago. They said they had a meeting with Mr. Income on the fourth floor. They were green with light orange hair and had a blue rain jacket.”

“Thanks,” Red nodded.

Trace lit up his horn and the glowing hoofprints reappeared on the floor, fainter than before. They led to an elevator at the end of the room. The group squeezed inside and Prowl hit the button for the fourth floor. The doors slid shut, and the elevator started upward.

“So what do we do when we find the changeling?” Daring asked. “If Monopoly knows who it...he is, they won’t want them leaving.” She frowned. “Wait, or is it she now? I’m confused.”

“If we have to fight through the guards, we fight through the guards,” Phillip grunted. “Priority will be getting the changeling out.”

“Agreed,” Prowl nodded.

With a ding, the elevator halted on the fourth floor and the doors opened into an office space lined with cubicles. Trace started to step out, but paused, frowning and looking at the floor. No hoofprints appeared.

“They didn’t get off here,” he remarked. “So where?”

“Top floor,” Daring said. “He’ll be going after Monopoly.”

“She’s right,” Red commented. “That has to be why he came here.”

Trace hit the button for the seventh floor. The elevator doors closed again, and the elevator trundled upwards. With a final ding, the elevator doors opened to reveal a large hallway with green and gold carpeting. Glowing hoofprints appeared on the carpet before them.

“Let’s go,” Trace said, stepping into the hallway. Suddenly, he grunted in pain and clutched his head; his horn fizzled, sparked, and went out, causing the trail to disappear.

“Trace?” Red said, his voice rising in concern as he rushed to his partner’s side.

“I’m okay,” Trace said, shaking his head. “But I’m out of magic.”

“Then we’ll have to find him the old-fashioned way,” Red said. “All of you spread out. Question anypony you see and pat them down for the gun.”

“Yes, sir,” Prowl said.

The group split up, with Prowl following Trace, Bumblebee following Red, and Flash following Phillip and Daring. Phillip led his two companions down the right hallway, past a couple of office doors, and around a corner. Before them stood a doorway with two Cerberus security guards standing outside.

“No entry,” one of the guards, a tall unicorn mare with red hair said as they approached. “Mister Monopoly is working in there.”

“Is he alone?” Phillip asked.

“Yes,” the mare nodded.

“Keep him there until we’ve cleared the building,” Phillip said, his stomach twisting at the thought of having to protect somepony like Monopoly.

“Will do,” she nodded again.

At that moment, the door opened and a familiar blue earth pony with a blonde mane wearing a white suit and tie poked his head out. “Ah, Mister Finder, Miss Do,” he said disdainfully, looking at the detectives like they were a stain on his hoof. “I was wondering what all the noise was about.”

“Sure you’re being kept from your important business,” Phillip growled.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Monopoly replied with no change in tone. “I am preparing legal defenses against the barrage of investigations that I am being attacked with. Would you care to guess how much it has cost me?”

“You care to guess how much we care?” Daring spat back.

“Seven hundred twenty thousand and three bits since the fiasco at Phoenix Housing,” Monopoly continued as if she had not spoken. “And it is all because of your meddling and accusations. You are costing my business and my investors hundreds.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t a criminal, you wouldn’t be in legal trouble,” Daring snarked. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

Monopoly scowled at her. “I’m sure that’s something that you would know a lot about, Miss Do,” he said coldly.

The cursed brand flared with pain, causing Daring to nearly cry out. She bit down on her lip, raising the branded hoof off the carpeted floor, breathing heavily and glaring at Monopoly.

“Are you okay?” Flash asked, stepping towards Daring.

“I’m fine,” Daring grunted, fighting through the pain. She glowered at Monopoly. “You’d better call up the best lawyers your blood money can get,” she snarled. “You’re going to need them.”

“Let’s just go,” Flash urged, taking Daring’s foreleg and guiding her up the hallway.

Monopoly scowled after them. “A word of warning,” he said. “You are not the first ponies to inconvenience me. And you will not be the last.”

Daring gave him the Flying Feather as they rounded a corner. Monopoly grunted and slammed the door shut.

“You really shouldn’t aggravate him,” Flash scolded Daring. “We’re not here to pick a fight.”

“Don’t lecture me, kid,” Daring snapped at him.

“Ease off, Daring,” Phillip said firmly.

Daring sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, then slowly let it out. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s okay,” Flash said.

“Besides, what’s he gonna do? Sit on me?” Daring snarked. Flash and Phillip both snorted quietly.

Phillip suddenly paused, his ears swiveling backward. He raised a hoof to his lips, signalling the others to be quiet. Flash and Daring both went still, watching him.

"Monopoly's speaking to the guards outside," Phillip whispered. "'You know what they're here for...find it...bring it to me...'" He grimaced. "Not good."

"We gotta find him, and fast," Flash confirmed. The trio walked on down the hallway, passing beneath a loose grille for an air duct.

A janitor wearing a green jumpsuit walked around a corner into the hallway ahead of them, carrying a mop in a bucket behind them. He jumped slightly at the sight of them.

“Stop there, sir,” Flash ordered him. “We’re doing a search of this floor. I’m going to need to pat you down.”

“Um...all right,” the black-bearded light yellow unicorn stallion said, stepping back.

“Please turn and place your front hooves on the wall,” Flash instructed. The stallion turned and obeyed the instruction, spreading his hind legs slightly. “I’ll make this quick,” Flash said, quickly patting the janitor down. He shook his head once he finished. “Nothing,” he reported.

“Wait,” Phillip grunted, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in through his nose. He stepped in close, leaning in towards the janitor’s face, and sniffed.

“Black Bear Tobacco,” he said, frowning. “G’day, Mint.”

The janitor’s eyes went wide, and he started to stammer out a denial. Daring glanced into the mop bucket, then reached in and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside was a .357 Magnum revolver.

The stallion looked at the gun, then sighed. “Just leave me alone,” he sighed.

“You thought you could solve everything by just walking in here and killing Monopoly?” Daring asked, shaking the gun in front of him.

“What choice did I have?” the changeling snapped back, his eyes reverting to their natural solid blue for a moment. “I blew any chance of anypony trusting me when I lost control at the Apple Pie; nopony would take the word of a changeling! But Monopoly, he has to be stopped. If he’s gone, the mob loses their money. If he’s gone—”

“The mob’ll just find someone to replace him, and you’ll end up dead or in jail,” Daring cut him off. “You wanna go down in history as the bad guy here?”

“I’m already the bad guy,” the changeling said, his head hanging. He turned to face the window behind him, his rain-streaked reflection studying the group with eyes that shone with emotion. “I’m a changeling.”

“Does it matter that much?” Daring asked, her tone still hard, but now slightly softer.

The changeling nodded slowly. “Years ago, when I was just a hatchling, my life was peaceful,” the changeling explained. “We all lived in a small hive outside of Baltimare. We lived among the ponies, collecting love, and using it to feed each other and our children. It was...it was perfect.

“But then Chrysalis started uniting all the hives into one, killing all the queens who didn’t follow her.” He shuddered. “Changelings started attacking more and more ponies openly, sucking out all of their love instead of just feeding on a little bit at a time. My hive’s queen fell fighting her, and I was one of the few survivors who fled.” He hugged himself. “I went from town to town, finding work where I could. I never hurt anypony...but I knew that if I was ever found out, everypony would only see a monster.”

He wiped his eyes with a hoof. “When I came here, I found work at the Foal Free Press. I thought...I thought maybe I could do something to try to fix this city a little,” he continued. “There’s so much suffering in this world, I thought...I could maybe make it stop. I spent years investigating the mob, following the money, making contacts everywhere with my disguises…” He let out a little sob. “And I blew it all because I couldn’t control myself. I hadn’t had a decent meal in days, I was hungry and scared, so I…” More tears began to fall and his voice fell away.

Flash stepped forward, hesitated, then started patting the changeling awkwardly on the back. Daring looked at him for a moment, her expression downcast and thoughtful, then stepped forward as well. She laid her right hoof on the changeling’s shoulder, exposing the still-burning mark.

“I know it sucks,” she said. “I know it’s not fair to have ponies judge you for something you are, rather than who you are. But what matters more than your past is what you are doing now. And what you can do right now is let us help you.”

“But…” The changeling sniffled and turned towards her. “But I’m…”

“You’re a changeling,” Daring said. “You’re not a monster.” She looked him in the eyes and managed to smile. “Let’s do the right thing.”

The changeling sniffled once more and nodded. “Okay, let’s get out of here,” Flash urged.

"Wait a minute," Phillip said, holding up a hoof. "Monopoly and the guards will probably try to stop us if we leave. How are we going to get around them?"

Daring studied the changeling for a few seconds, then grinned. "I've got an idea," she said.

The glowing red sign labeled "EXIT" hung from the ceiling a few feet ahead of them. Flash, Daring, and Phillip walked forward at an urgent pace, eyes panning from side to side as they headed for the door to the stairs.

"Where are the others?" Flash asked.

"Not now," Phillip muttered.

The door to the stairway approached. Phillip reached out and pressed against the metal.

"Hold it," a voice called from behind. The trio turned to see four security guards standing behind them. The one who had spoken was the same red-haired unicorn who had been standing guard at the door.

"Monopoly wants to speak with you before you go," she declared, glaring at Phillip.

"Busy," Phillip grunted, turning back towards the door. "He can make an appoint—"

Several distinctive clicking noises interrupted him. He turned around slowly to see all four security guards aiming pistols at him and his two companions. Both pegasi had tensed up upon the revelation of the guns.

"He insists," the mare growled, coolly aiming her .38 right between Phillip's eyes.

Case Five, Chapter Nine: Monopoly on Force

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The security guards marched them down the hallway back towards Monopoly’s office. The redhead knocked at the door.

“Come,” Monopoly’s voice barked from within. The mare opened the door with her magic and stepped aside to allow entry. Phillip, Daring, and Flash all glanced at each other, then as one, stepped into the lion’s den.

Monopoly’s office was as large and grandiose as the pony himself. The carpets were all in a golden color that was harsh on the eyes; the blue and white walls were lined with photographs and paintings of Monopoly himself. The room was split in half by a Japonese standing screen decorated with images of seven smiling ponies sitting on a sailing boat. Monopoly was sitting behind a maple desk, his eyes on a sheaf of papers in front of him. He was sitting in a large cushioned chair that was obviously specially designed for his weight and bulk. A tumbler of what looked like scotch and a glass sat on the table to his left; to his right was a small crystal statuette of a pony in armor bearing a shield that he was using as a paperweight.

The trio entered, followed by two security guards, and the door shut behind them, locking with an audible and very punctuated click. Monopoly languidly studied the papers in front of him before signing on the last page. He then placed the papers into an “Out” tray, replaced the pen he was using in a holder in front of him, and reached for the tumbler. He filled the glass half full with the scotch. Only then did he look up at his guests.

“Those are the shichi fukujin,” he said, gesturing at the screen. “The seven Japonese gods of luck. I find them...inspiring.”

Flash swallowed and shifted nervously. Daring licked her lips, not taking her eyes off Monopoly’s dark green irides. Phillip had to fight to keep his breathing steady. Cold wind blew down on them from an air grille over their head.

Monopoly took a long drink of the scotch and set the glass back down on the table with a sigh. “Some ponies in my position don’t believe in luck,” he continued. “But I know that luck is real. Chance. Twists of fate. Playing the long odds. It’s how I’ve gotten where I am.”

“Get to the point,” Phillip grunted.

Monopoly stood up slowly; every pony in the room had to tilt their heads back to look up at him. He walked around the desk, moving with a deliberate economy of movement, no energy wasted.

“I took a chance allowing you in here to search,” Monopoly said, his voice suddenly taking on a cold, dangerous edge. “Because I knew that chance would pay off. The great Phillip Finder, Ponyville’s biggest busybody, and his thief marefriend; they always get their pony, no matter what.”

Daring took a half-step backward, staring up at Monopoly. Phillip held his ground, but his tail twitched. Flash’s chest rose and fell deeply as he breathed.

“Where,” Monopoly growled, his green eyes glowing with vengeance. “Is. The. Changeling?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phillip said flatly, his tail twitching again.

“Don’t play me for a fool, Finder,” Monopoly said. “There were dozens of witnesses at the Apple Pie when that freak showed itself, and plenty of ponies saw your marefriend defending it. And mere hours later, you show yourselves at my office, searching for a pony? It does not take a genius. Where is it?”

“Didn’t find it,” Phillip answered, his tone steady.

Monopoly stared at him for a moment, then grunted. “I want you to understand something here, Finder,” he said, his voice calmer and quieter as he reached up and fastidiously adjusted his silk tie. This tone was somehow much worse than his growl. “As gargantuan as my hatred for you is, none of this is personal; this is all business to me. And I’ve found that the key to successful business is to find the enemy’s assets and undercut them. In your case…your friends.”

He gestured towards the screen, which suddenly moved aside to reveal Trace, Red, Prowl, and Bumblebee, all of them kneeling, cuffed, and gagged with a Cerberus guard behind each of them, pressing their revolvers against the back of their heads.

Flash and Daring’s eyes widened in horror. Phillip stared at the captives for a moment, then whirled back towards Monopoly, his face an emblem of hatred and fury. “You bastard,” he snarled in a voice like an approaching cold front.

Monopoly smirked. “Consider this my final offer,” he said. “Turn over the changeling, or your friends die.”

“You can’t get away with this,” Flash said, trying to glare even as his wings trembled from fear. “You’re kidnapping and threatening police officers. You—”

“Boy,” Monopoly interrupted him, turning to him for the first time. “Where do you think the funds for your department come from? Did you buy that pistol on your hip? Who do you think paid for that uniform you’re wearing?” He smirked. “I own the police, which means I own you. You’re just another asset to me, boy. And when an asset is no longer serving its purpose, I liquidate it. As in, blood.”

Trace stared at Phillip, fear shimmering in his eyes. Red and Prowl both tried to squirm free, but the guards restraining them pressed their guns tighter against their heads, holding them still. Bee had his eyes closed and was trembling, clearly preparing himself for death.

“One last time,” Monopoly declared. “Where is the changeling?”

The trio faced him in stony silence, even as they shook with rage and fear.

“You have until three, and then I’ll kill one of them,” Monopoly said. “One...two…”

Just as “three” was starting to form on his lips, the ceiling above the four guards holding the captives burst open. A gold and gray shape tumbled down from the wreckage and landed atop one of the guards, squashing them into the ground. A kusarifundo whipped through the air, striking another guard’s wrist and disarming them before striking them in the head.

As if the crash had been a prearranged signal, Phillip reached into the back pocket in his vest and, with a motion that was obviously practiced dozens of times before, withdrew his boomerang and threw it out. The weapon sliced through the air, arcing as though it had a mind of its own, and struck the other two guards in their foreheads, stunning them long enough for the intruder to attack them with a simultaneous flying punch-kick combo. At the same moment, he shifted his weight onto his forelegs, checked over his shoulder, and bucked backward, striking both guards behind them in the chest and stunning them. Flash whirled around, drawing his pistol and taking aim, covering both of the other guards and the door. The door opened and the two guards outside stepped in, but quickly halted when they found themselves on the wrong end of Flash’s .38. He gestured them all to back out of the door, which he quickly shut and locked.

It had all happened so fast that neither Monopoly nor any of his henchponies had any time to react. Monopoly could only stand and stare openmouthed, his eyes panning back and forth across the scene. He looked at one Daring Do, who was standing, frozen and trembling, next to Phillip and Flash; then turned and looked at the other, who was standing amidst the four unconscious Cerberus guards, grinning at him from beneath the brim of her of pith helmet.

“How?” he choked out.

“I have an idea,” Daring said. “We came in here, so there’s no possible way we can be the changeling.”

“You think if he disguises himself as one of us, we can get him out of here?” Flash asked.

“If they didn’t find him, and we don’t have him, they’ll have to look elsewhere,” Daring reasoned.

“Monopoly’s not going to let us go that easily,” the changeling pointed out. “He’ll stop us and squeeze us for info. And then we’ve got whole floors of security guards and ponies on his payroll to fight through.”

Daring turned towards the window. “So we don’t fight through them,” she said. “We get out through the window.”

“That’s double-laminate magic-reinforced bulletproof glass,” Phillip pointed out, tapping a logo embossed into the glass. “No way we could break it from inside.”

“So somepony breaks it from the outside,” Daring Do said to his reflection.

Phillip thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. “You were against her being involved.”

“Her job will be to get in and out with us,” Daring said, her face falling into more serious lines. “She’s not going to be fighting; hell, she won’t even be in here for more than a minute. And besides, you have a better idea?”

Phillip frowned in thought for several seconds of silence, during which the changeling and Flash looked back and forth between them in obvious confusion. Finally, he grunted. “Fine. But how are you going to get to her?”

“Through there,” Daring said, pointing up at a grille for an air duct over their head.

“Those aren’t designed to support a pony’s weight,” Phillip pointed out.

Daring just smirked and spread her wings out slightly. “Little trick the Family taught me: I can use my pegasi magic to make myself lighter.”

Phil pondered for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s do it,” he said.

The changeling looked back and forth between Daring and Phillip for a moment, then took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. His body was enveloped by green flames for a moment, then a duplicate Daring Do stood in front of them. “You sure this will work?” she asked Daring.

“I’m sure that this is our best plan,” Daring said, taking the enchanted contact lenses out of her pocket and carefully placing them into her eyes. She flew up towards the grille in the ceiling, and carefully pulled it out of its slot. She flew up into the shaft and replaced the grille behind her.

The air duct was small and tight and smelled of mildew and dust; if it weren’t for the night-vision contacts, she wouldn’t be able to see three feet in front of her. Spreading her wings slightly to catch the thick wind blowing beneath her, she imagined herself as light as a feather; the familiar tingling of flight magic in her wings slowly spread throughout her body, and she began to crawl along the shaft, moving on just the tips of her hooves to avoid making noise.

She could faintly hear the others moving beneath her; pausing to listen, she heard them get confronted by the security guards at the exit door and be ordered to Monopoly’s office. Recalling her mental map of the floor, she crawled along the duct, turning corners to reach Monopoly’s office. She paused at another grille and looked down into the office, watching as the others were brought in at gunpoint. She crawled on to another grille, glanced down, and gasped.

Beneath her, she could see Trace, Red, Prowl, and Bee being held hostage by four guards, hiding behind the Japonese screen.

Fuck. Gonna have to switch to Plan B now.

Spotting an exit vent, she pushed through it and exited the building, embracing the rain and cold wind. Reorienting herself, she flew around to the front of the building. As she had hoped, Twilight Sparkle was still standing in front of the offices, and next to her was a familiar pegasus mare in the yellow vest of a weather pony, the same mare that Daring had seen pause in midair as they were entering Monopoly Investments.

She swooped down and landed in front of the duo. Twilight started in surprise. “Daring, what’s happening?”

“Trouble,” Daring said. “Twilight, get to a callbox and call for backup. Monopoly’s goons have taken the others hostage.”

Twilight gasped, nodded, and ran off to find help. Daring then turned to the other mare. “Kid, I’m gonna need your help.”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Me? Really?” she said. “I mean, how can I help?”

Daring quickly explained the situation. “We need to get the others out of there, and fast,” she stated. “When I take out the guards covering them, you need to break the window, fly in, and get them out.”

Rainbow Dash scoffed. “That’s it? Easy. I could do that with my eyes shut.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Daring warned her. “They still have guns, and if we fuck this up, ponies are gonna get hurt.”

Rainbow Dash nodded, her face falling into serious lines. “Right! Got it!”

“Get something heavy to break the window with first,” Daring advised her, already lifting back off the ground to fly back. “You’re gonna need some momentum. Wait for my signal.”

“Okay, got it!” Rainbow said, lifting off the ground.

Daring flew back around to the broken vent and flew back inside. She crawled back through to Monopoly’s office and paused over the vent above the four hostages. She reached into her shirt and extracted her kusarifundo, a plan for attack instinctively forming itself in her brain.

“One…” she heard Monopoly counting. “Two…”

Daring took a breath and dropped.

“You lose,” Daring smirked at the stunned Monopoly.

At that moment, there was a loud smash as a trash can broke through the window, assaulting everypony in the room with a blast of cold wind and rain. Barely half a second later, a rainbow sliced through the room, snatching up the bound hostages and whisking them out of the building in the blink of an eye.

“Go, go!” Daring shouted. The changeling, spurred to action, ran for the broken window and dived out; Flash flew backward after them, still covering the doorway. Daring flew over to Phillip and seized him beneath the forelegs, heading for the window as well.

But that’s when Monopoly finally reacted. Lunging for his desk, he grasped the statuette of the armored pony and twisted the head. Instantly, a bright blue bubble of energy blossomed from the statuette, expanding to cover the walls, the doorway, and the window.

Daring rammed into the shield with a grunt, the pain spreading across her shoulder forcing her to drop Phil. "Shit!" she spat, turning around and bucking at the shield. It felt like she'd tried to kick a brick wall, her bones howling in pain.

“A little gift from a friend,” Monopoly said. “That shield will hold back a tank.” He stood up slowly, undoing his tie and shrugging off his suit. “Now, it’s just me and you.”

Rainbow Dash landed upon the sidewalk, all four of the rescued ponies tumbling off her as her momentum halted. Panting from the exertion, Rainbow peeled the tape off of Prowl’s mouth.

“My keys, get my keys!” Prowl ordered. “On my belt! Get these cuffs off!”

Rainbow Dash quickly located Prowl’s hoofcuff keys, extracted them from her belt, and unlocked her cuffs as Flash landed. She and Flash quickly did the same for the other three.

“Thanks,” Trace grunted, peeling the tape off his mouth as the changeling landed next to them, panting. “Okay, Bumblebee, you and I are going to escort our witness to safety. Prowl, Red, Flash, get back in there and help the others; stupid assholoes are in over their heads again.”

“You got it,” Red grunted, already taking off with Flash.

“Come on, sir...uh, ma’am,” Bumblebee urged, grasping the changeling’s foreleg and guiding it down the sidewalk. The changeling, still disguised as Daring Do, nodded and followed numbly.

“Keep an eye on it,” Prowl advised him, giving the changeling a brief glare before flying back up with Red. Rainbow Dash hesitated for a moment, then followed them back up.

The ponies reached the broken window, only to find their progress blocked by the energy wall. Red kicked the shield as hard as he could, but there was no effect at all. Growling, he flew back a few feet, then charged forward and shoulder-rammed the shield; all he succeeded in doing was hurting his shoulder.

Flash drew his sidearm, only for Prowl to force his arm down. "Are you nuts?" she snapped. "What if the round ricochets off it?"

"Right," Flash winced, holstering his pistol.

“Let me try,” Rainbow Dash said. She flew back several feet, then charged forward and rammed into the shield. She might as well have just tried to headbutt an iron wall: the shield refused to break and she wound up slowly hovering back, holding her head.

“Shit!” Red cursed. “Any other ideas?”

“This is a powerful shield,” Prowl said, tapping the energy wall. “Almost as tough as steel. We’re not going to break through by ourselves.”

“So now what?!” Red shouted, throwing his hooves up in the air in frustration.

Rainbow Dash flew back a few feet and charged again, ramming ineffectually into the shield again and again. Flash, Prowl and Red could only watch in dismay as Monopoly faced off against Phillip and Daring.

Monopoly slowly tilted his head from side to side, loosening the neck muscles with a very sickening cracking noise.

Phillip growled as he drew his baton, snapping it open with a flick of his wrist. "Let's finish this," he spat.

“Wait,” Daring said, raising a hoof. “We can talk this out. You’re a businesspony, you know that.”

Monopoly paused, considering Daring.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to say to you,” Daring continued calmly. “Something that’ll change everything. And this might be my one opportunity to say it, so I’m going to.”

Slowly, Monopoly lowered his hooves and relaxed his shoulders. He said nothing but gave a subtle nod for Daring to continue.

Daring glanced at Phillip, who was staring at her in confusion, looked back at Monopoly, took a breath, and spoke:

“You are so fat that when you go to the beach, the tide comes in.”

Everything froze. Every eye stared at Daring with astonishment and shock. Phillip’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Monopoly took on an expression suitable to having been struck in the face with a sledgehammer; this, Daring reflected, was probably the first time in years that anypony had dared to insult him to his face.

“No?” Daring asked. “Okay, how about this one: you are so fat that when you go jogging, it causes earthquakes.”

Monopoly’s face slowly creased into an expression of pure rage: a vein started throbbing in his forehead, a dark redness spread across his countenance, and Daring thought she could faintly hear the sound of a tea kettle whistling.

“Daring?” Phillip muttered, backing up a half-step so that he was almost pressed against the wall, his tail twitching.

“Hmm, tough crowd,” Daring mused. “Okay, one more: you are so fat that if you go outside wearing a yellow jacket, ponies yell, ‘Taxi!’”

Monopoly let out a bellow that shook the entire room and charged at Daring Do like a train. “YOU LITTLE—!”

Both ponies dived out of the way, narrowly missing being steam-rolled by the advancing mass of flesh; Monopoly’s momentum carried him forward and he smashed into the magically-reinforced wall headfirst. He staggered, dazed.

In a blur of gray, Daring dived for the statuette, snatching it up off the table. She twisted the head back into the original position with a grin of triumph...only for said grin to quickly turn into a look of confusion when the energy field remained in place.

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” Monopoly sneered. “It only works for me. Security is something that I’m willing to pay top dollar for.”

“Too bad you couldn’t pay top dollar for a personal trainer, fatass,” Daring retorted, throwing the statuette at him. He ducked and the little statue hit the wall behind him, shattering into pieces.

Phillip lunged in and snapped his baton at the side of Monopoly’s knee, the wind whistling with the attack. The baton smacked against Monopoly's foreleg, the stallion grunting as he blocked and countered with a swing at Phillip’s head; Phil barely slipped the punch, the missed attack knocking his trilby from his head.

As Monopoly's other foreleg torpedoed for Phillip's head, Daring wrapped her kusarifundo around his limb, dropping her weight and holding him back; it felt like she was trying to hold back a train, her muscles burning as she fought his massive weight.

Monopoly turned to snarl at her, only for his breath to leave his lungs in a great whoosh as Phillip's hind hooves battered into his gut. "Get off!" he snapped, grasping his captured foreleg with his free hoof.

"Whoa!" Daring yelled as her hooves left the floor. Monopoly swung the yelling Daring around like an Equestria games athlete at the hammer throw.

Phillip had to throw himself to the ground to avoid her; as she passed over him, the rope untangled itself from Monopoly's foreleg, sending Daring flying through the air with a scream of "Shiiiit!"

Daring crashed into the wall with a grunt, slumping to the ground in a heap.

Phillip rolled away to avoid Monopoly's hooves coming down like a pair of pile drivers; the pair of blows cracked the floor. "Stay still!" Monopoly snapped, launching a flurry of strikes. Every blow that Phillip blocked by mere centimeters made his arms ache like the mobster's hooves were sledgehammers; Monopoly’s face was an expression of pure rage, throwing his massive weight into every blow.

Suddenly, Daring pounced on Monopoly’s back and wrapped her kusarifundo around his neck. Choking, Monopoly scrabbled futilely at the cord, stumbling around to try to throw Daring off.

Phillip's baton cracked against the larger stallion's knee, sending him to the ground with a roar of agony. His face red from fury and lack of oxygen, Monopoly quickly whirled around, using Daring as a shield. Phillip balked, his eyes widening as he nearly struck Daring.

He paid for his hesitation when Monopoly's elbow battered into his face. Blood exploded from his broken nose and he was sent flying, his baton clattering to the ground as he crashed into the desk, collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Monopoly then turned and slammed Daring against the floor; Daring yelled in pain as her already cracked ribs were crushed between the floor and Monopoly's bulk, the fiery pain sending all the air from her lungs.

Monopoly's elbow began to jackhammer against her head. Stars flashed across Daring’s vision with every blow, each of which felt like they were cracking her skull open. Another blow caused her vision to white out and she was forced to let go.

A moment later, she felt a crushing weight sit on her chest, pinning her to the ground. Her vision slowly cleared to reveal the blurry shape of Monopoly sitting atop her, a grin on his face. He reached down and grasped her throat in both of his hooves, squeezing so hard that she thought she could feel her vertebrae being crushed. Her lungs burned and panic raced through her mind; she hammered at his thick forelegs, trying to break his grip, but he held on like a vise, his forelegs as unyielding as steel pipes. Darkness started to form across her vision; she struggled, squirmed, and kicked, but all in vain, unable to escape Monopoly’s crushing weight.

Trace and Bumblebee reached their vehicles, which were still parked outside the gun shop from before. Trace opened up the rear passenger door of his Commander and held it open. “Get in,” he ordered the changeling.

The changeling hesitated, staring at the open doorway. He slowly turned and looked back towards Monopoly Investments.

“They need help,” he said softly in Daring’s voice.

“They’ll be fine,” Trace urged. “Get in the car.”

The changeling looked back and forth between Trace and the distant shape of Monopoly Investments, then his eyes hardened. Lifting up into the air, it started flying back towards Monopoly Investments.

“Hey, come back!” Bumblebee shouted, but the changeling was already out of earshot. Puffing, he turned towards Trace. “Now what?”

Trace frowned for a moment, then plucked his microphone off the hook with his magic and held it up to his mouth. “10-33, 10-33, officers need immediate assistance at Monopoly Investments.”

The changeling flew all the way back to the building and spotted Red, Rainbow, Flash, and Prowl outside the window; Flash, Red and Rainbow were still hammering at the shield, while Prowl flew back and forth in a slow circle. The changeling could feel their emotions: the hot, prickling taste of fear and worry bubbled in his chest.

He flew up to level with them, studying the shield preventing them from reaching their friends. He could see Monopoly sitting atop Daring’s chest, squeezing her throat, a vindictive grin on his face; to make matters worse, the four guards that Daring had knocked out earlier were waking up, picking themselves off the ground. Phillip was groaning as he tried to rouse himself, shaking his head slowly.

Prowl spotted the changeling and glared. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

The changeling looked at her, at the shield, then closed his eyes. In a flash of green flame, he dropped the disguise, revealing his true form. Sucking in a breath, he reached out with his senses, his natural instincts picking up on the taste of all the surrounding emotions. The prickling of fear, the rolling boil of anger, the icy ball of worry in the pit of his stomach.

But beneath it all was the strongest, most powerful emotion of all: love. It filled his veins, every inch of his body becoming alive with the warm tingling, the sensation of absolute power that came from the emotion and all that it carried. Love for friends, for family, for lovers, for coworkers, for this city, for ideals, all that the ponies around him carried within them filled his core, lending him the strength that came from those convictions.

The changeling who had been Mint Breeze and Headline Jot, who had stood up for this city and the ponies in it, stuffed all those emotions into the bottom of his soul, crushing them together into a ball, allowing the heat and pressure to ignite them, then opened his eyes. His horn lit up with a green glow and fired a beam of energy at the shield. The beam struck the shield, which flexed beneath the pressure and heat of the energy. Cracks began to spread across the wall.

The pegasi and thestral watched in astonishment as the changeling fired his spell. The insectoid wings buzzed loudly, becoming higher and higher pitched as they fought to keep aloft. A yell tore out of his throat as he poured more and more energy into the spell. He reached into his soul and opened the valves on his own love, the love that he had known as Headline Jot, as Mint Breeze, as a dozen other faces who had stood up for this city, who had fought for its ponies, who were standing up and crying out for justice within him.

The shield flexed, cracked, and then, with a flash of light, shattered. Monopoly and the guards inside flinched away from the light and noise.

Rainbow Dash flew inside in a blur of color, crashing into and bowling over the four guards and sending them sprawling once more. Flash, Red, and Prowl were right on her tail, tackling Monopoly and bringing him down onto the floor. Before the great financial leader knew what had happened, he found himself flat on his back, hoofcuffs clicking around his wrists.

Defeated, Monopoly could only glare up at his captors, panting as sweat dripped off his brow. He looked over at the crystal statuette, which had shattered into pieces, then back out the window at the changeling, who had flown inside and was watching the scene, his posture slumped and exhausted. Approaching police sirens wailed from the street below.

“You haven’t won,” he snarled.

Daring smirked at him, massaging her bruised throat. “Says the one in the hoofcuffs.” She turned to Rainbow Dash and nodded. “Nice work, kid.”

Rainbow Dash, who was hovering over the unconscious guards, puffed out her chest proudly.

“What do we do about it?” Prowl asked, jerking her head at the changeling.

“Sarge,” Flash chided gently, massaging his aching, bruised forelegs.

Phillip turned to the changeling. “What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.

The changeling seemed to think for a minute, then let out a buzzing noise. Everypony stared at him in confusion.

“Oh, right, you can’t understand our language,” the changeling muttered.

“How about Buzz?” Rainbow suggested, prompting further stares. “What?” she shrugged.

“I...I like that,” Buzz nodded.

Daring nodded. “Cool. You need to hide somewhere.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a folder. “Once we’re done here, we’ve got some translating to do.”

Case Five, Chapter Ten: Reaping the Rewards

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Two weeks later, Cold Case was sitting behind her desk, chewing on the stem of her pipe. Before her was a folded edition of the Foal Free Press. The blaring headline said it all:

“Massive Police Sting Demolishes Mob! Evidence from Anonymous Sources Leads to Multiple Arrests of High-Level Crime Figures!” Beneath the image was a photograph of Monopoly, the once-respected business leader being led down the marble steps of the Ponyville Courthouse in hoofcuffs, flanked by two police officers and followed by a line of several other ponies, all of them in cuffs and being guided by more police.

“I’ve spoken to the DA,” she announced to the other ponies in the office. “He’s sure that he can make most of the charges stick. And Monopoly is a moot point, considering that he’s blatantly guilty of kidnapping and attempted murder of police officers.” She looked up. “You should commend yourselves on this.”

“Monopoly did half the work,” Red Herring commented dryly; he, Trace, Bee, Prowl, Flash, Phillip, and Daring were standing across from Cold. “If he hadn’t been stupid, he wouldn’t have dug his own grave.”

“There are still a few things to clear up,” Cold Case said, pushing the paper away from her. “First of all, the changeling.”

“Buzz’s still afraid of retaliation, and seeing as Headline Jot is legally dead, he’s adopted a new identity,” Phillip said. “Right now, he...er, she’s calling herself Sugar Loaf. Hear she's taken up beekeeping.”

“This city owes Headline Jot...er, Buzz a debt. We’ll have to keep them safe,” Case nodded.

“What about Silvertongue?” Daring asked.

Cold Case frowned. “Unfortunately, there was nothing pointing directly at him, even if several of his...associates were arrested in the sweep, including many of our own officers. But he’s in the spotlight now. If he steps out of line again, we’ll be there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Trace grunted, stretching out his shoulders. “Anything else?”

“Scarlet Letter,” Daring said.

Cold Case, Red Herring, and Trace Evidence all frowned at each other. “There’s a problem,” Trace admitted. “We did do some digging, but turned up nothing.”

“Nothing?” Daring repeated coldly.

“We found some Prench birth records and a paper trail,” Red admitted. “Looks like your Scarlet Letter was born in Prance and took Literature at the University of Cuore in the Crystal Empire. She worked for some marketing companies in various public relations positions for a few years, but around 1941, she kind of disappears. We’ve got no current address, and even though we tracked down a few old contacts, no one knows where she is now. Oh, yeah, and we couldn’t find your old friend Bright Sparks, either.”

“Keep digging,” Daring snapped. “There’s got to be—”

“Enough,” Cold Case interrupted. “You don’t tell my officers how to do their jobs, Do.”

Daring glared at Cold but backed off with a quiet growl. Phillip laid a hoof on her shoulder.

“One last thing,” he added. “Tumbler’s murder.”

“That case has run dry, and it’s not for lack of trying,” Cold Case informed them. “We have little evidence, none of it conclusive in any way, and no witnesses. As far as we can tell, somepony just teleported into the office, cut his throat, and teleported out. If anything, this is a serious security issue that needs to be addressed.”

“Any ideas as to motive?” Trace asked.

“You might have an easier time making a list of ponies who wouldn’t want to kill him,” Daring replied, sarcasm dripping off her tongue and onto the carpet.

Cold Case shot her another icy glare. “The investigation is ongoing,” she said coldly.

“Need help?” Phillip asked.

“No,” Cold Case said, turning her attention to her pipe. She started filling it with tobacco from a pouch. “Detectives, officers, that will be all. You are dismissed; clock out and go home. Finder and Do, I need to have a word with you two.”

“Ma’am,” Trace nodded and turned to leave. Red, Bumblebee, and Flash turned to follow, with Prowl hesitating for a moment.

“Congratulations on the promotion, ma’am,” she nodded to Cold.

“Thank you,” Cold Case nodded back. “You are dismissed.”

Prowl saluted, nodded to Phillip and Daring, and exited, closing the door behind her. Cold Case pulled a matchbox from her desk, plucked a long match from it, and struck it. The tiny flame did nothing to dispel the sudden chill that had fallen over the room.

“Don’t think this means you two are off the hook,” Cold said, lighting her pipe with the match. Acrid blue smoke wafted from the bowl of the pipe, stinging at Phillip’s and Daring’s noses and eyes. “We will be watching you two very closely.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist this,” Daring smirked coldly, shaking her rump. Phillip elbowed her sharply.

Cold Case’s glare could’ve turned the Saddle Arabian desert into a frozen wasteland. She chewed on the stem of her pipe for a few seconds, the continued. “You’re reckless, irresponsible, have no respect for authority or law, have a proclivity to violence, and endanger yourselves and others.”

Daring opened her mouth to make a comment about how she had just described a third of the department’s officers but decided to hold her tongue after Phillip gave her a glare.

“Nonetheless,” Cold continued, drawing out the words as though speaking them caused her physical pain. “We can’t deny that you are effective at investigation of...abnormal cases. And the public seems to have a high opinion of you ever since the Tinderspark incident. Nor can I deny that...your hearts are in the right place.”

Cold Case’s hoof moved as if on its own to cover a paragraph on the newspaper in front of her, but not before Phillip could catch a glimpse of the text: “Sources indicate that local private detective Phillip Finder and his partner, former thief Daring Do, were heavily involved in this police dragnet. Neither has released a comment.”

“In balance of everything,” Cold Case grumbled, continuing to puff on her pipe. “I’m allowing your continued position as consultants to the police force. But it’s with this understanding.” She took out the pipe with her magic and blew out a cloud of smoke. “If I find out that you stepped out of the law again, you will be arrested, charged, and sent to prison.”

The image of stone walls, barred windows, and cold, clammy air that stank of sweat suddenly flashed through Daring’s mind and she repressed a shudder.

“Understood,” Phillip said.

“That is all for now,” Cold Case declared, spinning around in her chair so that she was facing away from them, looking out the floor to ceiling windows that stretched out behind her. She continued to puff thoughtfully on her pipe, sending small clouds puffing up over the top of the chair.

Phillip turned tail and walked out of the office. Daring glared at the back of the chair for a moment, then followed him out, shooting a dirty glance at the shelf on the wall with all of the stupid trophies and diplomas placed upon it. She gave the door a dirty look as she passed by it. Printed on the frosted glass in black letters were the words: “Chief of Police: Cold Case.” The letters for Cold’s name were brighter and cleaner than the other words.

Phillip, who had paused at the threshold of the door, looked back at Daring, opening his mouth to say something. Abruptly, he paused, his eyes moving past her and towards the shelf.

“What the hell…?” he muttered, walking towards the shelf. Daring turned to follow his progress, and as she did so, she spotted the anomaly that he had seen: a faint glimmer of blue from underneath one of the shelves supports, so tiny and so heavily obscured by shadows that she wouldn’t have seen it if Phil hadn’t noticed it. Cold Case turned around, frowning.

Phillip squinted at the little blue light, then reached out and plucked it from its perch. Beneath the light of the office room, the object was revealed: a curved lens of blue crystal.

“A surveillance crystal,” Phillip said.

“What the hell is that doing—?” Cold Case started to say but was cut off by a loud snap when the lens abruptly shattered and crumbled into dust. The dust tumbled from Phillip’s hoof and onto the floor, spilling over the very same carpet that had only recently been cleaned of Chilled Tumbler’s blood.

Multiple voices overlapped one another, all of them clamoring to be heard, demanding answers, accusing others, proposing solutions.

“Silence! Silence!” Silvertongue bellowed, slamming his hoof down on the long table. It took a few moments more for silence to fall.

Adjusting his glasses as he panted, Silvertongue examined the room, noting the several empty seats around the long table. Monopoly’s absence was quickly noticeable, and Chief Tumbler’s seat was vacant. Gone too was King Row, Hidden Ace, Jagged Crystal, and a half dozen other minor bosses and leaders.

“We’ve been acting the maggot for too long, Silvertongue,” Coin Toss growled, tossing a coin up and down to himself. “And now we’re paying up the arse for it. We need action, and we need it now.”

“Damn right,” a griffon female sitting near the end of the table growled. This griffon’s body was pure white, like she’d been crafted from snow. Her beak and talons were a golden brown, there were gray highlights on her feathers, and her eyes were a piercing yellow that seemed to glow faintly, but the feature that most ponies were drawn to was the vicious red scar over her left eye, starting from her cheek and going all the way up towards the crown of her head. Roaring was standing slightly behind this griffon, one claw fingering the cutlasses at his hip.

“You should’ve let me kill those two snoops a long time ago,” Whitestone snarled at Silvertongue. “Because of them, we’re practically holed beneath the waterline now. We’ve lost most of our funding, nearly a third of our ponies, the Nightmare Moon Disciples have turned on us, and now, because Tumbler’s dead, that bitch Cold is going to start cleaning up the cops!”

“Everypony is a master strategist for the battles of yesterday,” Silvertongue replied coolly. “But we need to worry more about our own moves.” He placed his hooves on the table and looked around the room. “The truth of the matter is, we are bleeding money and resources. We are wounded, heavily. Any further actions against us would likely cripple us for good. I know most of you don’t want to hear this, but the best option for now is to retreat.”

There was a ripple of grumbling and disagreement from around the table. “As I said, most of you don’t want to hear it,” Silvertongue continued, raising his voice slightly to be heard. “But consider this: Monopoly attempted to handle Mister Finder and Miss Do himself, and when he failed, he ensured his own downfall. If we were to attempt the same and fail, it would be disastrous for us. And even if we were to succeed, it could backfire on us.”

A louder outburst of disagreement rang forth from the collective voices. Silvertongue scowled and stood up, his silhouette framed by the coat of arms behind him.

“Enough!” he barked. “We are all in this boat together! With Monopoly gone, we must rely on each other more than ever!" He placed his hooves on the table and leaned forward, looking every pony, griffon, donkey, and thestral present in the eye. "We have worked together for years; we have built a dynasty that was designed to survive. Turning on each other know will only serve to destroy us all. We must act smart, and we must work together.

“And if any of you want to think of yourselves at a time like this, further keep in mind that I hold the keys that can lead to your own downfalls,” he added. “I will not allow one weak link to destroy this chain.”

The glares that they faced him with were universally harsh and cold, but he could see the fear behind their eyes. He slowly sat back down, so that all would see the coat of arms behind him, the great hoof crushing the serpent.

“Nemo Me Impune Lacessit,” he stated, reading off the motto printed around the coat of arms. “Nobody insults me with impunity. And this is a grave insult against me. I have every intention of avenging it, given time. But there is somepony here who has insulted me gravely.”

He looked around the room, judging the reaction of everypony therein. Whitestone glared in silence. Roaring was stone-faced, still fingering his swords. Coin Toss licked his lips while continuing to toss his coin to himself, glancing around the room. All of the others were silent, most of them casting furtive glances at one another.

Finally, his eyes fell on the last pony: Zugzwang, who was standing off to one side, a gold leaf cigarette in his teeth. He stared back at Silvertongue evenly.

“Why, Zugzwang?” Silvertongue accused quietly, lighting up his horn. An image flickered into view before all ponies present: a view of the PPD’s chief’s office. As everypony watched, there was a flash of golden light and a tan unicorn in a black suit appeared, his back to the viewers. After a few moments, Chief Tumbler entered the room. He turned and faced the intruder, who stepped forward.

Tumbler stepped back, his eyes showing shock, but it was too late: in a blur of motion, the pony in the suit slashed through the air, cutting Tumbler’s throat open with a blade that sprang from beneath his sleeve. Tumbler clutched his throat and fell to the floor, twitching a couple times before becoming still. The unicorn stared down at the corpse for a moment, then turned away, casting a spell from his horn to wipe the blood off his blade and suit. Then, with another flash of light, he teleported away.

But not before the lens caught a glimpse of his cutie mark: a black king chess piece.

The image vanished and every head turned towards Zugzwang. The cigarette, which had gone out, had fallen from his mouth, and he was looking around the room, an expression of slowly dawning fury on his face.

"I brought you into my home, solicited your advice," Silvertongue said slowly, quietly. "I made you one of my closest advisors, gave you whatever money and power you desired. You..." He took a shaky breath. "You were my friend, Zugzwang. Why?"

Zugzwang merely scowled at him.

"Take him," Silvertongue ordered.

Two thestrals stood from their seats and rushed towards Zugzwang, their fangs glistening. Zugzwang’s reply was to thrust towards them both with his forelegs, blades extending from both of his sleeves and piercing his attackers’ throats. He tossed them aside, sending blood spraying across the walls and floor, and turned towards his former master, his horn lighting up with a golden glow. Silvertongue yelped and fell back, tumbling to the floor.

With a battle cry that rattled the walls, Roaring leaped at Zugzwang, drawing two of his cutlasses as he flew, one in each claw. The blades sliced down towards Zugzwang, who jumped backward out of range, seizing a chair in his magic and hurling it at Roaring. Roaring grunted and blocked the attack with his forearms, the blow knocking him off-balance momentarily; enough time for Zugzwang to teleport in a blur of golden light, traveling over the table and towards the door in the blink of an eye. He bucked the doors open and disappeared into the purple-colored room outside.

“Guards! Guards! Stop him!” Silvertongue howled, but it was already too late. Seizing a small marble statue in his magic, Zugzwang hurled it through the window, shattering the magic-resistant glass, and teleported through in a flash of golden light. The blur of light zigzagged across the yard, dashing down the hill faster than the perimeter guards could track, before leaping over the tall brick fence and disappearing into the night.

“Damn!” Silvertongue shouted, slamming his hooves on the table. He sat down again, breathing heavily.

How? How did he recuperate from this? His master strategist had fled; he may as well have had his right hoof amputated.

He growled. Enough doubt. Enough fear. He was the master of this city, damn it, the king of Ponyville. He would not be cowed by anything, not even this.

“All right,” he breathed, looking around the room again. The other bosses stood frozen, uncertain, like actors on stage waiting for a missed cue. “All right,” he repeated, collecting himself and sitting back down. “Listen. For the moment, we will circle the wagons. Continue business as usual, but keep your heads down.”

“What about Zugzwang? And Scarlet Letter?” Whitestone growled. “Not to mention the snoops.”

“Phillip Finder and Daring Do can’t do anything against us as long as we stay calm and smart,” Silvertongue reassured her. “As for our foe and the traitor, I suppose our newly reformed police department will have some work to do after they’re done cleaning house.”

He pressed a button beneath the table. A servant in a white uniform walked through the broken door, examining the room and its occupants with ill-concealed fear.

“Go down to the basement and fetch that new cask of Amontillado,” Silvertongue instructed the trembling mare. “I want this to be a new beginning for all of us; let us put the past behind us, learn our lessons, and toast to our future successes, when we emerge from this stronger and more powerful than before.”

The mare nodded and exited quickly. Silvertongue looked around the room as the others resumed their seats.

“Fret not,” he reassured the room. “Another opportunity always comes.”

“Thanks, Marcus,” Bumblebee said, accepting a grilled carrot dog drizzled with mustard from the gray burro and giving him a bit in exchange. Licking his lips, he walked back to his partners, who were sitting on a nearby bench, munching on their carrot dogs and burgers, enjoying the light evening breeze whispering down the street.

“I tell you, best damn grill in the city. Nopony’s convincing me otherwise,” Bumblebee said, diving into his dog.

“You’ve never been to Sweetcream Scoop’s,” Flash Sentry countered.

“What’s that place like?” Bee asked. “I heard it had a pretty impressive arcade."

“It does,” Flash said. “But Sweetcream also makes these amazing hayburgers and milkshakes. And she’s really nice; she’s always easy to talk to, and gives great advice. She’s just really amazing.”

“Careful, you might make Twilight jealous if she hears you talking about another mare like that,” Bumblebee teased.

Flash’s entire face went red and his tail stiffened. “I, er, uh, beh, but, you, we, eh...you know?” he stammered.

“You’re not going to be assigned for any undercover work anytime soon, Sentry,” Prowl smiled as Bee laughed.

The trio sat in silence for a while before Flash spoke up again. “Sarge? You remember when you were...having that flashback, and you listed off those street names?”

“Yes,” Prowl said quietly. “It’s a...coping mechanism I came up with when I came back from the war. I list off places that are important to me; it calms me down.”

“Like what?” Flash asked. “I mean, I don’t mean to pry…”

“Nah, it’s all right,” Prowl nodded. “The street where I lived when I was a kid, the swings at the school that Bee and I played on, my uncle’s candy shop, the reservoir I go for runs, the nursery where Maple Leaf works, the bench where I proposed to him, and my home.”

Flash nodded. He thought for a moment, then looked up at a nearby street sign.

“Bench on the corner of Main and Railway,” he said. “I’m going to remember this place.”

Prowl smiled and tussled Flash’s mane. “You’re even sappier than my husband,” she snorted.

Flash chuckled and smoothed his mane back into place. The three leaned back in the seat and watched the world go by in contented silence.

Prowl reached into her saddlebags and extracted a small box. She shook some of the contents into her hoof: a trio of crickets, their bright green bodies covered in glazed honey, unnaturally still in her hoof.

"Wanna try one?" she asked, offering the candies to her colleagues. Flash turned faintly green and both stallions quickly scooted away from her, murmuring quiet refusals. Prowl shrugged and popped all three into her mouth. "Delicious."

"I'll take your word for it, Prowl," Bee mumbled, turning back to his carrot dog.

The setting sun was painting the city sky in reds and oranges as Phillip and Daring walked down Honeybee Bakery Street towards home.

“The department’s in better hooves now with Cold in charge,” Phillip was telling Daring.

Daring grunted. “Not happy that Captain Bitch is going to be breathing down our necks even harder than before,” she said.

Phillip was silent for a while, then quietly muttered, “We can still do our jobs.”

Daring scoffed. “I need a fucking drink,” she muttered.

“That’s your answer to everything,” Phillip replied.

“You’d be amazed how many problems can be solved with a liberal application of alcohol,” Daring answered.

They reached 221 and turned up the sidewalk towards the door. Phillip paused on the threshold, glancing down. Sitting on the step was what looked like a postcard. Phillip picked it up.

The picture showed a mare standing in front of an artificial beehive, holding up a honeycomb dripping with golden honey in her magic. The unicorn mare had a golden-white coat and yellow and black hair with green eyes, and the cutie mark of a jar of honey with a loaf of bread.

“Sugar Loaf’s All-Natural Honey and Honey Products: Coming Soon!” read the text across the top, with an address in northern Ponyville beneath.

Phillip flipped the card over to find a hoof-written line: “Thanks for everything. If you ever need my help again, you’ll know where to find me. —Buzz.”

Phillip and Daring both looked at each other and smiled. “Sometimes, this job really is worth it,” Daring said.

“Still need that drink?” Phillip asked, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

“Only if you’re joining me,” Daring replied, drawing her tail beneath his chin as she passed by. Phillip’s smile broadened as he closed the door behind them.

Case Six, Prologue: Blood in the Snow

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Snow fell from the cloud-streaked night sky, covering the streets of Ponyville with a light dusting of white that glowed beneath the light of the street lamps. Cars pushed through the plowed streets, half-melted sleet and snow hissing beneath their tires; pedestrians walked back and forth along the sidewalks, passing by businesses that were adorned with glowing decorations—wreaths, silver and gold bells, candy canes, gingerbread ponies, smiling Santa Hooves with his flying reindeer, and blinking lights. A group of ponies wearing long blue robes stood on a street corner, a collection bucket sitting on the sidewalk next to them.

“One of these days, I am going to redesign these robes,” Rarity complained, frowning at the hems of her outfit. “They drag on the ground and pick up mud and snow! Look at them, they’re filthy!”

“Rarity, ponies have been wearing these robes for generations,” Fluttershy pointed out meekly. “It hasn’t been a problem for them…”

“Perhaps they simply did not voice those concerns,” Rarity countered, lifting up the robes with her magic.

“Ladies, please,” Toe Tapper interrupted. “We are the Ponytones, and we’re collecting for our church! Pastor Sound is counting on us! We can’t let a little snow and mud get in the way of this!”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you Toe?” Torch Song asked, rolling her eyes a bit.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agreed, taciturn as always.

“Yes, yes, right,” Rarity said quickly, drying off her robe with a quick spell. “Toe Tapper is quite right; this collection for the Temple will be used to provide for the less fortunate of this city. And if it puts food in the bellies of some poor foals, then by the Mother, we are going to sing our hearts out!”

Torch Song gave Rarity a deadpan stare. “Now you’re laying it on thick.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agreed.

Rarity cleared her throat and smoothed out her mane. “In any case, shall we get back to it? What shall we sing next?”

“Ooh, could we do Faust Rest Ye Merry Gentleponies? I like that one,” Fluttershy suggested.

“Any objections?” Rarity asked, looking around with a smile. When none came, she nodded. “Right then.” Taking out a pitch pipe, she blew a note, ringing clearly out into the frosty air. The other members of the church choir hummed in tune. As one, the group drew a breath and began:

“Faust rest ye merry gentleponies
Let nothing you dismay
Remember beloved Equestria
Was founded on this day
To save us from cold winter’s power
And guide us on our way
O, tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy!
O, tidings of comfort and joy!”

A donkey in a white winter jacket and a golden and blue scarf walked past, holding a suitcase in one hoof. This donkey had a dark brown coat and a full chocolate brown beard; his blue eyes squinted against the icy wind that whispered down the street. Passing by the Ponytones, he paused and dropped a few bits into the collection bucket, earning a thankful smile and wink from Rarity. He nodded back and walked on.

Why had he bothered with that? Josephus pondered just how much three bits would go towards whatever charity that choir represented, especially in a city like this. He grimaced and glanced down at a homeless beggar, a donkey like him with long, untidy gray hair and beard, sitting on the curb with his hoof extended out in pleading. Josephus noted with distaste the red needle marks on his foreleg and walked on.

He hated this city: Ponyville was a festering wound on the face of Equestria, a rotting fruit left on the sidewalk that nopony bothered to pick up, even though it reeked. He sometimes wondered why Celestia couldn’t just send an army down here to clean up the mess, but it wasn’t his place to question the Princess. It was his duty to go where she sent him, and if she sent him to the city of corruption and despair to pick up a message, then he would go there.

He paused at a curb, looking up and down the street. The sooner he could get back to Canterlot and to his wife and daughters, the better. He could still faintly hear the choir behind him:

“From three tribes come together
The Fire of Friendship born;
It sent away the windigoes
And brought a brand new morn
To ears of all the ponies
These glad messages were borne:
O, tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy!
O, tidings of comfort and joy!”

Josephus sighed and decided that the white unicorn mare’s smile had goaded him into donating his bits. He checked his mental map and examined the street sign above him: if he was right, the train station was—

He froze, then looked away. That pony across the street; he was following him. He knew it; he’d seen that same windbreaker a half hour ago when he was leaving the shipyards with his message.

Panic flooded Josephus’ mind. What did he do? He struggled to remember his training. Don’t look at the pursuer! If they know you’re onto them, they’ll become even harder to shake! He looked away from the other pony, his frosted breath blowing clouds of frost into the air.

Lose them. He had to lose them. They had to be after his suitcase. He walked down a different street, away from the train station. He’d lose them in the alleys. He turned a corner, glanced behind to make sure that the other pony wasn’t behind him, then ducked into an alley.

The alley was small and badly lit. Bags of garbage sat on the stone, outside a side door to a Chineighse restaurant. Shivering and drawing his scarf closer, Josephus walked into the alley, skirting around the bags of garbage. The dirt and soot on the ground clung to his hooves as he walked. He noticed a wanted poster on the brick wall next to him: a tan unicorn with chestnut brown hair and black eyes stared at him from the photograph.

Shaking his head, he walked past the poster and down the alley. He’d cut through here, then double back to make sure he wasn’t being followed before heading to the station. He had lost him already; there was no way he…

Josephus’ heart froze in his chest. A griffon in a heavy trenchcoat and floppy black hat was approaching him. He glanced at the brownish beak, the gray-blue plumage, and the glaring brown eyes before focusing on the main threat: the Griffonese pistol in the mugger’s claw. The .38 revolver looked as big as a cannon on a battleship’s deck.

“Money. Jewelry. Suitcase. Now,” the griffon growled, his voice thick with a Thrussian accent.

Nodding numbly, Josephus reached into his jacket and extracted his bag of bits, tossing them at the ground at the mugger’s claws. The griffon snatched the bag up with a wing, never taking his eye nor his gun off his target.

Slowly, Josephus reached up with one hoof and unclasped the necklace with the silver wedding ring around his neck. He tossed this on the ground as well, silently begging Clarabelle for forgiveness. The griffon snatched this up as well, then gestured with his head. “Suitcase,” he grunted.

Josephus backed up, clutching the briefcase protectively to his chest. The Princess’ message was inside; being mugged was one thing, but how could he ever face the mistress of the sun again if he were to give up the message?

“Suitcase!” the griffon barked, jerking his gun towards him.

Josephus hesitated, his mind desperately spinning as he struggled to come up with a plan; in the distance, he could still faintly hear the choir:

“Now stoke the flames of friendship
All you within this place
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace:
Equestria and Hearth’s Warming
All quarrels doth deface
O, tidings of comfort and joy—”

He drew in a frosty breath in preparation to shout for help, but that quickly proved unnecessary, for the griffon’s claw twitched three times and three successive claps of thunder erupted from the weapon. Josephus’ body jerked with each impact; he felt as though he was being punched by a minotaur, the breath exploding from his chest.

His legs failed him and he tumbled back onto the cold, hard ground. The ice and snow seeped into his bones, chilling the blood in his veins. His slow, heavy breaths echoed in his head; the world turned gray and the sounds of the street, the distant cries of shock, and the heavy footfalls of the mugger became slurred, slowly sliding down his ears like molasses.

He tried to cry out, to call for help, but his throat was constricted: all that he could manage was some feeble gasps. Darkness slowly slipped over his vision like a falling curtain, and he faintly heard, from ten miles away, the approaching wail of a police cruiser.

“Clarabelle…” he whispered. And the darkness took him.

Case Six, Chapter One: The Sunny Client

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“‘Still No Leads in Search for Zugzwang,’” Daring read out loud from the front page of the Foal Free Press. “‘New Police Chief Cold Case vows to continue ponyhunt for former Silvertongue associate.’” She grunted and turned the page of the paper. “And also vows to keep Finder and Do out of it.”

“You’re still going on about that?” Phillip asked exasperatedly, turning from the partially sawed-open thigh bone on the experiment table in front of him.

“It’s been a whole moon since we took down Monopoly,” Daring complained, keeping her eyes on him instead of the bone. “And we haven’t had a decent case since. I’m dying over here.” She flopped back on the couch. “I can see the autopsy report now. ‘Daring Do. Cause of death: fatal levels of boredom.’”

Phillip rolled his eyes and turned back to the bone, completing his cut into the still fresh limb and starting to take marrow samples.

“Wonder what he did to piss off Silvertongue,” Daring mused, studying the photograph of the former bodyguard on the newspaper print.

“Maybe he betrayed him,” Phillip suggested, placing the marrow samples in bags and labeling each before pushing the bone aside for later. “Maybe he was Janus.”

Daring considered the possibility for a few moments. “Maybe...but what’s his endgame? What does he get out of it?”

“Money, power, side with the winning side,” Phillip suggested, placing a sample onto a microscope slide and carefully placing it under the microscope lens.

“Winning because we’re on it,” Daring observed.

“That’s the dinky-di of the job, Daring,” Phillip stated. “Take down one wanker, there’ll be two or three others waiting to replace him.”

“And you can bet that all of them are as bad or worse,” Daring muttered, moving on to the next headline: "Cerberus CEO Denies Knowledge of Employees' Wrongdoing." She let out a bitter sigh. “Like I said: being a good guy sucks sometimes.”

Phil let out a grunt of agreement, then turned to a letter and envelope sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Maybe this will turn into something interesting,” he commented, pushing it towards her. “See what you can make of that.”

Daring looked at the envelope first, which had been previously cut open with Phil’s letter opener. The address, which listed both of their names, was written on the envelope in neat blue inking, but instead of a return address, there was merely a name: Sunny Skies. “Canterlot postmark,” she noted before turning to the letter.

The same blue ink with the same neat, precise cursive writing adorned the letter. Daring read in silence:

Dear Mr. Finder and Ms. Do,
I recently read in the Canterlot Herald of your involvement in the exposure and arrest of Monopoly. You have my sincerest approbation for your success; you were able to remove a dangerous criminal from the streets of Ponyville with your cunning, intelligence, and determination. It is those qualities that I require from you now.
I am writing this letter to inform you that I would like to hire you both for an investigation. I wish for you both to understand from the start that this investigation involves information of a sensitive nature; it is for this reason that I am hiring you rather than entrusting the police. It is also for this reason that I cannot discuss further details over a letter or telephone, in case it is intercepted.
I will come down to Ponyville and meet with you at your home in pony on the twentieth of the Moon of Snow, at approximately ten o’clock to discuss further details. I can guarantee at this time that if you take my case, you will be paid double your normal rates.
I look forward to meeting you face to face!
Sincerely,
Sunny Skies.

“Double our rates? Seems a bit too good to be true,” Daring mused.

“Possibly,” Phillip said. “But what can you learn from that letter?”

Daring turned back to the message, studying it carefully. “It’s hornwriting,” she concluded. “You can tell from the inking on some of the words: it’s less bright at the beginning and ends from the pen being lifted off the paper.”

“Good,” Phillip nodded, gesturing for her to keep going.

“They’re an intelligent pony, or old-fashioned,” Daring continued. “Most ponies don’t use words like ‘approbation.’”

“What else?” Phillip said.

“This is high quality paper,” Daring said, testing the thick, stiff stationery. “You couldn’t buy this from any old store. They’re probably good for the bits.”

“Hold it up to the light,” Phillip suggested.

Daring held the letter up to the window and a faint watermark appeared within the paper: “Dida P Co.” in swirling, pale blue-white letters.

“‘P Co….’ Paper company?” Daring theorized. Phillip nodded. “But what’s Dida?”

Phillip’s response was to walk over to his bookshelf and pull down a large green volume titled “Equestrian Gazetteer.” He flipped through the atlas. “D…D...here it is. Dida: Dimondia District, an upper-class district in Fillydelphia. Named after King Dimondia of the Unicorns, father of Princess Platinum.”

“Paper sent from Canterlot, produced by a mill in an upper-class Fillydelphia neighborhood,” Daring concluded, turning back to the letter. “Wait, this is weird. The top part of the letter’s been cut at an angle.” She traced a hoof across the top of the letter, which was indeed at a slight angle compared to the bottom. “Somepony cut something off the top of the letter.”

Phillip pulled out a magnifying glass and studied the top of the letter. “Sharp pair of scissors,” he observed. “Line’s very smooth; again, likely used magic.” He glanced down at his watch. “Well, it’s almost ten now. We’ll know soon enough.”

The faint sound of wings flapping attracted Daring’s attention. She walked to the kitchen and looked out the window to the snowy street outside. A tall, willowy pegasus mare had just landed on the sidewalk in front of 221 and was looking up and down the street. She had a greenish coat and her conservative mane and tail were colored green, white, and purple, like the northern lights. Her cutie mark was a pair of connected sixteenth notes, and she wore a simple brown winter jacket that was slightly too big and a silver necklace with an emerald dangling from it. She was holding open a map of Ponyville and looking down at it, frowning.

“That can’t be Sunny,” Daring mused. “Maybe she got lost.”

A taxi pulled up to the sidewalk and paused. The door opened and after a moment, a different, smaller pegasus mare stepped out. She had a cream colored coat and light rose-colored eyes; her mane and tail were sunshine yellow with blue highlights, both tied in a long braid at the back. Her cutie mark was a sun with a pair of sunglasses. She wore purple diamond-shaped earrings and a white winter coat with matching saddlebags. She paid the driver a sizeable stack of bits with a smile and a wave, then walked up to the door and rang the bell.

“That must be our client,” Phillip said. He walked to the door and opened it wide to admit their guest.

“Ah, thank you!” the mare said, stepping through the door. She stuck out a hoof to shake. “Detective Finder, so glad to finally meet you! I’m Sunny Skies!”

“G’day,” Phillip said, shaking her hoof. “C’mon inside.” He shut the door behind her and led her over to the living room. As he entered with her guest, he exchanged a glance with Daring. She made eye contact with him for a beat, then nodded.

“Detective Do!” Sunny Skies chirped, walking up to Daring and shaking her hoof as well. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you as well!”

“Ma’am,” Daring said, taking a seat in one of the two chairs opposite the couch. Phillip sat down in the other one as Sunny Skies climbed up onto the couch.

“Right,” Phillip said. “‘Fore we get started, think it’s best if we all be completely honest with each other.” He gave Sunny Skies an even look. “Your Highness.”

Sunny blinked in surprise, then smiled. Suddenly, her body was awash with a bright golden light. When the light cleared, in Sunny’s place sat a pony with a pure white coat, wings, and horn, taller than an average pony by a full head and shoulder. Her teal, aquamarine, and lavender mane spilled gracefully down to her hooves, and her tail draped down to the floor. The sunglasses had vanished from her cutie mark, leaving behind just the sun; her eyes were now a lighter shade of rosy pink, sparkling with humor.

Daring quickly jumped off her seat to kneel upon the floor. Phillip followed suit, prompting a giggle from their client. “How did you know?” Princess Celestia asked.

“Logic,” Phillip answered, looking up. “The letter was hornwritten, but Sunny Skies is a pegasus, so she either dictated that letter, or she’s using a disguise spell. Letter was also clearly written by an upper-class pony from Canterlot, possibly a royal, enforced by the fact that you cut off the top of the letter to remove the embossed seal. Then there’s your bodyguard outside, the pegasus. Saw the strap from her holster beneath the collar.”

“But I could’ve been just another noble,” Celestia pointed out, still smiling widely.

Phillip and Daring both turned their gazes from her to a point behind the couch. “Not many ponies can pull off a disguise spell like that, and even fewer can afford a bodyguard who can turn invisible,” Phillip pointed out.

Celestia turned to the spot they were looking at with a smile. “You may as well reveal yourself, Sergeant. They knew you were there the moment you walked through the door.”

The air rippled and a blue unicorn stallion with gray eyes and a short blonde mane and tail appeared. He too was wearing a coat, but it was open, allowing the ponies to see the black bulletproof vest and shoulder holster with an automatic pistol tucked inside. He too had a necklace with a plain-looking emerald jewel hanging from it around his neck.

“You weren’t exaggerating, Your Highness,” the unicorn grinned. “They really are as good as you said. So what gave me away?”

“Your sound shadow,” Daring said. “When you walked through the door, you muffled the sounds of the street outside.” The unicorn nodded in approval. She turned back to Celestia. “There is one other thing.”

“What’s that?” Celestia asked.

“Your cutie mark,” Daring said, grinning. “I mean, it’s just your cutie mark with a pair of sunglasses. What, did you run out of ‘I’m not Princess Celestia’ shirts?”

Celestia stared at Daring for a moment with an expression of mild disbelief, then threw her head back and let out a loud bout of laughter, her shoulders shaking in amusement as though Daring had just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Ah, that was good,” she sighed, wiping her face with a wing. She turned to the blue unicorn. “You may as well let Mythic in, they know who she is.”

The unicorn walked over to the kitchen window and tapped at it, gesturing for the pegasus mare standing outside to come in. A few moments later, the door opened and the pegasus mare walked in, stamping snow off her hooves as she entered the living room. She too wore a bulletproof vest and holster beneath her jacket. She took her place at the doorway, scanning the room with a frown.

“Detectives,” Princess Celestia said. “This is Sergeant Arc Light—” She nodded to the blue unicorn stallion, who saluted with a grin. “And Sergeant Mythic Aurora.” The mare scowled at Daring and Phil and gave a curt nod.

“Right,” Phillip said. “So, what’s so important that you need to come down here in pony?”

Celestia’s smile vanished quickly. She reached into her saddlebag and extracted a photograph of a donkey with a chocolate brown beard and icy blue eyes wearing a suit and tie, carrying a leather suitcase.

“His name was Josephus,” Celestia said as Phillip and Daring both studied the picture. “He worked for the palace as a confidential messenger. He came here two days ago to receive a message from an incoming ship.”

“Which was?” Phillip pressed.

Princess Celestia paused for a beat, then said, “A draft of a treaty between Equestria and the zebra tribes in the Grasslands.”

“Your Highness…” Mythic said in a warning tone.

“This is my decision, Sergeant,” Celestia said in a quiet, calm tone. Mythic scowled, but fell silent.

“Josephus was killed in a mugging that same day,” Celestia continued.

“Yes, there was a note in the paper,” Phillip nodded. “Don’t know if they’ve got a suspect.”

“They haven’t,” Princess Celestia confirmed. “I’ve been in touch with Chief Case.” Phillip noticed Daring’s hackles subtly raising at the mere mention of her name. “She told me that Josephus had a briefcase with him, and it appeared that somepony had attempted to open it. There was a copy of the treaty inside the briefcase.”

“Maybe the mugger just took his money, opened the briefcase to see if there was anything inside, and booked it,” Daring suggested.

“That is possible,” Celestia admitted, tactfully ignoring the icy look that Mythic was fixing Daring with. “However, I cannot take that risk.” She frowned for a moment, then added in a quieter tone, “If Silvertongue got his hooves on that treaty, the results could be disastrous.”

A buzzing silence settled into the room at the mention of his name. Even after the fall of Monopoly a moon ago, even after Cold Case had taken the reins of the PPD and evicted all of the dirtier officers from its halls, the art collector remained, untouched and defiant.

“You want us to find out who killed Josephus and if Silvertongue has a copy of the treaty,” Phillip concluded.

“And, if necessary, retrieve the copy and ensure that it cannot be used against national interest,” Celestia added.

Daring grinned. “A chance to stick it to Chuck and getting paid extra for it? How could I say no?”

“A pony has died, and somepony needs to pay. I’m in,” Phillip said, handing the photograph of Josephus back.

“Thank you,” Celestia said, taking the photograph. She stared at it with a sad, wistful look on her face. "His wife bought him that suitcase when he got the job nine years ago," she said quietly, her words seemingly directed towards nopony in particular. She sighed and tucked the photograph into her saddlebag. “I hope that Clarabelle and their two children will take some measure of comfort if we find who did this to him.”

Phillip leaned back in his seat. “Tell me about Josephus,” he said.

Celestia regaled them with a brief overview of her messenger, telling them of his quiet, introspective nature, his tendency to focus on the job at hoof above all else, and his devotion to his family and to the crown. “He would rather die than betray this nation. I would bet my crown on it,” she declared.

“Do you know when he got here, and where he was staying?” Phillip asked.

“He took the six o’clock train to Ponyville that morning,” Celestia said. “He would not have stayed anywhere in Ponyville; he would’ve met the ship that the treaty came on, taken the draft, and come back to Canterlot as soon as possible. He hated this city, and made that very obvious to me several times.”

“Wonder why,” Mystic muttered beneath her breath.

“The ship the treaty was aboard arrived at about noon,” Princess Celestia continued. “He phoned me around 12:15 to tell me that the pickup had gone off without a hitch and he was headed back on the next train. That was the last I heard…” She paused, blinking, then took a deep breath. “That was the last I heard from him.”

“We’ll find out what happened to him,” Phillip assured her.

“Assuming Chief Bi...Case cooperates,” Daring muttered bitterly.

“She will,” Princess Celestia assured them. “I will see to it. She doesn’t know I’m here, but she does know that I have an interest in this case.”

Daring blinked. “Well, that helps.”

“I will be finding a place to stay within Ponyville. Once I’ve done that, I’ll give you a way to contact me if you need further assistance,” Celestia informed them, climbing off the couch. “I will trust you both to keep my presence here a secret.”

“Not a word,” Phillip promised. Daring nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Celestia smiled. Her body glowed with a golden light, and then Sunny Skies reappeared in her place. She shook hooves with both Phillip and Daring. “Thank you both.”

“Not a problem,” Phillip said. “We’ll drop by the precinct and see if we can get some more info on Josephus.”

“Good. I trust that you both will keep this discreet, and that you will do everything you can to help.” Celestia gave them both a brief bow. “Good luck to you both. I will be in touch soon.” And with that, Sunny Skies turned and walked out the door. Mythic shot Phillip and Daring a brief glare, then followed after her.

“Let me know if you need another set of eyes,” Arc Light winked at them. “What ponies don’t see can’t hurt them...or us.”

Daring grinned at him. “I like him,” she said to Phillip.

Arc gave one last nod, then lit up his horn and faded from view. Both Phillip and Daring faintly heard hoofsteps retreating from the room, then the door closing and the faint sounds of three ponies walking away.

“So, the precinct?” Daring asked Phil.

“The precinct,” Phillip agreed, standing up. "Oh, hang on." He walked over to a corner of the room and picked up a small shopping bag, which he hung around his neck by the long straps.

"What's that?" Daring asked, putting her pith helmet on.

"Gift for Suunkii," Phillip said, swinging on his vest and placing his trilby on his head.

The two of them stepped out into the snowy streets. A pickup truck rumbled past them; Daring caught a glimpse of Sunny Skies sitting at the trolley stop down the street, waiting patiently. Snow fell lightly from the gray clouds that hung overhead.

Phil let out a heavy exhalation, his breath condensing as it left his mouth. “What’s the point of snow, anyway?” he muttered, mainly to himself, as he turned and started walking up the street.

A grin slithered up Daring’s face. She scooped up some snow off the sidewalk with a wing, packed it up into ball, and launched it at the back of Phillip’s head. The wet snow spattered against the nape of his neck, eliciting a loud yelp from the stallion. “Oi!” he shouted, whirling around.

Daring flew up into the air out of his reach and blew a raspberry at him, then flew towards the precinct in a grey blur. “Get back here, you tosser!” Phillip shouted, chasing after her.

Case Six, Chapter Two: The Griffon's Claws

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Daring landed in front of the revolving doors of the PPD headquarters and smirked at Phillip as he ran up. “I bloody hate you,” he growled at her, adjusting the shopping bag around his neck.

“If you want to vent some of that rage, we can arrange that tonight,” Daring replied, giving him a brief kiss on the nose. Still smirking, she pushed through the door and into the lobby of the department, with Phillip following. Walking through the lobby, the two pushed through a doorway into an interior hallway and walked down to the end. They stepped down a set of stairs and into the laboratory. Classical music greeted them as they entered the lab. Doctor Suunkii was standing at a table, looking over a magazine with Twilight Sparkle.

“So, these ‘chromosomes’ are believed to be the foundation for life?” Twilight asked, tapping a page in the magazine.

“Yes, Twilight Sparkle,” Suunkii nodded. “And it is believed that if said chromosomes could be extracted and studied, they might be useful for identifying traces.”

Twilight squealed excitedly and clapped her hooves. “Incredible! Absolutely incredible!” she said. “I’ve got to find out more about this! If we could perfect such a process, just think of the possibilities!”

“I am thinking of them, Twilight Sparkle,” Suunkii said, smiling at his younger assistant. “And I believe that if there is a single pony in Equestria who would be the right pony to reach for such a discovery, I believe that it will be you, mwanafunzi wangu.”

Twilight blushed.

“Sounds like a project,” Phillip said as he entered, setting the shopping bag down next to the door.

“Hello Phillip, Daring,” Twilight greeted them. “What can we help you with?”

“Mortis in?” Phillip asked. “Need to see a body.”

“Doctor Mortis is indeed in the morgue,” Doctor Suunkii said. “Which case are you concerned with?”

“Donkey named Josephus,” Phillip said. “Shot and killed by a mugger couple days ago.”

“Ah, yes. That is an unfortunate case,” Suunkii nodded. “We have not been able to run evidence from his murder yet, unfortunately. I will see if I can find his case file.”

“Thanks. I’ll go talk to Mortis.” Phillip nodded and exited the lab, with Daring following. They walked down the hallway to the morgue and pushed through the doorway.

The morgue was as cold and dark as the last time Daring had been down here, and the smell of soap hung heavy in the air. Doctor Mortis, wearing an apron and a surgical mask around her neck, was standing at the freezers in the back of the room, carefully pushing a stretcher covered with a sheet into a chamber.

“There you go,” she said to the covered body. “Just rest easy, my friend; you’ve earned it.” She closed the vault-like door with a clang and locked it shut with a key from her belt. It was then that she turned and saw Phillip and Daring entering.

“Ah, welcome to the dungeon!” she chirped cheerfully as they entered. “There somepony in particular you needed to see?”

“Yeah, the owner of the closest liquor store,” Daring said, staring at the body of a young pegasus mare laying on the cold metal table next to her; her limbs were colored purple from lividity, her mouth hung open to expose the purple tongue, and the y-shaped incision on her chest was hastily stitched back together. A distinctly v-shaped bruise was wrapped around the corpse’s neck, brightly, horrifically distinct against her pale white coat. Daring shuddered and looked away.

“Donkey named Josephus,” Phillip said.

“Ah! I was just about to pull him out of the freezer and take a look at him.” Doctor Mortis took the key from her belt with her magic and unlocked another freezer, pulling out the stretcher within. She whisked away the sheet covering the body with a flourish like a stage magician, revealing the corpse of a middle-aged donkey with a full brown beard. His bloodstained chest was perforated with three holes. Mortis used her magic to carry Josephus’ body out of the freezer and onto a waiting table, bearing the body with a gentle care and reverence.

“All right then, Mister Josephus,” Mortis said, snapping on a fresh pair of rubber gloves and lifting her surgical mask to cover her mouth and nose. “Let’s see what you have to tell us.” She snapped on a lamp hanging over the table and began her external examination.

“I don’t think we really need to wonder too much about COD,” Mortis commented, indicating the tight grouping of three bullet holes on the body’s chest. “Examination of the wounds suggest that the shooter was, I’d say, at least three feet away and standing face to face with our victim.” She pulled out a long metal rod and carefully inserted it into one of the holes, studying the angle and depth. “A right-hoofed shooter, I’d say.”

“What’s this here?” Phillip asked, pointing to Josephus’ right hoof. Three distinct red marks were drawn down his foreleg towards his hoof.

“Hmmm,” Mortis murmured, studying the marks. “Looks like a griffon made these. Defensive wound, maybe?”

“No, there are no other marks like it,” Phillip said. “Looks to me like the mugger tried to snatch something he had in his hoof.” He then bent over Josephus’ neck. “Marks here; looks like he had some kind of necklace. Mortis, tilt the light a bit.”

Mortis tilted the lamp to the side slightly. In the indirect light, the faint outline of a necklace with a simple ring became evident on Josephus’ neck and upper chest.

“Wedding band,” Phillip concluded. “Check the back of the neck.”

Mortis obligingly lifted the corpse’s head with her magic, allowing Phillip to study the back of the neck. “No marks. Looks like the vic took it off himself.”

“Okay, if we’re done with the external examination, I think it’s time we went digging for bullets,” Doctor Mortis said, reaching for a sharp scalpel on the table.

Daring Do blanched slightly. “Uh, I’m gonna go see if Suunkii and Twilight have found that evidence yet,” she said, quickly backing out of the room.

Mortis shrugged. “Her loss,” she commented and started making an incision in the corpse’s chest.

Daring retreated to the relative safety of the laboratory to find that Doctor Suunkii and Twilight were placing a large cardboard box on top of one of the tables and extracting a number of items from it: a suitcase, a single simple blue saddlebag, a white coat and blue and gold scarf, and a long gray-blue feather.

“Did you find anything useful from Doctor Mortis?” Twilight asked.

“A few things,” Daring said, quickly reviewing their conclusions.

“A griffon? That might help with identification,” Twilight commented as she began to catalog the items inside the saddlebag: a pair of train tickets for a round trip from Canterlot to Ponyville, a street map of Ponyville, and a couple loose bits. “There aren’t a lot of griffons in the center of Ponyville.”

“No bit bag or jewelry,” Daring noted, scanning the victim’s items. She turned her attention to the suitcase. “Let me take a look at that.”

“Be careful,” Twilight cautioned her, passing her the suitcase. “I don’t want you to mess up any evidence.”

“Take the stick out, will you?” Daring muttered, using a table-mounted magnifying glass to study the suitcase.

The case’s brown leather was still pristine and shiny, as though it was just off the shelf. It was still locked securely, but the leather surrounding the four-digit combination lock and clasps was scored by vicious slashes. Clearly, the griffon mugger had attempted to scratch his way into the suitcase, but had failed. Daring took a closer look at the lock and noticed a brand name stamped into the lock: Dragonsteel Locks.

“This is a good lock,” she said. “Special pickproof enchantments and magic-repulsing material. There’s no way a griffon would be able to get past this on their own.”

“It appears that the mugger assaulted Josephus and demanded his money and jewelry,” Suunkii theorized. “It is possible that when Josephus refused to give up his briefcase, the mugger shot him and attempted to open the briefcase, but failed and fled.”

“Possibly,” Daring mused. “But it’d be pretty foolish to just assume that nopony got in there.”

“Why?” Twilight asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Trust me, it’s important,” Daring said. She frowned at the combination lock. “Four tumblers, nine digits each. That’s…”

“Six thousand, five hundred sixty-one possible combinations,” Twilight said. “It’d take you hours to try them all.” She frowned. “If it wasn’t made of magic-repelling metal, I’d use a spell to try all the combinations. How are you going to get into that?”

Daring frowned in thought, pondering in silence for several seconds. “Anypony got a crowbar?”

“I’m not letting you destroy evidence!” Twilight squawked.

“Got a better idea?” Daring deadpanned.

“Got the bullets,” Phillip announced, walking into the lab with a small sealed glass jar. Inside were three blood-stained bullets, all of them slightly warped and misshapen. “Thirty-eight caliber, I'd guess.”

“The comparison microscope?” Twilight asked Suunkii eagerly.

“Yes, the comparison microscope,” Suunkii nodded with a small smile. Twilight let out a little squee of delight and took the jar from Phillip with her magic. She walked over to another table, upon which sat the comparison microscope. Taking two of the bullets out of the jar, Twilight carefully set them into the slides beneath the twin scopes and set to studying them.

“Thirty-eight caliber, yes,” she confirmed. “I see...three lands, two grooves, counterclockwise twist.”

“Daring Do, on the shelf behind you, there is a thick blue notebook. Please hand it to me,” Doctor Suunkii requested. Daring looked up, quickly spotted the book amidst the rainbow-colored menagerie atop the groaning shelf, and gave it to Suunkii.

Suunkii opened the notebook and began flipping through it. “Three lands, two grooves, counterclockwise twist,” he repeated to himself.

“What are lands and grooves?” Daring asked.

“Come take a look at this,” Twilight said, beckoning Daring over to the microscope. Daring pressed her eyes to the scope, observing the close-up views of the two bullets.

“You know that guns have grooves etched into the interior of the barrel to make the bullets spin,” Twilight Sparkle lectured. “If you look closely, you’ll notice that this leaves marks on the bullets that the gun fires. See? There are two large grooves etched into each of the bullets with a counterclockwise twist, leaving three ‘lands’ of raised metal between them. This can help us narrow down the type of the gun used, and eventually discover who owns it.”

“Most likely be a griffon-made weapon, Suun,” Phillip said, reading the notebook over Suunkii’s shoulder. “Trigger guards on pony-made guns are too big for griffons to wield effectively.”

“That is likely,” Suunkii agreed, continuing to flip through the notebook. “Is it likely that this was a revolver?”

“Considering the lack of bullet cartridges at the scene and the amount of powder dispersal on the wounds, yes,” Phillip nodded.

“Then the most likely weapon is a .38 caliber M1819 Naudaunt revolver,” Suunkii declared. “I do not believe that is a weapon that is commonly sold here in Ponyville, or, indeed, in Equestria.”

“Might make finding records easier,” Phillip mused. “Even if they brought it over from the Griffon Empire, he’d have to get a license for it.”

“I shall examine this feather,” Suunkii declared, picking up the bag with the blue-gray feather inside and placing it under the microscope. “Perhaps there is some trace on it that will further narrow down our search.”

“Good,” Phillip nodded. “Daring, let’s see if we can find Trace and Red. They can—”

“Detective Evidence and Detective Herring are not available,” a cold voice spoke from the doorway.

Phillip and Daring both looked at each other, a scowl crossing Daring’s face, then turned to face the new pony. Cold Case entered the room, her eyes on Phillip the entire time.

“Doctor Suunkii, Miss Sparkle, give us the room, please,” she ordered.

“Yes, Chief Cold Case,” Suunkii nodded, giving Phillip and Daring a concerned look as he led Twilight out of the room. Twilight looked back at them as she stepped over the threshold, upon which Cold Case closed the door with her magic.

“Your...client ordered me to assist you in this case,” Cold Case spoke, her voice sour, as though she were chewing lemons. “However, I cannot afford to offer you any assistance from my detectives.”

“Why not?” Phillip asked.

“Because you’re a bi—” Daring started to say, but Phillip quickly cut her off with an elbow jab to the chest.

Cold Case glared daggers at her for a second, her small pupils flashing like fire, then grunted and turned back to Phillip. “Because as much as I hate to admit it, we’re short-staffed. I had to fire over a full third of the department after I was sworn in as chief, and of course, the crime rates surged directly afterward.”

“Silvertongue’s got a lot of enemies,” Phillip commented. “They can sense weakness, they’re closing in on him.”

“Possibly,” Cold Case muttered. “And it is admittedly possible that Scarlet Letter is at the head of it. However, the fact of the matter is this: I do not have enough competent staff to spare much attention to this case. As important as royal orders are, my duty is to this city as well, and I will not fail that duty.”

She sniffed and rubbed her nose for a moment, then sighed. “I can, however, afford you three officers to assist you,” she added. “They’ll also be watching you very closely, and are under strict instructions to report to me if they find that you step out of line.”

“Noted,” Phillip said coolly. “Who are they?”

“Surprise!” a happy voice chirped. Bumblebee bounced into the room, followed by Prowl and Flash Sentry.

“Good luck,” Cold Case grumbled, sounding as though she’d rather drink acid than wish them luck. She turned on her heels with a loud sniff and walked out of the room, storming past Suunkii and Twilight. No sooner had Cold’s tail disappeared out of sight than Daring emphatically gave the door the Flying Feather with her right wing.

“Be nice, Daring,” Prowl warned her. “Cold would love any excuse to kick you off this case.”

“What do you need us to do?” Flash asked, standing smartly at attention as Suunkii reentered the room and placidly took his place at the microscope.

“We’ve got a lot of records to go through, and some names to hunt down,” Phillip said. “Twilight, in the records room, think you can find the gun licenses?”

“Easy,” Twilight scoffed.

“Narrow it down to .38 Naudaunts?”

“I can even sort them by date and address if you like,” Twilight said.

“Not necessary,” Phillip said with a hint of a smile. “But we do need a list of names.”

“I’ll be right back!” Twilight said, and disappeared down the hallway, looking extremely giddy.

“That’s the only pony I know who gets excited about paperwork,” Prowl mused.

“Nerd,” Daring muttered.

Suunkii looked up from the microscope. “Phillip Finder, I have identified soot on this feather. It is likely that the griffon in question works with coal.”

“Noted. Thanks, Suun,” Phillip said. “Oh, almost forgot.” He walked over to the shopping bag that he had dropped in the corner and extracted a small black box. He handed it to Suunkii. “For Muziqaa,” he said.

Suunkii took the box and opened it up. Inside was a small silver harmonica that shimmered beneath the light of the laboratory’s lamps. Suunkii smiled. “He will love it. Thank you, Phil.”

“Doing my duty as honorary uncle,” Phillip said with a small smile. “Hearth’s Warming gifts are part of it.”

“He and Sirba are missing you,” Suunkii said. “They have not seen you in over a year. You should come for a visit again.”

“I’ll have to find time,” Phillip said. “Maybe after this case.”

“Aww!” a voice cooed from the door. Twilight had reappeared, carrying several files in her magic. “That’s so sweet!”

“Yeah, it’s nice, but can we move this along?” Daring asked. “Kinda got a murdered donkey to deal with.”

“Right, right,” Twilight said. “I found all the copies of the licenses for .38 Naudaunts.” She gave Phillip a large stack of folders.

“Thanks, Twilight,” Phillip said.

Flash hesitated for a moment, then walked up to Twilight. “Um, are we still on for Ogres and Oubliettes this Friday?”

“Oh, of course!” Twilight smiled. “Spike and I are both looking forward to it!”

“Great,” Flash smiled. “And, um...were you planning anything for Hearth’s Warming?”

“Um...nothing really special…” Twilight admitted, a blush coloring her cheeks.

“Well, Sweetcream Scoop’s has a special pricing on Hearth’s Warming,” Flash said.

“On your own time, Sentry,” Prowl interrupted, looking over at the stack of folders that Phillip was filing through. “We’ve got some work to do.”

An hour, many stacks of folders, and two pots of coffee later, the group had cut the large grouping into a working pool of twelve suspects. And then came the truly hard part: tracking down their suspects, one at a time, and checking their alibis.

“Number eleven is a bust,” Daring said, exiting a white apartment building in the Dockside District. “He was at a movie during the mugging, he’s got the tickets.”

“That’s just number twelve left,” Phillip announced, looking at the list that he was carrying. “Bluedust. Lives near the Everfree District. Works in a coal distribution factory.”

“Okay, then, let’s go,” Prowl said, already taking to the sky again. Bumblebee climbed into the driver’s seat of their cruiser, followed by Phillip. Flash swung his legs over his motorcycle and kicked the engine to life. Daring followed Prowl up into the air and the group drove northeast to the Everfree District.

They arrived at the address provided in Bluedust’s file, a small red cottage that sat on the further eastern borders of the city, within the reaches of the Everfree forest. The entire house leaned to one side as though something had rammed into it.

Phillip and Daring walked up to the door and knocked. There was no reply. Daring knocked harder. “Hey, Blue!” she shouted. “Open up in there!”

Again, there was no reply. Frowning, Phillip walked over to the window and peered inside.

“Layer of dust, place in disarray,” he reported. “Doesn’t look like anypony’s lived there for weeks.”

“So now what?” Bumblebee shrugged.

Flash thought for a moment, then reached into the cruiser’s window and extracted the pile of folders. He plucked out Bluedust’s file and scanned it.

“Hey, he’s got a brother,” he said. “Palewing.” He plucked out a photograph and showed it to the group. In the photograph were two griffons. One was a tall gray-blue griffon with brown eyes, scowling at the camera. The other was a darker blue with white feathers and green eyes, a full head shorter than his brother. The blue and white griffon was holding a golden retriever on a leash.

“Address on the brother?” Phillip asked.

“Uh...yeah,” Flash confirmed. “He lives a few blocks from here.”

“Then let’s get moving,” Phillip said, already climbing back into the cruiser.

They arrived at Palewing’s house within a couple minutes, a white cottage that almost blended into the snow covering it and the lawn around it. A mailbox with no door stood at the edge of the lawn, with only a few letters inside: most of them bills, several days old. The group trudged through the snow to the front door and Phillip knocked.

“Who is it?” a voice grunted through the door, every syllable accented by a Thrussian accent.

“Palewing, this is the police,” Prowl called through the door. “We need to speak to you.”

There was the sound of a chain unlatching and the door opened a crack. Palewing peeked out, his green eyes clouded with worry. “I no speak police,” he grunted.

“It’s about your brother,” Daring said.

“My brother no speak to me for months,” Palewing said. “Go away.” He started to close the door.

“Then how come there’s a letter from him in the mailbox?” Daring asked, holding up an envelope with crude Thrussian writing scrawled across it.

The green eyes widened in shock. “Otkuda vy znaete moj jazyk?” he asked.

“Ja čitaju knigi,” Daring replied. “Where’s Bluedust?”

Palewing frowned for a moment. “He...he come to me a few days ago. Gives me some bits. Say he...say he do something bad. Big accident. He need hide for a while.”

“Where?” Daring pressed.

“Back of the house!” Prowl suddenly shouted. Everypony looked up to see a griffon with blue-gray plumage wearing a faded trenchcoat flying out of a back window and headed east, soaring drunkenly through the lightly falling snow.

Flash, Prowl, and Daring all took off as one, tackling Bluedust out of the sky. The tangled mess of limbs tumbled into the snow with a great white plume. Phillip ran over to the group as Prowl and Flash wrestled Bluedust into hoofcuffs, with Bumblebee huffing and puffing behind.

“I do nothing!” Bluedust protested as the cuffs were snapped over his claws. “I do nothing!”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” Prowl growled, roughly patting him down. She quickly snatched a revolver from within the folds of his coat: a .38 Naudaunt. “On your feet.” She and Flash hauled the griffon up and the entourage marched him back to the cruiser.

Case Six, Chapter Three: The Shadow

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“Suunkii did a ballistic analysis on the revolver you found,” Cold Case said, watching through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room. Bluedust was sitting at the table, glaring sullenly at the ground, with his court-appointed attorney, a jenny with a conservative brown manecut and blue blouse, sitting next to him, negotiating terms with a pegasus detective. “They matched. You found the mugger.”

“There’s just one thing,” Phillip said, watching their suspect from next to her. “He’s insisting he didn’t open the case.”

“The likelihood is, he panicked when he shot the vic and tried to break the case open, but had to run off,” Cold Case said. “In any case, it appears that he did not get access to the suitcase’s contents, and there is no connection between him and Silvertongue. That means that your client can rest easy...and your part in this is over.” She turned and walked down the hallway, ignoring Phillip.

Phillip frowned at Bluedust through the window for a few more seconds of silence, then turned and walked in the opposite direction. Descending a set of stairs, he entered the laboratory.

“Something’s shonky around here,” he announced to the three ponies in the room.

“Why?” Twilight asked. “We did catch the killer, right?”

“We did,” Phillip said. “But there’s been something odd about this from the start.” He sat down and looked around at Suunkii, Twilight, and Daring.

“Why did Josephus go down that alley in the first place?” he asked. “He wouldn’t have wanted to linger in this city, so he should have been heading towards the train station. That road was the opposite direction.”

“You’re right,” Daring mused. “There was no reason for him to go down that way.”

Twilight frowned in thought. “Let’s go over the witness reports again,” she said. She lifted the thin folder off the table with her magic and opened it up, flipping through to the transcripts of the eyewitness interviews. “Let’s see...there’s Fluttershy and Rarity’s interviews…” she murmured. “They both agree that Josephus walked up to Rosebud Avenue, stopped and looked around, then turned and walked out of sight. Oh, wait...Rarity adds that he ‘froze for a moment like a deer in headlights, then turned and walked away very quickly.’”

Phillip pondered this for a moment. “Okay, picture this,” he said. “You’re a messenger, carrying an important message. You’ve already called the client to let them know the meet went off without a hitch, you’re on your way back. You walk up the street, you stop at the corner to wait for traffic...and you freeze. You turn and go the other way and head down an alley. Why?”

“Why does any animal freeze, then turn and run?” Suunkii asked. “Because they have realized that they are in danger.”

“He was being followed,” Daring concluded. “But by who?”

“By whom,” Twilight corrected beneath her breath. Daring made her dismissal evident by swishing her tail across a table and sending several notes scattering. “Nooo!” Twilight wailed, rushing to put the notes back in order.

“If we’re gonna find out who followed him, we’re going to have to retrace his steps,” Phillip said. He looked over at the suitcase, still sitting on an examination table. “And there’s something else bothering me. This case.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” Daring said. “It’s too pristine.”

“Client told us that Josephus’ wife bought that for him nine years ago,” Phillip said. “Yet, look at it. It’s pristine. Bloody thing looks like it just came off the shelf, save the scratches.”

“And another thing: the scratches are only around the locks,” Daring added. “There should be some elsewhere on the case if Bluedust was trying to rip it open.”

“Let me see those marks again,” Suunkii said, striding forward. He swung the magnifying glass around and studied the briefcase’s locks again. “Hmm. These marks seem to be too thin to be made by a griffon; a griffon’s claws are much wider than this.”

“There’s an easy way to resolve this,” Daring said. “I’m going to have to open the case.” She grasped the suitcase and held it up to study the locks. “If this is fresh-bought, there’s a good chance that whoever bought it didn’t change the combination. And seeing as some locks just come with some standard combinations…” She dialed the tumblers to 5-5-5-5 and tried to open the case. The locks didn’t budge. Daring then tried 1-2-3-4, but again with the same result.

“Hmm,” she frowned for a moment, then started redialing. “Could go for that crowbar about now…” she muttered. She set the dials to 0-1-2-3 and tried again.

With a click, the briefcase opened, and all four ponies stared inside. The velvet-lined interior was completely empty save for a bright green tag at the bottom that said “Thank you for shopping at Hayseed’s!”

“Okay, that’s not good,” Daring muttered, quickly patting the case down for secret compartments and finding none. “This isn’t Josephus’ briefcase; it’s brand new.”

“But how?” Twilight asked. “Maybe somepony switched the briefcases while Josephus was on the ground?”

“No,” Phillip said. “A crowd gathered seconds after the gunshots, and the scene was secured within a couple minutes. Nopony would’ve had time. Maybe somepony switched briefcases with him before the mugging.”

“In any case, if he was being followed, the pony following him is our best lead,” Daring said.

“Agreed,” Phillip said. “Get the officers in here.”

Suunkii walked over to a phone in the wall and spoke into it briefly. Minutes later, Prowl, Bumblebee, and Flash entered the laboratory.

“All right, listen up, ponies,” Phillip said, pacing before them like a general lecturing his troops before a battle. “Our current theory is that Josephus was being followed by an unknown pony. That pony somehow stole Josephus’ briefcase and replaced it with a fake one. Josephus was carrying a message that is of utmost importance to our client.”

He paused and looked around at the officers. “So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to retrace Josephus’ entire journey through this city, starting from the moment he arrived to the moment he died. Security crystal feeds, eyewitness reports, receipts, everything. He picked up Josephus’ trail somewhere and we need to find where.

“I’m going to check with Mortis and see if her autopsy picked up anything of note. Flash, you head down to the train station. See if there’s any surveillance crystal footage you can find, and interview anypony who was on duty two days ago when his train arrived. Bumblebee, go to Hayseed’s and find out who bought this kind of suitcase. Prowl, check with the dispatch center and start going over city-wide surveillance feeds. Also, go over phone records. Vic sent a call to Canterlot around 12:15 PM. Suunkii and Twilight, you two go over the evidence, including this suitcase. Find anything that might help.”

Everypony quickly moved out to begin their assignments. “What should I do?” Daring asked.

“You’re going to double-check the witnesses,” Phillip said. “And I have an idea where to begin.”

Daring landed on the cleared sidewalk outside the Carousel Boutique, the purple and white building artfully decorated with small mounds of snow on the window ledges and strings of blinking red and white lights wrapped around the building in even lines. She walked up to the doorway, which had an “Open!” sign hanging in the window, and pushed through. A set of sleigh bells above the doorway jingled as she entered.

The Boutique had several ponies inside, all of them admiring various jackets, hats, hoofbags, and various other accouterments. Festive music played quietly on a record broadcast over the speaker system.

Daring quickly spotted a mane of distinctly curled royal purple hair and made her way towards her, pushing past several customers on the way. Rarity looked up from a display of earrings that she was helping a young mare try on and smiled brightly. “Welcome!” she sang. “Come to try something that will go with your coat for the winter?”

“Much as I’d like to play dress-up again, I’m on business,” Daring said. “I need to talk to you about that mugging on Rosebud a few days ago.”

Rarity’s face fell slightly. “Oh, goodness,” she murmured, raising a hoof to her mouth anxiously. “The police already questioned me about it…”

Daring sighed internally. “I know it must be upsetting for you, but I do need your help.”

Rarity let out a soft noise of uncertainty, then sighed. “Very well. Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy poked her head around the corner. “Yes, Rarity?”

“Would you be a dear and watch the store for a few minutes?” Rarity asked. “I need to speak with Miss Do in the back.”

“Okay,” Fluttershy nodded.

“Thank you, dear,” Rarity said. “Follow me, please.” Rarity guided Daring to a door marked “Employees Only” and pushed through it. The two mares walked into a small storeroom with large swaths of fabric and spare ponyquins scattered about amidst stacks of cardboard boxes.

Rarity closed the door with her magic and switched on a light overhead. “All right,” she took a breath, centering herself. “What did you want to know?”

“Tell me everything that happened,” Daring said.

Rarity swallowed. “Well, I was with the other Ponytones—that’s what we call ourselves, the church choir—on the street corner of Rosebud and Daffodil. We were performing a fundraiser for the church to provide for the less fortunate...it is the season of giving, after all…”

Daring cleared her throat pointedly and raised her eyebrow at Rarity. “Right, yes,” Rarity said, shaking her head. “Sorry, I do have a tendency to go on a bit when I’m nervous.” She cleared her throat and licked her lips. “In any case, it was around...oh, I’d say 12:20 when the victim walked past. Josephus, the newspaper said his name was?”

“Yes,” Daring nodded.

“He made a very generous donation, but I also recall seeing his coat and his scarf,” Rarity continued. “I recognized the ensemble right away: one of Coco Pommel’s more recent designs. She’s so talented, I knew I made the right choice letting her run my Manehattan store.” She shook her head again. “So sorry, I…”

“Did you notice his suitcase?” Daring cut in.

“Of course I did,” Rarity said. “Scuffed and old, but quite, quite beautiful. Hoof-crafted leather with gold-leaf accents: it was incredible to look at. I wished I could’ve asked him where he’d gotten it, I would’ve stocked them in here.”

“Continue,” Daring instructed.

“In any case, I saw Josephus walk past and stop at the intersection,” Rarity continued. “He froze for some reason, then turned and disappeared around the corner. I didn’t think much of it until a few moments later when...when I heard the gunshots.” A shiver traveled down Rarity’s spine. “Once we realized what the sounds were, we all rushed over to the street, and found him...lying there...so much b-blood…”

And before Daring Do could do anything, Rarity had collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. Daring blinked, then reached down and shook Rarity’s shoulders. “Hey! Wake up!”

Rarity didn’t respond in the slightest. With a sigh, Daring walked out of the room and reentered the main floor of the shop. Spotting the bathroom, she walked inside. She filled her helmet up with cold water from the sink, then walked back into the closet, closing the door behind her. Rarity was still unconscious on the floor.

“Wake up,” Daring called again. “Don’t make me do this.”

Rarity did not respond. Without any further ceremony, Daring turned her helmet over and dumped the water on Rarity’s head, causing the unicorn to wake up with a shriek.

“My mane!” she howled as though in pain, clutching her soaked and ruined curls.

“Relax,” Daring said, shaking the last of the water out of the helmet and putting it back on. “It’s just hair.”

“Just hair?! How dare you!” Rarity sputtered. “I spend hours on this mane every morning, and I refuse to have all my efforts be wasted!" She stood up and wrung out her mane with her magic, muttering under her breath about how much conditioner and shampoo it would take to undo this damage.

Daring resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry. Just one other thing.”

“Yes?” Rarity asked in a testy tone.

“Did you notice anypony else around carrying a suitcase like that? A new one?” Daring asked.

Rarity paused tending to her mane to think. “As a matter of fact, I did,” she said. “A tall unicorn stallion with...yes, with a light green coat and dark blue hair. He was wearing a brown trenchcoat, and...yes, he was carrying a brand new suitcase. The exact same kind as Mister Josephus.” She frowned. “I remember him following Josephus from across the street. He...yes, he went around the corner after him out of sight. Is this significant?”

“Very,” Daring said. “Did you see his cutie mark?”

“No. His trenchcoat covered it,” Rarity shook her head.

“Do you think you’d recognize him if you saw him again?” Daring asked.

“Most certainly,” Rarity nodded. “I never forget a face, especially the face of one who can actually pull off a trenchcoat like that.”

“What the heck is that supposed to...never mind,” Daring said. “Thanks for the help.”

“You can thank me by not messing up my mane again,” Rarity huffed.

“Sorry,” Daring apologized again and exited the closet, rolling her eyes as soon as her back was turned. With a final nod to Fluttershy, she exited the Carousel Boutique, back out into the snowy air. Spreading her wings, she flew back to the precinct to report her finds.

“A tall green unicorn with blue hair wearing a trenchcoat,” Daring said to Prowl. “I know it’s not much, but it’s all she remembered.”

“No, that does help,” Prowl mused. She stared up at the display of projected images on the wall. “I did manage to find the payphone that the victim called Canterlot from. There he is.” She pointed to a larger projection, which showed a familiar donkey standing in a phone booth on a street corner, talking into the hoofset. As Daring watched, Josephus put the hoofset down, picked up the suitcase with his mouth, and walked down the snowy street.

A sudden pang echoed through Daring’s heart. She glanced at the time code and saw that it was 12:14. In about six minutes, Josephus would be shot in the chest three times and bleed to death in an alleyway. She turned away from the projection for a moment and took a breath.

“You okay?” Prowl asked.

“Fine,” Daring said, rubbing her right hoof against her foreleg in an attempt to quell the burning that was starting to grow beneath her flesh. “I’m fine.”

Prowl turned back to the projection. “Move on to the next one,” she instructed.

“Yes, ma’am,” the new head dispatcher, Stellar Lights, nodded. With her wild green and blue hair, blue beaded necklace, and the cutie mark of a set of stars leaving behind multicolored trails, she looked more like she belonged in a nightclub than a dispatch room. Lighting up her horn with a magenta glow, she easily changed the projection to another crystal farther up the street. The image showed Josephus walking up the sidewalk towards the crystal, then under it.

“Wait, there,” Prowl said, pointing. “Zoom in on him.”

The image zoomed in on a unicorn across the street, a tall green unicorn wearing a light brown trenchcoat. He had well-combed blue hair and was carrying a brown leather suitcase in his mouth. The trenchcoat covered his cutie mark.

“See if we can get a better angle on him,” Prowl said.

Stellar Lights stuck her tongue out in concentration as she manipulated the crystals embedded into the wall, rewinding the projection and moving it forward in slow motion. She finally paused on a frame that displayed a clear shot of the unicorn’s face, revealing his pale purple eyes.

“Get images printed out of that. We’re going to be making a bunch of wanted posters,” Prowl said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stellar nodded, lighting up her horn. “I’ll start copying and distributing the images.”

Phillip, Bumblebee, and Flash all entered the room. “I didn’t find anything at the train station. Sorry,” Flash said, looking disappointed.

“I talked to Hayseed’s,” Bumblebee said. “The manager gave me copies of receipts for all sales of that suitcase for the past week.” He pulled out a bag and dumped out a large stack of receipts onto the table. “Who’d have thought that a suitcase would be so popular?”

“Did the store have surveillance crystals?” Prowl asked.

“No, I asked,” Bumblebee said.

“Autopsy’s a dead end, too,” Phillip said. “Didn’t get anything useful out of him.” He looked up at the projected still of the trenchcoated unicorn. “That our suspect?”

“Yeah,” Daring said.

Phillip approached the image and studied the pony. “City dweller: no sign of any dirt on his hooves,” he commented. “Gets that coat dry-cleaned: that style of coat went out of fashion years ago, but it’s still pristine and well-pressed.” He squinted. “Lights, zoom in on his neck there.”

Stellar lit up her horn and the image closed in on the unicorn’s neck, revealing a thin string necklace with several glass beads on it, each of them marked with a quill, a heart, a sun, a moon, a snowflake, or a rainbow. “That’s a rosary necklace,” Phillip said. “He’s an Alicorn's Witness. Devout one, too: that rosary can’t be more than a year old judging by the shine on that string, but the decals are already fading.” He pointed at the unicorn’s chin, outlining three small red lines across his chin. “Cat owner, too. Look at those scratches. Likely a kitten. Pull out a bit.”

Stellar pulled back on the image, allowing Phillip to take a better look at the coat. “Chain smoker,” Phillip added, pointing to an open pocket in the trenchcoat. Inside lay a packet of cigarettes, the top torn open to reveal that only half of the cigarettes remained. “Looks like...yeah, just enough of the logo there. Golden Dunes brand.”

“That should help narrow it down a bit,” Prowl commented.

“I figured it out!” Twilight shouted, running into the dispatch room. Her cry caused everypony within to jump, the constant background noise of ringing phones and overlapping voices stopping for a moment, then everypony turned around and glared at her. She grinned sheepishly. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Figured out what?” Phillip asked.

“How the other pony switched suitcases,” Twilight said excitedly. “I was doing an examination for magical traces on the suitcase, and I discovered some small thaumaturgic remnants. Based on a quick experiment I did, I realized that the spy used a Switching Spell to swap his suitcase with Josephus’. Like this.”

Twilight’s horn lit up, and there was a soft popping noise. The next moment, Phillip and Daring both realized that they were wearing each other’s hats. The pith helmet dropped over Phillip’s eyes and slid down to the end of his nose, drawing snickers from everypony watching.

“I’m guessing this is not something that just anypony can pull off,” Phillip commented, doffing the helmet and swapping it with Daring for his trilby.

“It’s a mid-level spell,” Twilight explained. “Not easy, but not exceptionally hard either.”

“Noted,” Phillip said. “All right, when you get those posters up, put them up around Alicorn Temples and any nearby dry-cleaning businesses.” He turned and looked up at the face of the unicorn spy. “Somepony knows who this wanker is.”

Hours later, Phillip and Daring walked through a fresh snowfall up Honeybee Bakery Street.

“Well, hopefully, somepony recognizes him,” Phillip commented, glancing up at a street lamp that they walked past. Plastered to the pole was a poster with a picture of the unicorn in the trenchcoat. “Do You Know This Pony?” read the bold letters at the top of the poster, with more lines at the bottom giving additional details about the suspect and adding that the suspect was wanted for questioning and to call the police with any information.

“Plastered half the city with those damn things, somepony better recognize him,” Daring said, sucking on the cigarette that Phillip had offered her. “Maybe we should’ve rented a billboard. Or maybe one of those banners that pegasi drag behind them.”

Phillip let out a little snort and puffed on his own fag. “Maybe,” he agreed.

Sitting on the front step of 221 was a small brown package. Drawn on the top was a picture of the sun, winking up at them. Phillip opened the package. Inside was a golden bracelet with two small gems and some runes inscribed into it. There was a note inside with neat blue writing on it.

Just in case you need to contact me: put the bracelet on, touch the red and the green gems—not the other way around!—then rotate it twice counterclockwise. —Sunny.

“Right,” Phillip said, putting the bracelet on.

“It suits you,” Daring snickered. “You look like you’re engaged. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Rolling his eyes, Phillip unlocked the door to 221 and they entered their home, hanging up their vests and hats. As they entered, the phone began ringing.

Daring pounced on it and answered. “Do and Finder.”

“This is Skeleton Key,” a voice said on the other end. “I believe you’re looking for me.”

Case Six, Chapter Four: The Meeting in the Mall

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Daring felt her heart beating faster against her ribs. She quickly turned and waved at Phillip, getting his attention. “How can I be sure you are who you say you are?” she asked.

“I bought the suitcase from Hayseed’s, and I swapped it with the vic’s suitcase on Rosebud Avenue,” the voice said. “Josephus was a Royal Messenger, and I took his case for Silvertongue.”

Daring nodded. “So, Mister Key, nice of you to call today. What’s your complaint?”

“I’m telling you to back off and leave me alone,” Key said. “You’re trying to get me killed, you know!”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that you’ve plastered my face all over half the damn city, you know,” Skeleton Key’s voice answered dryly.

“If you give yourself up to us, we can keep you safe from Silvertongue,” Daring said.

Key laughed bitterly over the phone: Daring could hear the quivering of fear and despair in the back of his throat. “You saying that means you’re either naive or stupid,” he said. “You can’t protect me from him, or my brother.”

“You’re talking to the pony who helped take down Monopoly,” Daring said. “Listen, if anypony can stop that asshole and save your brother, it’s my partner and me.”

There was silence on the other line. “Look, you’re scared, I get it. But whatever he’s got on you and your brother, we can take care of it,” Daring continued, pressing her advantage. “Whoever he sends after you, we can protect you from them. We can take him down. We can keep him from hurting you anymore. But you need to help us. You need to come in, and with your help, we can bring him down hard.”

The silence continued on for several long moments, then Key spoke again. “The big pine tree on Market Street, nine o’clock tomorrow. I smell a cop within three square blocks of that place and I’m gone.” And with that, the phone hung up with a sharp click.

Daring hung up the phone. “Who was it?” Phillip asked.

“Our suspect,” Daring said. “Said his name is Skeleton Key. He told us to meet him on Market Street at nine tomorrow, no cops.” She glanced down at the phone. “Phil, he’s terrified. Now that we’ve posted his face everywhere, Silvertongue is gonna know we’re onto him.”

Phil frowned. “Didn’t think of that,” he muttered.

“We should’ve,” Daring said. “And we obviously can’t just bring him to the precinct. How are we going to keep him safe?”

Phil’s brow creased in thought for several seconds, then he looked at the golden bracelet on his foreleg. He touched the red and the green gems, then twisted the bracelet. The bracelet began to glow: it pulsed a few times, then started shining with a steady golden light.

Before Phillip and Daring’s eyes, a ghost-like image of Princess Celestia appeared on the floor, facing Phillip. She was as tall as she was in life, but the image was semi-transparent, and the edges of her body didn’t seem solid, like they were made out of cloud. The mirage locked eyes with Phillip and smiled.

“Ah, Detective Finder,” the ghost-Celestia spoke, her voice muffled and echoing faintly, as though she were speaking to them from inside a small glass room. “What news?”

“We’ve been contacted by a pony who was following Josephus before he was killed,” Phillip said. “A pony named Skeleton Key. He switched briefcases with Josephus. He wasn’t connected to the mugger, but he did steal the treaty for Silvertongue.”

Celestia frowned. “This is distressing,” she said. “If Silvertongue has the treaty by now, he could sell it to another kingdom—perhaps the Griffons, or the Reindeer. They could potentially use that information against us to disrupt our alliance with the zebras. What did this Skeleton Key want?”

“He wants to come in and make a deal, but he doesn’t trust the police,” Phillip explained. “He told us to meet him on Market Street tomorrow morning.”

“Silvertongue probably won’t be far behind him at this rate,” Daring commented.

“Is that Detective Do?” Celestia asked, turning her head towards Daring. “I can hear you, but I can’t see you unless you’re wearing the bracelet.”

“Daring’s right: Silvertongue likely knows that we’re onto Key,” Phillip said. “But part of the deal is no cops.”

“Do you intend to honor that?” Celestia asked.

“The meeting, yes. The no cops, no,” Phillip said. “There are some officers we can trust that we’re working with. We’ll have them there in plainclothes as backup.”

“An excellent idea,” Celestia nodded. “Once you have concluded your meeting with this pony, please update me with any further information.”

“Will do, Your Highness,” Phillip said.

“I look forward to your news,” Celestia said with a small bow. And with that, the ghostly image disappeared.

Phillip and Daring looked at each other. “What do you think?” Daring asked.

“I think we need to make a few calls,” Phillip said.

Market Street branched off of Main Street and headed towards the west: the narrow street, the ground alternating between brick and pavement, roughly delineated the line between the Financial and Industrial Districts. The street was lined with stores and vendors selling wares that ranged from coffee and donuts to local artwork to imported goods. In the center of the street was a hole in the pavement that exposed the dirt beneath: within this hole stood a pine tree, as tall as some of the buildings around it. The green needles bent beneath the weight of the snow upon its branches, and the tree was decorated with strings of colored lights, hanging tinsel of silver and gold. Topping the tree like a crown was a small enchanted purple fire shaped like a heart contained within a glass bauble, a representation of the fire of friendship that had united the three tribes so long ago.

Even at eight-fifty on a snowy morning, this street was a bustle of activity, with ponies bustling up and down, weaving in and out of stores and around the decorated tree. Amidst the crowd were a few ponies who walked calmly along, eyes and ears open and alert.

A pale gold pegasus mare in a blue winter coat and a purple scarf with a floppy hat walked up to a bench that sat in the shadow of the great pine tree. A stallion in a blue vest sat upon the bench, reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette.

“No sign of him so far,” Daring Do whispered.

“Keep watching for him,” Phillip said. Though his eyes appeared to be on the paper, she knew that he was watching the street for any unusual ponies. Held in his lap, concealed in the sheets of the paper, was his hoof mirror, which allowed him to check behind him without turning around. He glanced into the mirror and frowned, letting out another puff on his cigarette.

Daring walked past and entered an outdoor gear shop. Brushing the snow from her coat, she walked over to a window display of boots, continuing to watch the street.

“Oh, hey,” a voice next to her said. She glanced up to see Bumblebee standing next to her, wearing a bright red cap, a purple parka that made him seem chubbier than normal, and a set of green leg warmers. He grinned up at her.

“What in the Holy Mother’s name are you wearing?” Daring asked, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

“I’m in plainclothes!” Bumblebee declared in a whisper.

“There’s nothing plain about any of those!” Daring chortled.

“This is what I always dress like in the winter,” Bumblebee said. “Besides, do you think anypony could imagine a cop wearing something like this?” he added in a whisper.

“I can’t think of anypony except a colorblind pony wearing something like that,” Daring said, her sides beginning to ache from laughing.

Bumblebee stuck his tongue out at her. “Well, maybe you just don’t have any fashion sense,” he said. He leaned in a little closer, pretending to examine the boots, and continued in a whisper.

“Just like you said, Prowl and Flash are watching from above. Prowl’s on the roof of the Hayseed’s towards the west, Flash is on the roof of the credit union to the east. They’ll be in position to move in fast if they see anything weird. And I’m in contact with them both.” He lifted up the flap on his hat to reveal an earpiece inserted into his ear, faintly pulsing with blue energy.

“Good,” Daring nodded. “Don’t hang around for too long. This guy’s smart, he’ll be able to smell a cop easily. You’re just a shopper out for some Hearth’s Warming gifts: you gotta sell that.”

“Already working on it,” Bumblebee said, picking up a large white paper bag in his mouth. “Mixing business ‘n’ pleasure,” he grinned through the paper straps in his mouth and walked out the door. Daring watched him bouncing down the sidewalk towards the next shop.

Daring continued to pretend the peruse the shelves of boots (They’re the same brand and size. Why the fuck is ‘extra comfort’ worth twenty-five extra bits?) while watching Phillip. He still sat on the bench, pretending to read his newspaper and still occasionally puffing on his fag.

Suddenly, she saw Phillip coolly reach up and extract the cigarette from his mouth. He held it out to the side, drawing a circle in the air. That was the signal: he’d seen the target.

As Daring watched, a green unicorn with dark blue hair walked up to Phillip. He wore a trenchcoat and a floppy hat and a scarf pulled up to his nose. He walked past Phillip, discreetly dropping a note into his lap as he passed. Phillip examined the note, then tucked it into his pocket. He waited until the unicorn had walked a fair distance away, then stood up, tossing the newspaper into a trash can and dropping his cigarette into the attached ashtray. As he trotted past the window, he gestured with his head to signal Daring to follow him. Pushing past a salespony who was trying to upsell a set of boots to her, Daring exited the store and followed behind Phil.

From up above, standing on the rooftop of the five-story Hayseed’s store, Prowl watched the trio with a frown. Reaching into the bag around her shoulders, she extracted a walkie-talkie and extended the antenna. “They have the rabbit, both in pursuit,” she reported.

“Copy, I see them,” Flash’s voice reported. Prowl glanced down the street to see Flash standing on the rooftop of a combination credit union and apartment building, binoculars held up to his eyes. Below them, she saw Bumblebee, instantly recognizable with his ludicrous outfit, put a hoof to his ear and nod.

Skeleton Key walked across the street and into the Hayseed’s. Phillip followed him in. As he passed through the revolving doors, he flicked his tail sharply to the side. Understanding the signal, Daring walked around the store and entered through a side door. Bumblebee entered some distance behind.

“Should we follow them?” Flash asked.

“Negative,” Prowl replied. “Keep watching the street for anything suspicious.” She panned her gaze up and down Market Street, watching for any ponies that stood out amidst the crowd, casting a brief glance at the surveillance crystals that stood every few meters along the street.

Miles away, Silvertongue sat in the black and red room, watching the projected images before him. He saw Skeleton Key, the miserable traitor, walking right into Hayseed’s, followed by Phillip Finder. No doubt that snooping wench of his was nearby, though he didn’t see her through the crystal’s eyes.

“Do we have a hit squad near Market Street?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the images.

“Yes, sir,” one of his servants confirmed from the doorway. “A six-pony team from the Mareish Mob.”

Silvertongue turned from the images to the bottle of Amontillado sitting on the table next to him. He lifted it up with his magic, the bottle shaking slightly as he carried it over to the wine glass and poured, filling the glass almost up to the brim.

“Send all of them, and tell them to bring the largest guns they own,” he ordered, grasping the glass and carrying it up to his mouth, having to fight to control himself and to not slop the precious wine everywhere. “No more interference from anypony.”

The inside of Hayseed’s was dominated by a large circular lobby that visitors descended to via a set of stairs or escalators. The centerpiece of the lobby was a humongous Hearth’s Warming tree, its artificial branches stretching up towards the thirty-foot ceiling. Huge strings of tinsel and oversized ornaments adorned the tree, and huge wrapped presents sat around its base. A line of eager foals and fillies stood outside a roped-off area nearby, waiting for their turn to sit in Santa Hooves’ lap and drop off their Hearth’s Warming wish.

Skeleton Key walked past the tree and sat down on a plastic bench. Phillip approached and sat down on the bench behind him, so that his back was to him. Daring stood on the balcony above the lobby, watching the scene from above.

“No cops, just like I said,” Skeleton Key muttered. “You actually listened.”

“Too much is at stake here,” Phillip muttered. “Where’s your brother?”

Skeleton Key sighed. “My brother...Rusty. I brought him into this, you know. I was...you know, I took this job ‘cause it was an easy way to get money. You get a pony whose talent is unlocking things, no matter how tightly it's locked, it's kinda hard to find honest work for that, you know? I guess I was trying to look out for him, make sure that he was taken care of.” He glanced back at Phillip over his shoulder. “You can understand that, right?”

Phillip nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do understand.”

“Anyway, he...he always had a stronger conscience than me, you know?” Skeleton continued, reaching up to his neck. He began to fiddle with the rosary necklace underneath his scarf, carefully touching each of the beads. A sun for Celestia, a crescent moon for Luna, a quill for their mother Faust, a heart for Cadenza, and a snowflake and a rainbow for her mother and grandmother, Amore and Speranza. “So he tried to back out, but he mouthed off to the wrong ponies. Silvertongue, he...he had his wife kidnapped. Meadow Dance.”

“I know the name,” Phillip said. “Kidnapped two weeks ago. Case went nowhere.”

“Yeah, of course,” Skeleton Key said with a bitter laugh, stroking a moon bead. “So, I just gotta know...no matter what happens, are you gonna take care of my brother and his wife?”

“You have my word,” Phillip said. “I will find Meadow Dance, and take care of Rusty.”

“Well, you’d better,” Skeleton muttered. “You started this mess by plastering my face everywhere, you know.”

“Just tell us what you know,” Phillip said. “Does Silvertongue have the treaty?”

“Yes,” Skeleton Key confirmed. “Getting that briefcase open took me five hours. I handed off the treaty via the usual dead drops.”

“If we can find it, and get your testimony, we can get him in the docket,” Phillip said.

Skeleton Key laughed. “There ain’t no way I’m going to court,” he said. “It’s not just my brother and his wife, it’s my ass I gotta look out for. He’s got blackmail material on pretty much every pony in this city, and some beyond.” He leaned back a bit. “But, you know, I know what he keeps it all in.”

Phillip remained silent, prompting Skeleton Key to go on. “He keeps it all in this big red notebook,” Skeleton said. “It’s enchanted, you know; you can store an infinite amount of pages inside. He’s got years of dirt in there, stuff you wouldn’t believe.” He dropped his voice to a lower whisper. “You get that notebook, you pull the rug right out from underneath Silvertongue. He’ll lose everything.”

“Is it kept in the mansion?” Phillip asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t know where,” Skeleton Key said. He stood up. “I’ve already said too much. I gotta get outta here. Good luck.” He turned and walked away, still fiddling with his rosary, trying to summon the power of the alicorns to protect him.

Phillip looked up at Daring, who nodded back. The two of them both began to make their way towards the exit, headed in the opposite direction of Key.

Outside, Flash continued to scan the streets. The same crowds of ponies flowed up and down Market Street, weaving in and out of stores. Lovers and families traveled in small groups, vendors called out their wares. All seemed peaceful.

Then, he heard the squealing brakes. Looking towards the end of the street, he saw three pickup trucks, colored red, blue, and gray, plowing up Market Street, sending snow and salt flying. Pedestrians dove for cover as the trucks skidded to a halt in front of the Hayseed’s.

Six ponies poured from the trucks, all of them wearing ski masks and carrying guns. They rushed to the front doors and sprinted through, shocked pedestrians staring with open mouths.

Flash’s heart plummeted into his stomach, the impact short-circuiting his brain. His eyes saw what was happening, but his brain couldn’t process it, failed to signal his limbs to move.

“Sentry! Bee! Move!” Prowl ordered.

Snapped out of his stupor by his superior’s order, Flash seized the carrying case next to him, extracting the shotgun from within the canvas. Spreading his wings, he glided down from the rooftop and rushed across the street towards Hayseed’s.

“Police! Get out of the way!” Bumblebee yelled, pushing ponies aside as he rushed towards the door, revolver already in hoof. The ridiculousness of his vestments provided a bizarre contrast from the seriousness of his cry and the determination on his face, and Flash was momentarily struck with the bizarre desire to laugh.

But then he heard the rattling roar of machine gun fire from within the store, and all humor vanished. Pumping a round into the chamber and taking a breath to settle himself, he positioned himself next to the front door, opposite Bumblebee. The two stallions looked at each other, their frosty breath coming rapid and heavy, and slowly nodded. As one, they pushed through the door and into the store.

Phil sensed them before he heard them: a sudden icy touch on the back of his brain that warned him that something was not right. Then he heard the doors crash open, the heavy hoofsteps on the tiles. He looked up: from his position below, he saw Skeleton Key freeze, half-turning to run.

Then he heard the roar of a Trotson submachine gun. Blood flew from Key’s body as bullets pierced his form: he jerked backward violently, then tumbled back down the stairs, leaving a trail of red down the steps.

Then the masked ponies with the guns appeared. They moved with purpose, their steps sure, their grips on their weapons never wavering. Three unicorns came down the steps, submachine guns up and ready. The single pegasus took to the sky and began circling the area from the ceiling, while the final two ponies began to circle around from the balcony.

Screaming ponies fled, the mall floor becoming an image of bedlam as the shoppers trampled one another, shoved others aside. Some dove for the floor, while others simply stood in shock. Santa Hooves dove on top of the nearest foals, scooping them up in his arms as he ran for cover.

The gunponies coming down the stairs all spotted Phillip at the same moment and opened fire. Reflexes took over as Phillip sprinted for the closest cover, a large concrete column. But as he ran for the promised safety, he saw something out of the corner of his eye: a lone colt wearing a puffy blue jacket and a hat, standing frozen in the middle of the crowd, staring at the ponies with guns in stupefied fear even as bullets streaked by inches from his head.

Turning, Phillip raced for the foal, scooping the little body up and tucking him to his chest like a hoofball. A hot iron rod suddenly pierced his right hind leg, then a humongous hornet stung him beneath his dock, and he let out a howl, but kept running, adrenaline numbing the pain. He slid into cover behind the column, gritting his teeth as bullets ricocheted off the stone. The colt looked up at him with wide blue eyes.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Phillip reassured the colt. “Cover your ears.”

The boy nodded and covered his ears with his hooves. Momentarily safe, Phillip looked around to take in his bearings. The three unicorns had reached the floor of the lobby and were spreading out, keeping the guns aimed at him. He heard gunfire from above and looked up: Daring had knocked out one of the gunponies on the ground floor, but the pegasus and the other pony had opened fire at her, forcing her to seek cover.

Fuck. Phillip’s mind raced, trying to think up a solution, a plan, but the roar of gunfire blocked his thoughts. His pounding heart thudded against his skull, increasing his growing panic.

And then a voice called from the doorway: “Police! Drop your weapons!”

The pegasus turned towards the door, bringing their weapon around to bear, but a shotgun roared and the pegasus dropped from the sky with a grunt, crashing to the floor with a wet splat. A revolver barked twice and the other pony on the balcony fell to the floor as Prowl moved in from a side door. She, Flash, and Bumblebee all took position on the edge, aiming their guns down at the three unicorns, who were frozen in the midst of confusion.

“Drop them!” Prowl ordered.

There was a brief pause, then all three unicorns dropped their guns, dropping down onto their haunches and raising their hooves in surrender. The officers quickly moved in to cuff them.

Adrenaline faded away from Phillip’s system, and the pain of his injuries rushed in: his right hind leg trembled when he put his weight upon it, and his flank screamed with every moment. Panting, Phillip looked down at the little colt, still trembling and hiding behind the column.

“It’s over now,” he reassured the colt, gently setting him down on the ground. “Just stay there, and we’ll find your parents.”

Phillip looked around: now that the danger was over, he was able to assess the damage. He spotted a few ponies laying behind cover, clutching wounds and whimpering in pain. Other ponies simply remained frozen, eyes wide with shell shock. He looked up to see Daring tending to a wounded mare, tearing a strip from a roll of gauze she extracted from her vest and pressing it against the bullet hole.

Phillip’s eyes then panned down to the body of Skeleton Key, still sprawled across the stairway as though he had been tossed aside. He watched Bumblebee step over the body, cringing as he carefully placed his hooves outside of the still warm, wet blood. A sigh escaped Phillip’s lips.

We will take care of your brother, he promised.

“Sir?” a voice called him from nearby. He turned to see a young pegasus couple crouching behind a large flower pot. The male, a tall, skinny, sky blue pegasus with wavy green hair, was clutching his stomach, blood flowing from between his hooves.

“He’s bleeding really badly,” the light gray pegasus mare whimpered, brushing some of her strawberry blonde hair from her eyes.

“Keep him still,” Phillip instructed. He too pulled a roll of gauze from his belt and unrolled it. He faintly heard Prowl in the background radioing for an ambulance as he gently pried the stallion’s hooves away from the wound and wrapped it tightly around his body.

Case Six, Chapter Five: Relationships, New and Old

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Ponyville General Hospital was decorated for the season, with miniature fake trees and holly accenting the white hallways, their scents mixing with the ever-present odors of cleaning fluid, floor wax, and body odor.

Flash and Bumblebee sat on a bench in the hallway, having already been poked, prodded and questioned by the nurses.

“Still can’t believe that there were only three casualties,” Bumblebee said. “That was a nice shot with that pegasus, by the way,” he added to Flash.

“Thanks,” Flash nodded numbly.

Bumblebee looked sideways at Flash, then patted him on the back. “Hey, chin up, Flash. You did a great job.”

“Still don’t like shooting ponies.”

“If you ask me, if you like shooting ponies, you shouldn’t be wearing that badge,” Bumblebee said sagely.

Across from them, Prowl was speaking on a telephone mounted on the wall. “No, ma’am, he’s dead,” she reported. “Phillip interviewed him...yes, all above the board.” She was silent for a few moments, then, “Yes, I understand, ma’am. We’ll stand by.” She hung up and returned to her partners.

“You both all right?” she asked.

“Doing okay, boss,” Bumblebee confirmed.

“Okay. Once Phil’s done, we need to get back to work,” Prowl said.

“Flash!” a voice cried from up the hallway. Flash looked up to see a familiar purple unicorn wearing a light orange scarf and earmuffs running up to him. An instant later, Twilight had seized him in a hug.

“Are you okay?” she cried.

“I’m...fine,” Flash wheezed. “Twi...can't breathe!”

“Sorry!” Twilight squeaked, releasing him. “I...when I heard that you and the others were involved in a shooting, I was so worried.”

“We’re all okay,” Flash said, smiling reassuringly at her. “Well…” he admitted, his smile vanishing. “Three ponies are dead and there are a few wounded ponies, but…”

Twilight swallowed and looked down for a moment while she composed her words. “Well...I’m just glad you’re all okay,” she said. “Where are Phillip and Daring?”

“In there,” Prowl said, nodding at the door. “Phil’s pretty badly hurt: he took a hit in the leg and the…” She paused and cleared her throat. “Buttock.”

Bumblebee had to cover his mouth to stifle his giggling while Flash bit his lip. Even Twilight had to fight down a smile.

“He’ll be fine once they get the wounds bandaged and cleaned up,” Prowl said, maintaining her stoicism even as she bapped Bumblebee over the head with her wing.

“Excuse me,” a female voice said. The ponies looked up to see a blonde pegasus with rosy eyes walking towards them, followed by a blue unicorn and a green pegasus, all of them wearing large coats.

“My name is Sunny Skies. I’m looking for Phillip Finder,” the blonde pegasus said, her eyes lingering for a beat on Twilight.

“What’s your business with him?” Prowl asked.

“I’m his client for this case,” Sunny Skies said. “Are you working with him?”

“Yes,” Flash said.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sunny smiled, shaking his hoof. “My bodyguards, Arc Light and Mythic Aurora,” she introduced her companions.

“Phil’s in there,” Flash said, tilting his head towards the door. “Once the doctor’s done with him, we can go in and see him.”

“I’ll go in, too,” Twilight said.

At that moment, the door opened and a creamy yellow earth pony doctor exited the room, sighing wearily. “Oh, looks like you have some visitors,” he called back into the room.

“How is he?” Flash asked.

“Nothing serious,” Doctor Hoof replied. “They were both only minor injuries. He’ll have to keep the bandages on for a week or two, but they’ll heal up in no time.”

“Thanks, doctor,” Flash said. “May we see him?”

“Yes,” Doctor Hoof nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.” He turned and walked down the hallway.

“Arc, Mythic, stay out here, please,” Sunny Skies instructed her bodyguards, who both nodded. Sunny, Flash, and Twilight entered the room and closed the door behind them, leaving Arc, Mythic, Bee, and Prowl outside.

“So what’s it like, being a bodyguard?” Bumblebee asked Arc Light.

“When it’s not exciting and dangerous, it’s usually pretty boring,” Arc Light replied, leaning against the wall next to Bumblebee.

“Sounds kinda like my job,” Bumblebee said.

“But once in a while, you see some pretty interesting sights,” Arc grinned, scanning Bumblebee up and down with an intrigued glimmer in his eyes.

Bee blushed slightly and turned away. “Uh, you didn’t see anything suspicious around here when you came in, did you?”

Arc pondered the question for a moment. “Has anypony asked you out for Hearth’s Warming?”

“Well, no…” Bee said, blushing even harder.

“Then that’s the only suspicious thing around here,” Arc said, causing Bumblebee’s entire face to turn red.

Further down the hallway from him, Mythic and Prowl both sighed. “Stallions,” Mythic said.

“He reminds me of my husband,” Prowl commented. “He proposed to me four times on the day we met.”

“When was that?” Mythic asked.

“On the chopper flight from his village back to base, after I pulled him out of a river,” Prowl explained. "Granted, he had a concussion and was high on morphine, but still."

Mythic turned around to look at Prowl, scanning her up and down. “You Air Force?” she asked.

“Staff Sergeant, Twelfth SAR,” Prowl said, rolling up the sleeve of her uniform and showing off her “Angels in Flak Jackets” tattoo.

Mythic looked at the tattoo for a moment, then held out her hoof. “Sergeant, Third Cavalry.”

“Hooah,” Prowl said, bumping her hoof against Mythic’s. “Mjolnir Down is a hell of a company.”

“That they are,” Mythic agreed.

“So how’d you end up bodyguarding some idle noble?” Prowl asked.

Arc let out a loud snort, then quickly cleared his throat when Mythic glared at him.

“You’d be pretty surprised where life takes you,” Mythic said, smirking a little with the half of her face that Prowl couldn’t see.

“I’ve heard of turning the other cheek, but this is taking it a bit far,” Daring snickered, standing next to Phillip’s bed as Doctor Hoof bandaged his wounds.

Phillip shot her a glare over his shoulder as he lay chest down on the bed. “Your bedside manner needs work,” he growled.

“Because I’m better at my bed topside manner,” Daring purred with a smirk.

Phillip grumbled quietly, his ears turning red. “Ow!” he yelped a moment later.

“Hold still,” Doctor Hoof scolded. “You’re lucky that bullet just grazed your leg. Otherwise, you’d likely be in a cast for a solid month or two. As it is, you’d best keep these bandages on for at least a week.”

“Which is about how long it’ll take for her to shut up,” Phil said, glaring at Daring, who continued to grin back at him.

Doctor Hoof finished bandaging his leg. “There: those bandages will help accelerate the healing. Now, no extraneous activity until that heals completely.”

“Darn it, doc,” Daring pouted. “I was just planning on having some extraneous activity with him when we got home.”

Doctor Hoof blushed deeply. “You got any more of those bandages?” Phillip asked. “Might need some for her mouth.”

“Kinky,” Daring said, wiggling her eyebrows. Phillip growled and rolled his eyes as Doctor Hoof exited. "You know, maybe after this, we could try ana—"

“Oh, looks like you have some visitors,” Doctor Hoof interrupted before disappearing. A few moments after he left, Sunny Skies, Twilight Sparkle, and Flash Sentry entered the room.

“You okay?” Flash asked.

“I’m fine,” Phillip said, turning over so that he was lying faceup on the bed. “Damn lucky you were there.”

“Indeed,” Sunny Skies said. “When I heard that you were involved in a shooting, I…” She paused and cleared her throat. “I am so relieved to see that you are unhurt.”

“Me too,” Twilight agreed, glancing sideways at Sunny Skies as she spoke with a contemplative expression.

“His ass deserves a medal,” Daring said. “Nearly took a bullet up main street for a kid.”

“‘Preciate the concern,” Phillip grunted, sitting up with some difficulty. “But we have work to do. Those ponies that attacked us, they’re Mareish Mob. They targeted Skeleton Key specifically, and then us. That tells me something: we’re getting close to something.”

“Agreed,” Daring said. “The Mob works for Silvertongue here, and Silvertongue wouldn’t try something this big unless he was scared of something.”

“Skeleton Key turned himself in to protect his brother Rusty, and his wife Meadow Dance,” Phillip explained. “She was kidnapped two weeks ago.”

“I do remember hearing about that case,” Twilight said.

“I read once that if a kidnapping victim isn’t found within forty-eight hours, their chances of being found alive are very slim,” Flash commented.

“Don’t say that!” Twilight said, glaring.

“I’m just saying…” Flash started to reply.

“We’re not giving up on that,” Daring said. “It’d be in Silvertongue’s advantage to keep Meadow alive so he can keep Rusty in line.”

“First of all, we need to start looking into Meadow Dance’s disappearance again,” Phillip said. “There’s gotta be some lead there we can pull on. Gonna have to do it discreetly, though: if Silvertongue knows we’re looking into her, it might put her in danger.” He paused a beat. “I promised Skeleton we’d find her and keep her safe,” he muttered.

“We will,” Daring said firmly.

“I’ll pull case files, see what I can find out,” Twilight said, stealing another glance at Sunny and quickly looking away when the pegasus glanced back at her.

“What about you?” Flash asked.

“Skeleton Key told me that Silvertongue keeps all of his blackmail material in a notebook in his mansion,” Phillip explained. “If we’re going to have any chance of stopping Silvertongue for good, we need to find that.”

“We could try getting a warrant,” Flash suggested.

Daring scoffed. “You think the word of a now-dead pony is gonna be enough?” she asked. “No, we need some actual evidence.”

“Or maybe some influence,” Phillip said, looking at Sunny. Sunny blinked back at him, frowning slightly.

“Influence?” Twilight asked, puzzled. She looked back at Sunny. “You said you were a noble, but…” She paused, then recognition dawned on her face, her jaw dropping open. “P-Princess?” she whispered.

“Oh, shit,” Daring muttered, her eyes widening.

Sunny turned to Twilight and smiled. “Hello, Twilight,” she said sweetly. “I should’ve known that you wouldn’t be fooled for long.”

Twilight let out a little squeak of shock and quickly knelt upon the floor. Celestia chuckled and walked over to scoop Twilight up in a one-armed hug, which Twilight quickly returned, smiling happily.

“Huh? Who? What? What’s going on?” Flash sputtered, looking bewildered.

“Twilight, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Celestia asked, smiling at Flash.

“Princess, this is Flash Sentry,” Twilight said, gesturing to Flash. “Flash, this is Princess Celestia.”

Flash froze in his seat, his wings spreading open in a display of shock and his mouth opening and closing silently for several seconds. “Y-Your Highness,” he finally stammered. “Y-you’re, um...y-y-you’re a lot sh-shorter than I th-thought you’d be.” A moment later, his eyes widened into the size of saucers as he realized what he’d just said, and he quickly knelt in an attempt to hide a blush so red, the other ponies could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Celestia covered her mouth to quiet her giggling. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, separating from Twilight. “So this is the stallion you were writing to me about?”

“Princess!” Twilight cried, blushing.

“Y-you were writing ab-about me?” Flash stammered, looking up.

“He does seem quite sweet,” Celestia said, smiling kindly at Flash. “And he’s very handsome, too,” she added in a stage whisper to Twilight.

Flash fell back into his seat, mouth hanging open. Twilight hid her reddening face in her hooves, wordlessly whining in humiliation.

“Need to stay focused,” Phillip cut in.

“Yes,” Celestia said, climbing back into her seat with a heavy sigh.

“I came here because Josephus was one of my messengers,” she explained. “He was carrying a treaty that Silvertongue no doubt stole to use himself.” She looked Flash and Twilight over. “You must understand, it is necessary that my presence here remains a secret.”

“My lips are sealed,” Flash promised, miming locking his mouth shut.

“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” Twilight promised, crossing her hoof over her chest and pretending to poke herself in the eye.

“What?” Celestia asked, smiling.

“Oh, it’s a little promise thing that Pinkie Pie made up,” Twilight explained.

Daring cleared her throat pointedly. “Can we move on?”

“Right, sorry,” Twilight said.

“I was going to say, I cannot simply command that Silvertongue’s mansion be searched: I may be a Princess, but I am not above the law,” Celestia said. “However, the word of the Princess does carry a lot of weight in some circles. I will discuss this with Chief Case, and we will see what can be done.”

“In the meantime, right now our biggest priority should be finding Meadow Dance,” Phillip said, sitting up. He winced as pain raced up his flank once more, then grunted as he pushed himself off the bed. “We should head back to the precinct and pull the files on that.”

“I shall return to my quarters and call Chief Case,” Celestia declared. She pulled a notebook out of her coat pocket, scribbled down a note, and handed it to both Phillip and Twilight. “That is the hotel where I am staying. If you need to contact me again, or if you’d like to visit.”

“I’d love to, once this is over,” Twilight smiled.

The group exited the room, Phillip limping and grunting quietly in pain every time his injured leg struck the ground. “Back to the precinct,” he said to the two officers. “We have work to do.”

“Mythic, Arc, let us go back to the hotel,” Sunny said. “I have a few calls to make.”

Prowl followed after Phillip. Bumblebee hung back long enough to write down his phone number in Arc’s notebook. Arc winked and followed Sunny and Mythic, heading the opposite way down the hall.

The group of officers entered a lobby and proceeded towards an exit, walking past clusters of ponies speaking to nurses and sitting on cushioned benches, waiting their turn to be seen. As they walked through the crowd, Daring’s attention was grabbed by a lone unicorn stallion, sitting by himself in a seat off to one side with his head lowered. He had a light yellow coat and dusty brown hair with blue highlights, and his cutie mark was a brown key.

“Phil,” Daring whispered.

“I see him,” Phillip whispered back.

“Should we do something?” Daring asked.

“No,” Phillip said. “If Silvertongue finds out we’re onto Rusty, it’ll put Meadow in danger. Keep your distance.”

The group exited the hospital, back into the snowy streets. As the door swung shut behind them, Daring shot a final glance back at Rusty Key. He had placed his face in his hooves, clearly weeping.

We will find her, she promised and turned away, climbing into the back of the waiting cruiser.

Doctor Suunkii looked up when the troupe entered and his eyes widened. “Phil...you are hurt,” he observed.

“I’m fine, Suun,” Phil said, raising a hoof. “We need some assistance.”

“Yes, yes,” Suunkii nodded. “What do you need?”

“Meadow Dance’s kidnapping,” Phillip said. “That’s one of our big priorities right now.”

“I found the files!” Twilight said, trotting back into the room with a manila folder and a cardboard box in her magic. She placed these on one of the laboratory tables and opened up the box, neatly spreading out the files and evidence.

“We need to look at this case from fresh eyes,” Phillip said as he, Daring, Twilight, Flash, Suunkii, Prowl, and Bumblebee gathered around. “If we’re going to find her—”

“Finder, step away from the table. Now,” a cold voice called.

Everypony looked up to see Cold Case entering the room, flanked by three police officers.

“I said step away,” she repeated icily.

“What do you want now?” Daring groaned. “If you—”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Cold Case snapped at her, never taking her eyes off of Phillip. Phillip stared back at her, slowly stepping away from the table, from the others. A tension spread across his shoulders, and though his face was passive, his tail twitched several times in agitation.

There was a moment of hesitation, then Phillip’s eyes slowly cast themselves downwards towards the floor. His posture slumped as though in defeat, in recognition. As though he knew what was happening.

“Phillip Finder, you are under arrest,” Cold Case declared.

Daring felt like she’d just been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer, her mouth dropping open. “For what?” she cried.

“For the murder of Lucky Dice,” Cold Case said.

At her signal, the other three officers moved in, surrounding Phillip. One of them extracted a set of hoofcuffs from his belt.

“No!” Daring cried, lunging forward, drawing her kusarifundo.

But as soon as she moved, Cold Case fired a beam of white light at her, striking her in the hind leg. Her leg instantly felt as though it was encased in ice, and she stumbled with a cry as the muscles failed her.

“Don’t interfere,“ Cold Case warned her, watching impassively as Phillip was hoofcuffed.

The pain that flared across her hind leg mixed with the burning agony of the branded hoof, both of them cutting off Daring’s thoughts. She felt a hoof on her shoulder and looked up to see Prowl standing over her, shaking her head warningly. The group watched in stunned silence as Phillip was led out of the room by the officers. He did not resist, nor did he look up to face them. Cold Case followed them out of the laboratory, closing the door behind her without a word.

“Murder?” Twilight whispered, horror in her voice. “That’s not...that can’t be true! That can’t! It’s…” She looked down at Daring, fear in her eyes. “Is it?” she whispered.

Daring looked up at her, a denial forming in the front of her mind, but the burning of the brand seemed to reach her jaw, silencing her. She could only look up at Twilight for a moment, then look down and away, tears forming in her eyes.

Twilight raised a hoof to her mouth, eyes wide. Flash stared at the closed door, his jaw slack. Suunkii slowly turned away and placed his forehooves on a table, breathing heavily. Prowl and Bumblebee both looked at one another in disbelief and confusion.

“There has to be a mistake,” Flash continued to protest. “I know Phil. He’s...he’s a good guy.”

"I...I don't understand," Twilight murmured.

Daring grunted and forced herself up. "I'm going to get him back," she muttered.

"Do what now?" Bumblebee asked.

"No, you're not," Twilight said, blocking the door with her magic.

Daring glared at Twilight. "Let me pass."

"No," Twilight said firmly. "Don't make this worse for yourself by interfering."

The pain of the cursed brand turned white-hot, searing through Daring’s entire body. “You—!” she snarled, lunging at Twilight, who let out a cry of fear and jumped back.

Flash, Prowl, and Bumblebee all grabbed Daring and wrestled her away from Twilight as Suunkii placed himself protectively in front of his pupil. Prowl shoved Daring against the wall, panting.

“Out,” she ordered Daring.

Daring glared back at her, trembling with rage and pain.

“Out!” Prowl repeated. “Or I’ll have you arrested too!”

Daring glared for a moment longer, then turned and stalked out of the laboratory, slamming the door shut behind her. She walked up the hallway, up the stairs, pushed through the lobby, and exited the precinct. Out in the snowy air, she took to the sky and flew away, not caring where she was going, and not caring that tears were falling from her eyes to mix with the snow.

Case Six, Chapter Six: Reactions and Reflections

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There were four bunks in the holding cell, two on each wall. Phillip Finder sat on the bottom bunk on the left, knees up to his chest. When the officers booked him, they’d taken away his vest and trilby, leaving him only with his gray undershirt. The blanket and pillow that they’d provided him with lay in a bundle on the other end of the bunk. The only other furniture in the cell was a toilet-sink combination stuffed into the corner as an afterthought. A half-used roll of soggy toilet paper sat on the floor next to it.

At least he was alone in the cell.

“Phil?” a voice called through the barred doors.

He looked up to see Daring standing on the other side of the doors; she was looking at him with a downcast expression, shuffling her hooves in uncertainty. Even from here, he could smell Applejack’s apple cider on her breath; evidently, she’d gone to the Apple Pie to calm her nerves. Flanking her was Trace and Red, both of them with awkward expressions, clearly having no idea what to say or do.

Part of him wanted to leap up and grasp Daring’s hooves through the bars, but he also felt as though that barred door was like a massive canyon between them, impossible to surmount and futile to try. Besides, based on how rough they’d been when they were booking him, he was pretty sure that the booking officers would enjoy having an excuse to pepper spray him.

“How you doing?” Daring asked quietly.

“Need you to focus on the case,” Phillip said, not moving from the bunk.

“No, I need to focus on you,” Daring replied shortly, stepping forward. “And on getting you out.”

Phillip didn’t answer but found that he could no longer look her in the eyes.

“Look, I’ll get you a lawyer,” Daring said, still fidgeting slightly in place. “I...we’ll think of something. We…”

“Find Meadow Dance,” Phillip said, still not looking at her. “Get Silvertongue. That’s what matters.”

“Will you fucking quit acting like a fucking Messiah or something?!” Daring shouted, grasping the bars and shaking them as though trying to pry them loose.

“Daring, calm down,” Trace said, pulling her back.

“You’re important, too!” Daring shouted. “You matter to me! I’m going to fucking get you out of here if I—!” She shivered and wiped her face, breathing heavily. “Fuck. Phil, what do I do?” she said in a low, strangled voice that was almost a whimper.

Not looking at her hurt. Facing her would hurt even more. “Trace,” Phillip croaked. “Get her out of here. Take her somewhere safe. She can’t help anypony here.”

Trace nodded and gently placed a foreleg around Daring’s shoulders, guiding her away. Red walked up to the bars.

“We heard what happened,” he said to Phil in an undertone. “Look...if there’s anything we could do for you…”

Phil didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up.

“We both knew Lucky Dice back when we were beat cops,” Red said. “Personally, if somepony did kill that sociopathic murdering fuck, I think they deserve a medal. But…” He sighed. “Look, I know I’ve gotten on your ass a lot about getting rough with suspects and being a general pain in the arse, but the truth is—and if you tell anyone I said this, I will deny it—I always respected you, deep down. Trace and I both. You had your heart in the right place.”

Phil’s sole response was to turn his head away even more.

“So if you need anything…” Red’s voice trailed off. “We’ll be in touch, okay? Just stay strong.”

When Phil still didn’t say anything, Red slowly turned and walked away.

Phillip was, at that moment, exceptionally glad that he was the only one in the cell. There was nopony who could see that he was crying.

Trace guided Daring out of the precinct and into the night. The sky was mostly clear, the stars above them like snowflakes frozen in the distant indigo sky. A few clouds passed by, obscuring some of the constellations: Orion crouched behind a large cloud like a bush, and Scorpio’s tail was hidden behind another cloud.

“You okay?” Trace asked Daring.

“No,” Daring admitted, wiping at her eyes with a wing. “He’s going to prison for the rest of his life, Trace.”

“Maybe you can get a good lawyer—” Trace started to say.

“With what money?” Daring scoffed, shaking her head.

“Maybe they’ll find him not guilty at the trial,” Trace suggested.

“No, Cold wouldn’t have tried this unless she had something on him,” Daring mused. She looked up at the sky, quickly locating Polaris. The unmoving North Star twinkled down at her.

“She must’ve gotten some evidence somewhere,” she said. An idea sparking in her slightly cider-soaked mind, she turned around and started to head back to the precinct. “And I’m going to make her—”

“Do what?” Trace asked, blocking her. “You try anything against her, and she’ll just throw you in a cell, too. And then you won’t be able to help Phil, or Meadow Dance, or anypony.”

His logic penetrated the momentary rush of alcohol, and Daring’s bravado deflated like a balloon. She looked back up at Polaris just in time to see a heavy bank of clouds pass in front of it.

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do?” she whispered.

Trace patted her on the back. “Look, you’re drunk and upset. Go home and sleep it off. You’ll be able to think more clearly when you’re sober.”

“Trace, a lot of my schemes were cooked up when I was drunk,” Daring countered.

“Were they good plans?” Trace asked dryly.

“Eh…” Daring shrugged.

“Go home, Daring,” Trace said quietly.

“Okay. I guess you’re right,” Daring mumbled. She spread her wings and flapped to take off, but wobbled in midair and had to land again, groaning and shaking her head.

“Here,” Trace sighed, taking her under his foreleg. He guided her down to the street curb and hailed a cab. “Two-twenty-one Honeybee Bakery,” he told the driver, handing them some bits and gently lifting the still-dazed Daring into the back.

The cabby, a light gray burro with a handlebar mustache and cap, turned to stare at his passenger. “Hey, isn’t that the thie—?”

“No, it’s not,” Trace cut him off firmly.

The cabby looked at him for a moment, then gave a small shrug and drove off. Trace watched the vehicle’s brake lights fade into the distance, then turned and walked back into the precinct.

“According to Chief Case, Phillip Finder is charged with murder and lying to the police,” the radio said. “He is being held without bail per arraignment. In other news—”

“Turn it off,” Sunny Skies said from the balcony of the hotel suite.

Arc Light looked up from cleaning his pistol on the table and shut the radio off with his magic. The hotel room was a humble affair: there were two queen-sized beds with fluffy mattresses that took up most of the main room. A pull-out sofa and a small table with a pair of cushions were in the small foyer, next to the door, which was locked, chained shut, and barred with a magically conjured shield. The door to a sizable bathroom with complete with a bathtub and shower was to the left of the door.

Arc currently sat at a larger table in the main room, with the radio sitting on the corner away from him. Next to him was a dresser, on top of which sat a television, the rabbit ears vibrating as if with excitement. He turned to the glass doors that led to the balcony next to him.

Sunny Skies sat on the snow-covered balcony, a crystal hookah sitting next to her, a light dusting of snow across her coat-covered back. Mythic Aurora stood next to her, eyes scanning the skies and the street below for any sign of a potential threat. As Arc watched, Sunny contemplatively brought the mouth of the hookah’s pipe up to her lips and gently sucked. She leaned back, eyes closed, and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke that smelled of tea leaves.

“What do we do now?” Arc asked.

“We’ll have to find somepony else we can trust,” Mythic grunted. “Somepony who isn’t being accused of murder, or who abetted him.”

“Who else?” Arc pointed out. “The police are going to let Josephus’ murder fall by the wayside after this, you know they are. And Silvertongue gets away with the treaty.”

Mythic scowled at him. “How can we trust Phillip or Daring after this? Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Highness, but I warned you about this.”

“And I listened,” Celestia said calmly, not looking at either of her guards.

“Mythic, we both have done things we’re not proud of,” Arc said, taking a brush and cleaning out the inside of the barrel. “Do you remember that necromancer in Neigh Orleans that we killed?”

“We killed him in service to the nation and the Crown, to remove a threat that required extraordinary measures,” Mythic countered. “If he murdered this stallion, then that makes him a vigilante, not a soldier.”

“Mythic,” Celestia said gently. “You both raise valid points. However, I still believe that Phillip Finder is worth at least some measure of trust.”

Mythic scowled. “Your Highness, he is accused of murdering a pony in cold blood.”

“He is also a stallion who put himself at risk to rescue a child, and a pony who freely offered to help a pony who should have been his enemy,” Celestia pointed out. “This is not a pony who treats life cheaply. And as much as we might wish it to,” she added quietly. “The world is not divided into black and white.”

She took a long breath of the hookah. “I recall long ago—1416, to be precise—the northern lands were besieged by Diamond Dogs. They stole food and valuables from villages farther from our largest cities, burned entire crops, and killed and raped any pony who crossed them.” She closed her eyes. “I can still see the bodies, smell the burned fields.” She shivered.

“I sent soldiers to handle the problem, but the Dogs had allied themselves with minotaurs and a powerful wizard who used frost golems. Our initial forces were repelled, destroyed.” She swallowed. “One of the soldiers killed was a captain that I had courted, whom both I and my sister loved.”

She had to take another breath before continuing. “When I learned of his death, it didn’t take long for my grief to turn into rage, and even less time for my sister to follow. We both went north to destroy the enemy encampments.”

Mythic and Arc both listened in silence, breath bated like ponies who are standing before a darkened door; they knew what was behind the door, and even if they knew that the door must open, they didn’t want it to.

“When we reached the hills over the camp, I could see their lights down in the valley below,” Celestia said, her hoof shaking every so slightly. “I stood on the land that my ponies, my soldiers, that the stallion that I had loved, had shed their blood upon, and they slept peacefully below…” She took another breath of the hookah. “It was more than I could bear. I remember lighting up my horn...and when it was done, there was nothing left of the valley. Nothing but the embers and the screams.”

She bowed her head, eyes closed. Mythic hesitated, then slowly walked over and patted her back.

“What I did,” Celestia admitted. “I did out of rage and violence and revenge. I removed a threat, an army of thieves and murderers. And it was a horrible mistake. And I knew that if the story ever came out to the public, my sister and I would be feared by the entire world. We would be seen as monsters.” She let out a long, smoky sigh. “So we leveled the land, erasing any trace of what I’d done, and swore the soldiers with me to secrecy.”

She tilted her head up at her guards, even though she couldn’t quite bring herself to aim her dimly shining eyes at them. “Mythic, Arc, you have both served under me for years. Upon knowing this...do you consider me unworthy of your loyalty?”

“Never,” Arc Light declared, standing at his Princess’ side. “You made a mistake, Celestia. But you’re still a good pony.”

Mythic Aurora frowned in thought, eyes darting from side to side as she considered. Finally, she sighed. “I…I find myself wondering what I’d do in a similar circumstance. And...I guess you’ve got a point.”

Celestia smiled gratefully. “Thank you, both of you.”

“That still leaves the question of what we’re going to do,” Arc pointed out.

“I cannot pardon him,” Celestia stated, her expression returning to seriousness. “He has not committed a crime against the crown.” She closed her eyes. “I am sorry to say, but...at the moment, all we can do is wait.”

Flash looked up from washing the dishes. “Hey, mom?”

“Yes, dear?” Joyful Sound asked from the combination dining and living room that made up the majority of their apartment. She was holding a Braille edition of the Covenant Journal in her lap, one hoof gently stroking the pages.

“Did...you hear that Phil got arrested?” Flash asked.

Joyful paused in her reading. “Yes, it was on the radio earlier today,” she said.

Flash placed the dish he was washing down and walked over to sit on the sofa next to his mother. “You told me he saved you years ago,” he said quietly.

“He did,” Joyful nodded. “While his methods might not have been agreeable to me, I do believe that he had the right intentions for it.”

“But if what he did was still wrong, does that make him bad?” Flash asked.

Joyful sighed. “That is a difficult question to answer,” she murmured. “I think it might be best for me to ask you what it is that is truly troubling you.”

“Um…” Flash said. He rubbed the back of his head and sighed.

At that moment, there was a knocking at the door. “I wonder who that is,” Joyful mused as Flash walked to the door. He unlocked it and opened the door wide.

Twilight Sparkle stood on the other side, nervously tugging her scarf from her neck. “Hello,” she nodded. “Can I come in?”

“Hi! Um, yeah, sure,” Flash said, stepping aside to allow Twilight entry. “You, you look nice.”

“Thank you,” Twilight said flatly, doffing her coat and hanging it up on the coat rack on the wall. Flash deflated a little, following her into the living room.

“Twilight Sparkle, is it?” Joyful Sound smiled, taking her cane and letting it guide her towards her guest. “So you’re the young mare that my son has talked about.” She extended a hoof. “So lovely to meet you at last.”

“Thank you, Pastor,” Twilight smiled, shaking a hoof.

“Tea, dear?” Joyful asked, tapping her way to the kitchen.

“Mom, I can do it—” Flash started to protest.

“Oh, hush, dear,” Joyful scoffed. “You just spend some time with your friend.” She winked in her son’s vague direction, causing both Flash and Twilight to blush.

Flash cleared his throat and gestured Twilight onto the couch. “So...what’s up?”

Twilight sighed, curling her tail around in front of her. “I wanted to talk about Phil,” she stated.

Flash’s face fell. “Um, okay.”

“I…” She sighed. “I still don’t understand how somepony like him could have murdered a pony. I thought he was a good stallion.”

“He is!” Flash cried.

Twilight frowned. “Good ponies don’t kill other ponies or torture suspects.”

Flash winced a bit. “But a bad pony doesn’t help other ponies and put his life at risk for others,” he pointed out.

Twilight’s face fell and her hoof, seemingly on its own, started stroking her own tail, running down the hot pink stripes. “You’re right...and that’s why I don’t know what to think about this.” She looked up at him. “I mean, what do you think about him?”

There was a moment of silence, save for the soft clinking of cups from the kitchen. Flash sighed. “Did I tell you how Phil and my mom met?” she asked.

Twilight’s eyes rose in surprise. “No.”

Flash gave her a brief overview of how Phillip Finder had saved her years ago from her abusive coltfriend. “When mom first told me about Phillip Finder, I spent a lot of time looking up to him...wanting to be like him,” he admitted. “A hero who solved crimes, who protected good ponies from bad ponies. I thought of him as a role model, and when I got to work with him, it made me feel good to give back to him; even when he did things I felt were wrong, I...let it slide because I told myself that he was doing it for the right reasons.

“And I thought he was, he really was,” he shrugged. “I mean...he helped me stand up to Star Cluster, he saved my life when I was kidnapped by the Scorchers...just today, he took a bullet to save a kid! And then, I found out that...that he killed a pony. Murdered him and covered it up.” He swallowed, wringing his hooves.

“And yet...I can’t bring myself to think any worse of him,” he continued. “Yes, what he did was wrong, but...I still trust him. I still think that he’s a hero. Even after what I know he’s done...” He sighed and wiped his face with a hoof. “Am I just being stupid?”

Twilight sighed. “I see your point,” she admitted. “But...ever since I’ve come here, I’ve had to see good ponies getting buried by all the bad in this city. And it…” She growled. “It made me so angry! I hated the idea that good ponies couldn’t do anything!

“And most of all, I hated the idea that you had to turn bad to fight them,” she continued, still stroking her tail. “Most of the police were corrupt; even Trace and Red looked the other way from time to time. I just...I want to believe that good ponies can win.”

“And good ponies do win,” Flash said. “I mean, Phil’s stopped Tinderspark, he stopped Monopoly…”

“But he hasn’t used lawful methods to,” Twilight pointed out. “You can’t just break the law whenever you want; then you're just another criminal.”

Flash frowned in thought. At that moment, Joyful Sound entered the room, balancing a tray with two steaming cups of tea and sugar on it.

“I got it, mom!” Flash cried, leaping up from the couch and carrying the tray over to the table.

“Thank you, dear,” Joyful said, sitting down on the floor next to the two.

Twilight sipped the tea thoughtfully. “Thank you, Pastor,” she nodded.

“Twilight, have you ever thought about the fact that letting Phil examine evidence, sometimes even bring it home with him, was against the rules?” Flash pointed out.

“Well...yes, but it was because he was a consultant,” Twilight pointed out. “And then he went and betrayed us.”

Flash frowned. “So you’re gonna tell me that you’ve never lied or cheated or broken the rules?”

Twilight squirmed in discomfort. “Well...there was that time I overslept before a test at Magic School, and I carried my flash notes in my pocket on the way there for some last-minute studying…”

Flash raised an eyebrow. “And I might have glanced at them a couple times during the test…” Twilight admitted. She glared at Flash. “What are you saying?”

Flash sucked in a breath. “I’m saying that sometimes, even the best of us break the rules. Mother knows I have.”

“I do know, dear,” Joyful Sound smirked.

Flash blushed even harder. “I, um, didn’t mean you, mom, I meant—”

“But cheating on a test is a bit different than killing another pony,” Twilight pointed out.

Flash groaned, obviously attempting to and failing to come up with a counterargument. “Well, I still think that Phil is worth my trust...even if I can’t really explain how I feel.”

“Feelings are a good thing,” Twilight said. “But there are feelings, and then there’s logic and reasoning. And logic says that Phillip breaks the law, so he can’t be trusted.”

“Twilight, if I may?” Joyful cut in. “You are a very intelligent pony: that is your gift to this world. You categorize everything, you remember everything useful. And your ability to sort all that information makes you such a big help to others, and so good at your job.”

“Um...thank you,” Twilight said.

“But you also want to see the world in black and white,” Joyful continued. “Right or wrong, fact or fiction.” She tilted her head to the side. “And I’m sorry, my dear: ponies are not black and white. No pony is wholly good or wholly evil. We all have darkness inside us, darkness that we must struggle against.”

Twilight lowered her head. Joyful extended a hoof and landed it against Twilight’s knee. She slowly reached up to take her hoof and her son’s hoof. She smiled at them both: though her eyes did not see them, they were both struck with the impression that she was looking deep into them.

“I cannot tell you what to believe,” she told the two ponies. “I can only tell you what I believe, and help you decide for yourself.

“I believe that all ponies must answer for their sins. I believe that even the best of us sometimes slip on our paths. But I also believe that ponies are more than our actions. Ultimately, what counts is what is in our hearts.”

“But you can’t see into a pony’s heart and see what kind of pony they are,” Twilight protested.

“Yes, you can,” Joyful said. “If you know them. If you really take the time to look at them, to see them. Their actions, their speech, how they think and feel...all of it’s there. Hearts speak to each other, Twilight. It’s just that many of us forget how to listen.

“You are both good ponies,” she smiled at her son and Twilight. “Kind ponies, who want to make this world better for all ponies. And if you trust in that inner goodness that the Holy Mother put in you, you cannot go wrong.” She let go of their hooves. “Let the flames of friendship be your guide, and you will go down the right path.”

Both ponies were silent for several moments, occasionally sipping at their tea. Flash lowered his gaze and closed his eyes; for the first time, his mind was not racing, clouded with fear and confusion. Just as his mother taught him long ago, he slowly let out a breath, exhaling out all of his attachments and worries. He imagined a bright light, a tiny star, above his head; with every exhalation, that star traveled lower and lower, entering the crown of his head and traveling down into his gut. He allowed that star to fill him up with its light and warmth, feeling it all the way down to the tips of his wings and the end of his tail.

He opened his eyes. “I want to help him,” he said plainly. “I believe in Phillip Finder.” He squeezed his mother’s hoof with a smile. “Thanks, mom.”

Twilight looked at him, then nodded. “There is good in him,” she stated. “I know there is. There always has been good in him: ever since he earned his cutie mark, all he’s been trying to do is help ponies. Maybe he’s just lost his path along the way.”

“And maybe he needs help finding it again,” Flash said.

“Maybe we can help him,” Twilight said, her face brightening.

“Not if he’s in jail,” Flash pointed out.

“Oh, good point,” Twilight’s face fell. “Maybe I can act as his attorney. How long would it take to study criminal defense? Should I add psychology to it? Probably, if we go for temporary insanity...maybe I could come up with a study guide…”

Flash’s eyebrows rose. “Attorney...mom, what’s the number for that lawyer we know?”

“It’s in the notebook next to the phone, dear,” Joyful said. Flash stood up and walked over to a small table, upon which sat a telephone. He opened up the drawer beneath the phone and pulled out a notebook; the text on the pages was written in both hoofwriting and in Braille. He flipped through the notebook, then began spinning the dial.

“Who are you calling?” Twilight asked.

“A good friend,” Flash grinned.

The taxi dropped Daring off in front of her home. She mumbled thanks as she stumbled out of the cab and walked to the door, slipping in the snow. She unlocked the front door and walked into the house.

Instantly, she stopped, her eyes narrowing. She sniffed the air, noticing the odd odor: Saddle Arabian tobacco. Grasping her kusarifundo, she followed the scent into the living room, reaching out to turn on the light. Her hoof flipped the switches, but the light failed to turn on.

“You’ll forgive me, fräulein, but I prefer the dark,” a voice whispered. An instant later, a golden light streaked out of the darkness and struck Daring. She cried out in shock as she suddenly felt the air around her seem to harden; she struggled, but she could not move, as though she were suddenly encased in stone. She could only move her mouth and her eyes.

The golden light reappeared: a unicorn’s horn lighting up in a golden glow. She observed the pony sitting on the sofa, facing her: a tan unicorn with dark brown hair, a thin mustache, and cold black eyes, wearing a suit and a tie.

“Zugzwang,” Daring spat.

“Schön, Sie zu treffen,” Zugzwang said, inclining his head politely.

“Mach es dir Selber,” Daring spat back.

Zugzwang tutted softly, lighting up a cigarette. “Such manners, fräulein. I come to your home to offer you help, and this is how you treat me?” His horn lit up and Daring was suddenly yanked towards him as if on a leash. A four-inch-long blade extended from beneath his sleeve, and he pressed the cold steel against her neck. “I’d have some more respect if I were you,” he hissed, stroking the blade across her skin like a lover’s touch.

A defiant curse sprang to Daring’s mind, but her jaw and tongue wouldn’t work: something about having a sharp knife against her neck held her tongue. She found herself staring into the empty black holes that served as his eyes.

“I want you to understand something, Daring Do,” Zugzwang continued, his tone still calm and casual. “If I didn’t have a use for you, if I thought you were a threat to my plans, I would kill you. Right here, right now. Before you even knew I was here.”

A cold chill ran up Daring’s spine as she realized he was telling the truth; he could have killed her as soon as she walked through the door and she would’ve stood no chance, and she doubted he would’ve even blinked. She glanced down at the blade extending from his sleeve and an idea suddenly sparked in her mind.

“Yes,” Zugzwang said, seeing the question in her eyes. “I am Janus, and I killed Chilled Tumbler. I defied Charles August Silvertongue, all for one purpose.” His eyes hardened and for the first time, Daring saw an emotion cross his face: hunger.

“I want Phillip Finder,” he hissed, his voice lowering to a quiet whisper. “I want him alive, and I want him for myself. I cannot allow him to go to prison, which is why I require your help.”

He paused and leaned back a bit, lowering the blade from Daring’s neck, though he did not retract it back into his sleeve. Daring could not bring herself to relax, even when the icy touch was removed from her neck. Zugzwang cleared his throat and adjusted his necktie with his magic.

“I know you’re after Silvertongue’s journal, and I can tell you where it is,” he explained. “He hides it in one of his paintings with the solid gold frames, they are enchanted so that one can enter the paintings. But our priority right now is getting Phillip out of prison. Here.” He reached into his suit and extracted an envelope, which he held up in front of her with his magic and opened. The contents of the envelope floated out: photographs. Daring’s eyes widened as she studied the images.

Cold Case standing in an alley, glancing over her shoulder, oblivious to the camera’s presence. Cold Case purchasing something from a pony in a trenchcoat and hat. Cold Case slipping a small plastic bag with red contents into her pocket. Cold Case at home, bent over a table, a straw up her nose. Cold Case with her eyes rolled back into their sockets and distinctive red marks beneath her nostrils, clearly floating through a high.

“Cold Case is a red poppydust user,” Zugzwang confirmed. “She has been for years, secretly. Such knowledge would ruin her career if it became public. Silvertongue was able to use this to keep her under his heel; you can use this to get Phillip out.” He stared into her eyes. “You fear Phillip Finder going to prison; if you fail to act, he most assuredly will, and I will have to resort to more drastic measures to get him out. That will be harmful to both of us. This is your best option.”

Daring’s eyes flicked from Zugzwang to the photos to the blade still protruding from his sleeve.

“Think about what I have told you,” Zugzwang said. “Think about what you have now. And do what you know is best.” With a click, the blade went back into his sleeve. “Auf Wiedersehen, Daring Do,” he nodded, and with a flash of golden light, he vanished.

The paralysis spell broke instantaneously, and Daring collapsed to the floor. She lay there for several moments, barely aware that she was shaking, barely hearing her own heart pounding in her ears. She slowly stood up, taking up the envelope. She collapsed into a chair, studying the photographs, her head spinning, still remembering the touch of the blade against her neck.

She remained there for the entire night.

Case Six, Chapter Seven: Back to Start

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“Let me go back to that night,” Cold Case said, sitting across from Phillip in the interrogation room. A large folder stuffed with papers, labeled “Lucky Dice” in permanent marker, sat on the table between them. “Twentieth of the Moon of Snow, 1948. Lucky Dice had just gotten off at the trial and headed home. You had gone to the Midnight Oil, presumably to try to forget the rest of the world.”

She paused a beat, fixing Phillip with her trademark icy stare. Phillip looked up at her, his head still lowered slightly.

“The next afternoon, an officer responded to a call from Lucky’s apartment building, reporting that Lucky Dice had not been seen all day,” Cold Case continued, pulling some photographs from the folder and laying them on the table. They were pictures of an apartment’s living room. The carpet had been ripped up, leaving a large patch of bare floor. “When he entered Dice’s apartment, he found that there was no sign of Lucky Dice. Furthermore, there were some signs of a struggle, several valuables and bags and suitcases were missing, there were traces of blood in the bathroom sink and on the floor, and a large section of the carpet was, as you can see, missing. Also missing was the recording geode for the apartment building’s surveillance crystals.”

Cold Case fixed Phillip with an even icier stare, like a sharp winter wind directed right into his face. “What happened that night, Phillip?”

Phillip was silent, staring at the pictures in contemplation. Beneath the table, his hooves clutched each other, both trembling. His eyes panned back and forth over the images; in his mind, he could recall the scene with perfect clarity, the scent of blood, the warm liquid on his hooves, the still body in front of him, cast in half-shadow and half-light by the broken lamp on the floor.

Cold leaned in closer a bit. “We also have a witness who will put you at that building that night. A witness who heard you talking to Dice. And a former security guard who says that you bribed him for the geode,” she said. She stared for a beat to let that sink in. “You’re not getting out of this one, Finder,” she declared.

Still Phillip did not answer, nor look up. The thudding of his heart, the constant stream of memories that made his stomach churn was like a battering ram against the stone mask that he wore over his face, cracking it, threatening to break the dams over his mind at any moment.

“Finder, you—”

The door suddenly banged open. “Mister Finder, don’t say another word,” a stallion’s voice said.

Cold and Phillip both looked up to examine the stranger. The stallion before them was a short clover green unicorn with green eyes and brown hair that was turning gray at the temples. He wore a light brown suit with a red tie and a thick watch. A suitcase was floating next to his head, held in a blue aura. His cutie mark was a pair of red dice, showing a five and a two.

“Who the hell are you?” Cold Case scowled.

“Vinny Gamble,” the unicorn said, fishing a business card out of his suit with his magic and levitating it over to Cold. There was a trace of a Manehattan accent in his voice. “I’m his attorney. Anything my client has said prior to this is inadmissible in court, as he did not have proper legal representation at the time.”

Cold glared at him. “Finder didn’t ask for a lawyer.”

“A friend did,” Vinny said, looking over at Phil. “Mister Finder, do you accept my legal assistance?”

Phillip looked him up and down, his expression giving away nothing. He stared at Vinny for a few beats, then nodded once.

“Well, that settles it,” Vinny grinned at Cold and walked around to sit next to Phillip, opening up his briefcase to reveal several folders “I’m going to need some time to confab with my client, so why don’t you take a smoke break or something?”

Cold Case glared at Vinny like she wanted to have him raked over hot coals, but turned and exited, slamming the door behind her.

“Okay,” Vinny said, sighing. He turned to Phillip with a grin. “Okay, let’s go over the case here. You—”

“Cut the bulldust,” Phillip interrupted. “That suit you’re wearing is a rental, and it’s a size too big. You grabbed it this morning in a rush; the tie’s yours, though, it’s got your cutie mark monogrammed on it. You have suits, but you wanted a fancier one to make a good impression. Your breakfast was on the run: crumbs and cinnamon on your lips, coffee stains on your sleeve. Trolley map in your breast pocket: if that highlighted route is any indication, you live in the southeastern part of the Everfree District. Cigarette ashes in your suitcase, but you don’t smoke. You had the briefcase open in your lap on the trolley, the pony next to you was smoking. Pipe smoker, Bugbear brand, I’d guess. And most of those are notes on courtroom procedures and legal rights.” He fixed Vinny with an even gaze. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

Vinny stared at Phillip for a few beats, then gave a small smile and shrugged. “Well, you got me,” he laughed wryly. “I am a lawyer, but...I’m actually a personal injury lawyer. It’s been...heh...quite a while since I set hoof in a courtroom or an interrogation room, I, er...needed to brush up on some things.”

“Who sent you?” Phillip asked.

“Flash Sentry,” Vinny said. “When his mom, Pastor Sound, was in that car accident that made her blind, I took her case on. We’ve been close ever since. He called me last night, said a buddy of his needed some help, and I said, ‘Say no more, Vinny’s on the case!’” He looked down and let out another wry laugh. “Should’ve looked before I leaped. I mean, I’m sure that a hotshot PI like you can afford a better lawyer…”

“I’ll take you,” Phillip said. “You come with good recommendations.”

Vinny stared for a beat, then grinned. “Well, if you’re sure. We’d better get started then!”

Cold Case glared through the one-way mirror at Phillip and his new attorney in stony silence, then grunted and walked down the hallway. Her mind buzzed, thoughts thrumming through it with the beat of her heart.

She needed to calm down. Needed to focus. Needed to deal with the burning, incessant itch in her nostrils. Up in her office, there was a fresh supply—

She turned the corner and found herself face to face with the last pony in the world she wanted to deal with. “We need to talk,” Daring Do said.

“About what?” Cold Case snarled back, pushing past her. “You and Phillip—”

“I know what Silvertongue has on you,” Daring interrupted, her voice calm.

Cold Case stopped as suddenly as though she’d run into a brick wall. She looked back at Daring over her shoulder. Daring looked back at her calmly, but there were cracks in her mask: the thick bags under her eyes, the flaring of her nostrils as she breathed.

Cold grunted and jerked her head to indicate Daring to follow her. The two proceeded into an elevator, the detectives inside quickly clearing out when they saw their Chief approaching. Cold walked into the elevator and stabbed the button for the top floor almost before Daring entered. The doors closed and they rode up to the top in silence. When they reached their destination, Cold led the way into her office. She slammed the door shut behind them and quickly cast a soundproofing spell on the door, covering it in a pale blue aura.

“What do you want?” she hissed to Daring, walking around behind her desk and sitting down in the large chair.

Daring sat down in one of the other chairs in front of the desk, her eyes still on Cold. She took a deep breath, swallowed as though she’d rather vomit than speak, then said, “To help you.”

Cold blinked, momentarily taken aback.

“I did take a look at this case file already,” Daring began. “Those two witnesses you’re leaning on: you interviewed them already and they didn’t know anything. The neighbor was out at the time, and that guard admitted that he was sleeping the entire shift. You’re gonna tell me that almost two years later, they suddenly have a change of heart and tell the truth?” She fixed Cold with a gaze that was just below a glare. “They’re lying, and you know it.”

Cold didn’t answer verbally, but her eyes flickered to the side as if trying to dart around the question.

“It’s Silvertongue,” Daring continued. “He’s pressing you to move on this, and he’s pressing them to lie.”

Again Cold didn’t answer verbally, but her eyes momentarily lowered to signal assent.

“So you’re caught between a rock and hard place,” Daring said. “Either you get this conviction, which you know is dirty, or he exposes you.”

“Get to the point, Do,” Cold snapped.

Daring started to growl at her, but stopped and took a breath. “I’m getting to it,” she said. “You tell yourself that it’s just this once, that you’ll put a killer in jail and you can always get to Silvertongue later. But that’s now how it works. You give an inch to somepony like this, and the next thing you know, they’re taking a mile out of you.” She held up her right hoof. “Believe me, I know a thing or two about things like that.”

Cold’s eyes fixed themselves upon the brand on Daring’s hoof, a red mark like a ring of keys forever burned into her skin.

“You know that I’m right,” Daring pressed, watching as the unicorn mare’s posture slowly began to slump. “And even if you get some satisfaction out of this, what then? If Silvertongue decides he doesn’t want you in this office anymore, he can turn around and prove that you were part of a miscarriage of justice. The red poppydust might cost you your job, but that’ll put you in prison. For a really long time.”

Cold winced for half a second, her shoulders stiffening as the truth hit her. The mask had fully slipped off, revealing the exhaustion and fear behind her icy eyes.

“Cold, listen,” Daring said, lowering her hoof. “You give into him now, and he wins. No matter what you do after this, he knows he can get you under his hoof. But if you push back now, you can win. Why do you think he’s pressing for this now? He knows we’re closing in on him and he’s scared. He’s vulnerable, and he knows it.”

She paused for a beat, watching Cold. Cold Case did not look up at her. “We can beat him,” she said. “We can stop him forever. We can get rid of that blackmail. You know we can.”

Cold turned and looked back up at Daring, regaining some of her icy demeanor. “And how do you expect me to trust you?” she asked.

Daring sighed. “I expect you to trust your former partner,” she said. “And I hope that you can trust that Phil made a mistake, and he’s carrying that around with him every day, and he’s trying to do the right thing now.” She held up her right hoof, showing off the brand once more. “Believe me, I know a thing or two about that.”

Cold Case stared at the brand for a moment, then spun the chair around so that her back was to Daring. She sat in silence, staring vacantly out the windows behind her. On the other side of the glass, snow fell lightly, individual flakes joining hundreds of thousands that covered the city in a white blanket, as if to hide the ugliness underneath.

“Cold,” Daring said softly, allowing a soft note of pleading to enter her voice.

Cold Case didn’t respond for several more minutes of a silence so cold and harsh that the air felt like it had solidified into ice. Finally, she slowly turned back around to face Daring, her face once more a mask of control. She stared at Daring, then nodded once.

“So I think our best bet for an opening strategy is to attack their um, uh...corpus...corpus delictus,” Vinny said, stroking his chin with a hoof as he thought.

“Corpus delicti,” Phillip corrected him patiently.

“Yeah, that,” Vinny nodded. “See, if they can’t prove that something actually happened to Lucky, they can’t charge you with anything. They—”

The door to the interrogation room opened and Cold Case reentered. “Mister Finder will not be needing your services, Mister Gamble,” she declared.

Vinny stood up. “Excuse you, miss, but my client has a right to have an attorney present—”

“He won’t be needing your services because he is free to go,” Cold interrupted.

Vinny froze for a moment, his mouth open and his hoof raised. “Oh,” he said slowly, lowering his hoof. He began to sheepishly repack his suitcase.

Cold gave Finder a curt nod. He stood up slowly and walked out of the room, with Vinny in tow. Daring was waiting for him in the hallway outside, looking immensely relieved.

“Thanks,” Phil said, shaking hooves with Vinny.

“No prob, anything for a buddy,” Vinny grinned, flashing him his card. “You need a bit of legal assistance, Vinny’s your guy!” He gave Daring a wink and walked off.

Cold watched this exchange in silence, then turned to Phillip and Daring when Vinny was gone. “This is just a truce,” she explained in a hard tone. “If and when Silvertongue is taken care of, you will be brought back in for questioning.”

“Why the change of mind?” Phillip asked Cold. Cold just glared at him and turned away.

Phil turned to Daring, who leaned in and whispered into his ear. Phil’s eyes widened, and he turned back to Cold. As if sensing his gaze, she paused, half-looking back over her shoulder at him.

“I should’ve guessed,” Phil said softly. “That day in your office, when you called us in after Tumbler was killed: you were withdrawing. I should’ve noticed the symptoms.”

Cold didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move either.

Phil hesitated for just a moment, then stepped forward, reaching into his vest. He pulled out a small purple coin with a 10 embossed on it and held it out to Cold.

“Look up Applejack and Coloratura at the Apple Pie,” he said. “They sponsored me, they can help you. And when you’ve earned it, you can give it back.”

Cold stared at the coin, and once again, the icy mask melted away, revealing defeat in her slumped shoulders, confusion in her eyes, and a tinge of sadness in her mouth.

“You might not ever see it again,” she said bitterly, enveloping the coin in an aura of her magic and slowly taking it from his hoof.

“I’ll see it again in ten moons,” Phillip said. “I know my old partner.” He gave her a small smile, then turned and followed Daring down the hallway. As he turned the corner, he looked back at Cold. She was still standing in the hallway, staring at the coin. It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw tears forming in her eyes.

They turned the corner and entered an empty hallway. “Right,” Phillip said, shrugging. “We need to get back to—”

He was cut off by Daring grabbing him and seizing him in a tight embrace, forcefully pressing her lips against his. He started in shock, letting out a brief, muffled protest before he began to kiss her back.

“I was worried,” she breathed, nuzzling his neck.

“I’m okay, Daring,” Phillip reassured her, halfheartedly trying to escape her embrace. “We don’t have to worry about that now.”

“We will later,” Daring said.

Phil gently pushed her off him, careful to keep his face expressionless. “Let’s worry about Meadow Dance and Silvertongue first. But right now, I need to get my stuff out of booking, and there are some ponies I need to make things right with.”

Doctor Suunkii, Twilight, Flash, Red Herring, and Trace Evidence stood gathered in the laboratory, talking in low, serious tones.

“What it boils down to is this,” Trace said, rubbing his temples with his forehooves. “If we can find Meadow Dance and keep her safe, her husband, Rusty Key, might flip on Silvertongue for us. But,” he gestured at the table in front of them, which was covered in photographs, files, and bags containing evidence. “We have next to nothing to go on.”

“No thanks to some of our colleagues,” Red Herring growled. “The chief must’ve missed a few spots when she cleaned the department up.”

“At least she got rid of Night Waltz,” Trace grumbled. “Okay, let’s go over what we’ve got here one more ti—” He paused, looking up at the pony entering the room.

Phillip walked into the laboratory, wearing his trademark vest and trilby. He paused, looking around at everypony.

“What happened?” Flash asked.

“Cold decided to hold off on the charges,” Phillip said. He sighed. “Look, I...listen. I need to say something.” He took a breath.

“The things I’ve done, the way I do things...you’re all right. It’s not right. And I should face up to that. Whatever you all think of me now...I am sorry for what I’ve done. And I am going to try to change. But…” He sighed and wiped his face with a hoof. “Why do words have to be so hard?” he muttered. “Look, I—”

“Phillip,” Twilight interrupted. She approached him and placed a hoof on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she smiled. “We trust you.”

"You're the most annoying little prick I've ever met, besides your partner," Red said without hesitation. "But you're on our side. I know that now."

"I agree," Flash piped up.

Trace just nodded. Phillip turned to Suunkii, who had remained silent. Slowly, Suunkii reached for a small box on the counter and opened it up. Inside was the little harmonica. He stared at it for a few moments, then looked up at Phillip. Slowly, a smile spread across his face and he nodded at him.

Phillip smiled back and nodded. “Aces,” he said, putting his hat back on. “Right, I need to get to work on finding Silvertongue. How are you doing on Meadow Dance?”

“We’re fucking nowhere,” Red said, gesturing at the table in front of them. “Any and all of the evidence that was collected from the scene is useless, and there are no real suspects.” He grunted. “We could use your help.”

“Silvertongue will be moving fast: I’m needed elsewhere. You can handle this,” Phillip said. “I know you can.”

“But—” Flash started to protest.

“Think like me,” Phillip said. “It’ll come to you.” He gave everypony a nod, placed his hat on his head, and walked out of the lab. Rejoining Daring, he turned and walked out of sight.

“Think like he does, huh?” Red scoffed. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I think,” Flash said slowly, staring at the evidence. “I think we need to do what he would do if he had been hired for this. What we need to do is...look at it fresh.”

“He’s right,” Trace said. He lit up his horn and shoved all of the files and evidence aside.

Twilight squawked in protest. “I had those organized!”

“Sorry,” Trace said. “But we need to start all over. No theories, no preconceived notions. Look at this as clearly as we can. If we’re gonna save Meadow Dance, we need to find something, and quick.”

Silvertongue stared in disbelief at the image before him. Phillip Finder and Daring Do were exiting the precinct, Daring grinning and grabbing Phillip beneath the forelegs before taking off into the air.

“No,” he whispered, lowering his face into his hooves. “No. No. No, no, no.” He took several deep breaths, then looked up towards the door of the black room. A servant stood there, hovering nervously at the threshold.

“Tell me that they came,” he said. “Tell me that they work.”

“Yes, sir,” the servant nodded. “We just set them up. One in every room.”

“Let me see them,” Silvertongue said, standing up. He followed the servant to the purple room. Every item in that room, every painting, every sculpture, every statue, was themed in shades of purple and violet: every item but one. Standing in one corner of the room was a suit of armor, black and red, designed to cover the wearer’s entire body. The heavy helm was decorated with a mask like a demon, featuring glaring yellow eyes and a wide grinning mouth filled with sharp teeth. Large spikes were embedded in the helmet’s crest and the shoulder plates.

“One in each of the rooms, like you asked, sir,” the servant said, standing back nervously as Silvertongue approached the suit of armor, stroking the demonically decorated cheek.

“And you are certain that they will recognize me as their master?” Silvertongue asked, shaking the silver bracelet on his wrist.

“If...if the enchantments work, sir,” the servant stammered. “I mean, we did the best we could, but none of us are Zugzwang—”

“Don’t say his name!” Silvertongue snapped, whirling on the smaller unicorn, who flinched and stepped back. Silvertongue took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I apologize, Goblet."

"It's all right, sir," the servant nodded quickly.

“And the other features that I ordered?” Silvertongue asked, turning back to the suit of armor.

“Already installed, sir."

“Good,” Silvertongue nodded, lifting up his foreleg and looking at the bracelet. It was about a half inch thick, adorned with runes that glowed faintly beneath the light. “If Phillip Finder and Daring Do come around here, we’ll be ready for them.”

Daring landed in front of the Sunrise Hotel, dropping Phillip off in front of the carpeting. “Really missed doing this,” she grinned at Phil.

“I didn’t,” Phil said.

“Liar,” Daring said, gently smacking his flank with her tail. Phillip couldn’t help but smile.

They entered the Hotel and walked through the lobby to the stairs. Ascending to the second floor, they proceeded to room 203 and knocked. The door opened a crack and Arc Light peeked out.

“Phil!” he said, looking delighted. He quickly scanned both ponies and hurriedly let them into the room, smiling widely. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Phillip said.

Celestia, still in her Sunny Skies disguise, was sitting on the bed, eyes closed as though in meditation. She looked up when the two ponies entered, and smiled. “Detective Finder, Detective Do. Good to see you again.”

“Yeah, looks like Mythic missed us, too,” Daring commented, glancing over at Mythic, who had been polishing her pistol at the table when they entered. Mythic glared at Daring but said nothing.

“How did you convince Chief Case to release you?” Celestia asked.

“We’ve reached a truce,” Phillip explained. “Once we’ve dealt with Silvertongue, we’ll deal with this.”

Celestia frowned. “I see,” she nodded. “If you need assistance with—”

“Thank you, but we’ll worry about Silvertongue first,” Phillip said, raising a hoof. “Where are we with that?”

“There is a problem,” Celestia said gravely. “I have spoken to both Chief Case and the local judges, including a Judge Gavel. All of them agree that a search warrant against Silvertongue is not likely to go through.” She shook her head. “It seems that, unfortunately, he still holds great power over many ponies of influence.”

“And even if we did get a warrant, the likelihood is that Silvertongue would know about it,” Daring commented. "And he'd just move that notebook someplace else."

“And to make matters worse, I have received words from my spies,” Celestia said. “I have learned that there are rumors among foreign powers that a pony is offering a treaty between Equestria and the Zebra tribes for sale to the highest bidder. If that treaty gets into the wrong hooves, it could put us at a severe disadvantage.”

“We have to get that notebook,” Daring said.

“How?” Mythic asked. “I suppose you were planning on stealing it?”

Daring looked at Mythic and grinned, tilting her pith helmet over her eyes. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Mythic's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Very," Daring said.

"Daring, we can't," Phillip said. "I promised that—"

"You don't have to go," Daring cut in, her grin vanishing to be replaced with a severe expression. "But you know as well as I do: we're running out of options. We can't just bargain for it, we can't get it legally. As long as Silvertongue has that journal, as long as he's in control, ponies are going to suffer. It has to stop." She looked around the room. "I'll do it by myself if I have to. You know I will."

Phillip looked at Daring for several long seconds of silence, then sighed quietly and stood up to stand next to her, nodding. The two looked at Celestia, Arc, and Mythic. Celestia had her head lowered in thought, frowning pensively.

"You can't be considering this," Mythic protested.

"Mythic, sometimes you have to do something ugly to get the best results," Arc said flatly. "But it's her decision." He looked at Celestia. "Your Highness?"

Celestia was silent for several long seconds, then looked up. "Can you both promise to show restraint?" she asked. "To only harm as a last resort, and to kill no one?"

"Yes," Phillip and Daring said as one.

Celestia closed her eyes for a moment, then let out a breath through her nostrils. "Then, as far as I am concerned, Charles August Silvertongue is a threat to the safety of Equestria, and because of the extraordinary circumstances, extraordinary measures are necessary." She gave everypony in the room a severe look. "Let us begin."

Case Six, Chapter Eight: Into the Lion's Den

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Silvertongue’s mansion was fit for a feudal lord, a great fortified building that stood atop a hill to the northwest of Ponyville. From here, Mythic Aurora could see almost the entire city.

Just the fact that he chooses to live here tells me more about him than anything else, she mused as she glided a few feet over the ground, headed up the hill.

A stone wall surrounded the property. She landed in front of the iron gates set in the entrance. As she rang the doorbell next to the gates, she studied the walls themselves, noting the wards marked into the bricks every few yards.

Strengthening wards, a motion detection spell that’ll alert the guards if somepony climbs the wall, and an anti-flight charm, she noted. Flying in and out of the mansion or climbing the wall won’t be an option, then.

A Cerberus unicorn security guard teleported to the gate. “State your business,” he said, glaring at Mythic Aurora.

Mythic reached into her coat and extracted a golden badge bearing the flag of Equestria. “I am here on Royal Duty,” she said. “I must speak with Mister Silvertongue.”

The guard’s eyes widened upon viewing the badge. “Please wait here,” he said in a much more respectful tone. He reached into a phone box next to the gate and spoke into it. “Sir, it’s a royal messenger,” he said. “They want to speak to you…”

There was a long pause while the guard listened. Mythic listened closely: she could just hear Silvertongue’s muffled speech on the other side. While she could not hear his words, she could hear his tone: excited, rushed words, a tinge of desperation beneath his hope.

“Yes, sir,” the guard nodded and hung up the phone. “Come with me, please,” he said to Mythic, unlatching the gate. The iron bars swung aside with a loud squeak.

Mythic stepped forward, repressing a flinch as she felt herself pass through the anti-flight wards. The familiar buzzing magic of her pegasus flight faded from her wings: she felt like they might as well have been severed.

Maintaining a stoic expression, she followed the guard up the dirt pathway that wound up the hill to the large steps of the front of the mansion. As she walked, she panned her eyes back and forth, observing the grounds beneath the midmorning light. A single earth pony guard carrying a pump-action shotgun over his shoulder walked past, a large black Gerwhin shepherd on a leash in front of him. The dog looked in Mythic’s direction and growled quietly, but moved on after his master gently tugged on the leash.

She walked up the stairway to the massive doors, which were guarded by a single unicorn guard smoking a cigarette. The guard gave her a brief nod as she used her magic to unhook a set of keys from her belt and unlatch the door, allowing her entry. Mythic stepped into a grand hallway, lit by a crystalline chandelier. Upon one wall was a massive painting depicting the fabled Saint Megan and several of her fellow humans, the mythical creatures descending from the skies carrying things like hoes, pottery wheels, and telescopes, ready to bequeath the awed ponies below with the gifts of their knowledge.

Before her were two other security guards, standing in front of a golden arch. “Step through, please,” one of the guards said, waving her forward.

Mythic stepped through the arch, which instantly turned red and let out an angry buzzing noise like a nest of hornets. One of the guards, a broad-shouldered earth pony, held up a warning hoof, adjusting his duty belt so that the electric baton clipped to his hip was in easier reach. “Hold it. Take the coat off.”

Mythic scowled but removed her coat, exposing the bulletproof vest and holster beneath. “No guns in the mansion,” the guard said, holding out his hoof for it.

“This is a service weapon,” Mythic stated, placing a hoof protectively over her grip. “You’re not taking it.”

The guard scowled for a moment, then just grunted and nodded for her to follow. Mythic and the guard proceeded through the doors at the end of the hallway, noting the pair of security crystals mounted in the ceiling that watched her every move. Entering the doors, she found herself in a room decorated entirely in shades of blue. The windows were tinted in blue, and every single painting, sculpture, and item in the room was colored in blue, save for one: a suit of armor standing in the corner. The black suit of armor was a full head taller than her, and featured a crested helmet with a faceplate that looked kind of like a tragedy mask, only with narrower eyeholes.

Standing in the center of the room was Silvertongue himself, smiling as he held a glass of wine in his magic. A bottle of wine and another glass sat on a small table next to him. “Good morning, ma’am,” he greeted her with a nod. “How can I be of service to their Highnesses?”

“You have something that is of value to Princess Celestia,” Mythic Aurora said, keeping her voice neutral, a verbal mask to give nothing away. “She wants it back.”

The glimmer in Silvertongue’s eyes told her that he knew what she was talking about. "Will you do me the honor of joining me?" he asked, gesturing towards the bottle and glass on the table next to him.

Her silent glare was all the answer he required. He shrugged and put the bottle away. "A shame; there is no reason we cannot discuss this over drinks," he sighed. “Now, if I even had such an item that is of royal interest, what would Her Highness give me in return?”

“Any price that a foreign entity would pay for the item would be doubled,” Mythic offered. “You’d be given fortune, influence.” She paused a beat. “If you so wished, information.”

Silvertongue seemed to ponder this for several long moments, swirling the wine in his glass and jingling the silver bracelet on his wrist. Mythic took the time to scan the room once more. This time, she noticed the two security crystals mounted near the ceiling in opposite corners, barely discernible amidst the shadows. There was also another shadow beneath the curtains on the grand blue-tinted windows; this, upon closer inspection, proved to be a rolled up steel shutter that was designed to slam down over the window. There were more shutters over both the doors to the room, partially obscured by the decorative curtains.

Upon one wall was a painting of a beach, white-capped waves crashing against the pale sands, with a solid gold frame. There was another painting with a golden frame on the opposite wall, an abstract image that looked like a sky dotted with clouds and suns.

“I suppose I would need more specifics on what exactly she might be willing to offer,” Silvertongue finally said, looking up. “And more time to consider what would be worth asking for.”

Mythic could hear the undertone of glee in his words, a slight purring behind his speech like that of a cat who anticipates a mouse falling into their paws, a total surety of being in charge. Her heart rate sped up.

“Her Highness wishes to meet in person, here in the mansion,” she said.

“I see,” Silvertongue said, a tone of victory behind the strains of control. “Perhaps tonight, at around 9:30? I would be most glad to entertain her.”

Tonight? An alarm bell rang in Mythic’s head. They had agreed that they needed more time to plan their raid: tonight was too close a deadline. “I’m sorry, sir, but the Princess is busy—”

“As am I,” Silvertongue interrupted. “I suppose if the Princess were too busy, I could find another client that would be just as interested in my goods as her…” The way his voice trailed off at the end in victory, a lilting note of teasing, set Mythic’s teeth on edge.

“Very well, then,” she said slowly. “I will pass the message on to her Highness. We will see you again tonight.”

“I look forward to it,” Silvertongue said, bowing politely. He turned away and walked through the doors on the wall opposite, dismissing her.

“Come,” the guard ordered Mythic, holding open the door she had come through. As she turned, Mythic glanced back over her shoulder. For a moment, she could’ve sworn that the suit of armor in the corner had turned slightly and was staring right at her with its narrow, empty eyes.

The door shut and the moment passed. Exhaling out her tension, Mythic walked back through the arch, which once again buzzed angrily as she passed through, though she paid it no mind. She pushed through the doors and stepped out of the mansion. Descending the pathway, she stepped through the iron gates, which closed behind her. The return of the sensation of magic to her wings was an immense relief: spreading her appendages, she took to the sky and flew back towards the city.

“He’s got a Netitus Security Gate in the front hallway,” Mythic reported, laying chestdown on one of the beds in the hotel room. “It’ll disable any kind of enchantments for anypony who steps through it: disguises, invisibility, what have you, and you can’t teleport through it.”

“And there’s no room to go around it?” Arc asked, munching on a slice of the pizza that they’d ordered.

“No,” Mythic confirmed.

“You only went as far as the first room?” Daring asked, bending over a blueprint of the mansion that she’d gotten from the public records office spread over the floor.

“Yes,” Mythic confirmed, taking up a pencil. “I saw security crystals here and here, on opposite sides of the room. I also noticed that there were steel shutters over the doors and the windows. They look recent.”

“Silvertongue’s beefing up security,” Daring muttered, scanning the blueprints. The large maps were dotted with arrows, dots, and lines to represent guards and hazards: notes and questions were scrawled into corners and margins. “Did you see any paintings with golden frames in that room?”

Mythic thought for a few moments. “Two,” she said, pointing to two of the blue room’s walls. “One on the wall here, and another on the wall there.”

Daring tapped her chin with a pencil in thought. The other ponies could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “Biggest issue will be the crystals…”

“Arc, can you apply your invisibility spell to other ponies?” Phillip asked, chewing on another slice.

Arc swallowed his own slice before answering. “I can, but I have to be close to the object I’m casting it on, or the spell fades.”

“Try it on me,” Daring said, standing.

Arc looked at Daring and lit up his horn with a blue aura. That same aura surrounded Daring, who squirmed, letting out a hissing gasp. "Th-that tickles!" she cried.

"Stay still," Arc said, face creased with determination.

Daring began to fade from view; she stared down at her own, now semi-transparent hoof, eyes wide with amazement. A moment later, she disappeared entirely. "Well, it works," her voice came from where she'd been standing. "This is weird...I can barely see my own hooves." There was the sound of hoofsteps as she walked around in a circle. "Everything's kinda fuzzy, too."

“Ah, yeah, that’s a secondary spell I had to add,” Arc explained. “See, the spell works by bending light around you: if there’s no light hitting you, you can’t be seen. The thing is, if there’s no light going into your eyes, you can’t see. I had to tinker with the spell so that just enough light goes into your eyes without making them easily visible.”

“How well can you see?” Phillip asked.

“Well, the colors are all muted, and there’s not much detail,” Daring’s voice said. “Not much depth, either. Is this you?”

Phillip suddenly yelped and jumped, his tail instinctively wrapping around his flank to shield it. “Daring!”

“Yup, that’s you,” Daring sniggered. “I’d know that ass anywhere.”

Arc laughed heartily and lifted the invisibility spell, revealing Daring standing behind Phil.

“Still need to get past that gate,” Phillip said.

Daring pondered some more for a moment, then her eyes brightened with the birth of an idea. “Remember Twisted Root?” she asked.

Phillip scowled. “Yes.”

“I’m remembering how he was able to sneak in and out of places by using that shrinking violet,” Daring said. “Maybe we could shrink ourselves down to get around it.”

“That would require a lot of magical energy, though,” Arc said, sitting up. “Here’s the thing: magic can only bend the laws of physics so far. And one of the laws of physics is that you can’t destroy energy or matter, only convert it from one form to another.”

“He’s right,” Celestia said, sitting up on the other bed. “Shrinking violet pollen works by holding the energy from the shrinking in stasis around the subject, then transferring the energy back, but prepping the pollen for that takes time and equipment that we do not have.”

“So where else would we get the energy?” Daring asked.

Celestia smirked. “I might have an idea or two,” she said.

“Sounds good,” Daring nodded, grabbing another slice. “Hey, who thought it’d be a good idea to put pineapples on this?”

“I’m sorry, did you want brussels sprouts on it?” Phillip asked dryly.

They continued planning through lunch and right up until sunset, bouncing ideas until they had formulated a plan, and four backup plans. Celestia stood up and stretched.

“Sergeants, I want to make this clear,” she said to her two guards. “Should we become caught in this attempt, I will take full responsibility for everything. If either of you do not wish to be a part of this, you may leave at any time.”

“My place is at your side, Your Highness,” Arc said firmly. “Besides, I know what he’s done. I want this bastard to face justice, too.”

“I couldn’t talk you out of this if I tried,” Mythic said flatly. “And I’m already guilty of conspiracy anyway. In for a bit, in for a gold bar.” She paused for a beat, then half-smiled. “Besides, who else is gonna save your butts?”

Celestia smiled and drew both of her guards in with her wings, hugging them gently. “Thank you.”

“I need a cig,” Daring muttered, stretching her wings. She walked out onto the balcony, pulling a pack of Blue Camel from her shirt. Extracting a single stick, she lit it with her lighter and took a long draw, filling her lungs with the smoke. She sighed out the taste into the cold air, but it did nothing to relieve the stress that clung to her like a vise around her spine and heart. She shivered in the winter air, a light snowfall kissing her face. She looked up, but clouds covered the sky, blocking her view of the stars. The cold, endless black made more shivers run down her wings.

The balcony door slid open behind her and she turned to see Phillip emerging onto the balcony. He held out his hoof expectantly, and she handed him another cigarette. He placed it in his mouth and lit it with his own lighter. He closed his eyes as he took a drag, letting out the smoke with a noise of contentment.

“Phil…” Daring started to say, unable to articulate the words.

He reached out and grasped her hoof, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast from the winter air. He didn’t say anything, just leaned against her, sharing their warmth. She wrapped a wing around his back, pulling him closer. They stood out there on the balcony for several long minutes of silence, watching the lights of the city before them; the only sound was the whistling wind and the distant sound of motors and horns.

“Daring?” Phillip finally said.

“Yeah?”

“It’s bloody cold out here.”

Daring chuckled and flicked her cigarette away. “Yeah, let’s head inside before we get hypothermia and have to throw the plan out.” They turned and walked back inside, closing the door behind them.

“What exactly do we know so far?” Red said, rubbing his forehead.

“Not much,” Trace admitted.

“We do!” Flash said, pacing in a circle around the lab. He studied the photographs that still hovered in the air around them, held in Twilight’s magic. “Okay, let me see if I can figure out a timeline here.”

“We know that Meadow Dance left her job at the art studio at seven PM that night,” Twilight said. “She was abducted from her home.”

“And how was she abducted?” Flash muttered, looking at the pictures. He paused in front of a picture that displayed the kitchen, with a few bags of groceries sitting on the counter. “She’d gotten home from the grocery store and was unpacking.”

“And somepony ambushed her and took her,” Trace said, rubbing his face.

Flash looked to a photograph of Meadow Dance. It showed a picture of a blue-white earth pony with long, wavy green and yellow hair. She had pale blue eyes, a small, smiling mouth, and her cutie mark was a silhouette of a dancing pony.

“How did they take her?” Flash asked.

“The mirror,” Trace said, pointing to another group of pictures. This one showed a living room with a set of sofas, a low coffee table, and a fireplace. Next to the fireplace was a shattered floor-length mirror, laying on the floor. A close-up of the mirror showed blood on the fragments.

“Somepony caught her off guard in the living room,” Trace said flatly. “Slammed her head against the mirror and knocked her out, then carried her out.”

“But how did they get in?” Flash asked. “There’s no sign of forced entry…” He paused. “There was no forced entry. And she was ambushed in the living room, not the kitchen.” His eyes brightened with an idea. “I think she knew her kidnapper! She went and let him in, and they followed her into the living room!”

Red and Trace looked at each other. “The kid might be onto something,” Red admitted.

“True,” Trace nodded. “So, besides her husband, who else was she close to?”

Twilight quickly flipped through a folder stuffed with files. Snatching one out, she scanned it quickly. “Yes!” she cried. “Her brother, Rhythm Blossom. He lives about ten miles away from her. He was interviewed when Meadow was initially interviewed, but he had an alibi.”

“It might be worth interviewing him again,” Red said.

“Might be,” Trace said, wiping his face.

“Hang on, there’s something interesting here,” Twilight said, reviewing the notes. “He mentions that Meadow Dance has a genetic disorder; her marrow doesn’t produce enough blood. She has to take a potion once a week for it. He’s usually in charge of buying it for her; she often forgets.”

Trace frowned in thought for a moment, his brow creasing. “What apothecary did he buy it from? I think I have an idea.”

The bells of the City Hall clocktower rang out the quarter of the hour. Mythic Aurora, Sunny Skies, and Daring Do flew across the night sky, Phillip and Arc being carried by Daring and Mythic. They landed at the mouth of the road that led up to Silvertongue’s mansion. The lights of the mansion were visible, glowing against the clouds, but the mansion itself could not be seen. Nor could anypony up there see them.

“If anypony wishes to turn back,” Celestia announced grimly, looking up the hill. “This is your last chance.”

Nopony said anything.

“Very well,” Celestia said, turning to the others. “Arc, Phillip, Daring, prepare yourselves.” She lowered her head slightly and closed her eyes. A horn appeared on her head, which began to glow with a golden light. That same golden light surrounded the three ponies, who slowly began to shrink down until they were each no more than a half inch tall.

“Wow,” Daring said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “I see why ponies look up to you.”

Celestia laughed heartily, while the other three ponies all groaned. Lighting up her horn once more, Celestia lifted the tiny ponies up off the ground and placed them on her back. Arc lit up his horn, and the three ponies faded from view.

“No sudden movements, please, Your Highness,” Arc’s voice said.

“Don’t worry,” Celestia assured them, her horn disappearing. “Come, Mythic.”

Mythic followed Celestia up the pathway to the mansion and rang the doorbell at the gates. A guard once more teleported to the gate. Without a word, he instantly reached for the lever on the other side and pulled it, opening the gates. “Follow me,” he said, gesturing.

“Of course,” Celestia said, following the guard at a safe distance. Mythic remained by her side with every step.

They ascended the pathway and proceeded into the entrance hallway. As the doors closed behind them, Celestia stretched her wings, lowering both tips towards the ground. In a maneuver that they’d spent many hours practicing, Arc, Daring, and Phillip, still invisible, quickly climbed across Celestia’s back and slid down her wing to land on the floor.

Alighting on the floor, Daring looked up, breathing heavily. Celestia, Mythic, and the Cerberus guards were all giants from her perspective. Giant, fuzzy, washed-out silhouettes of ponies. She stuck close to Phillip and Arc, whom she saw as a pair of faintly glowing blue silhouettes, ensuring that she remained within range of Arc. Their steps silent, they scurried along the floor, darting in between guards’ hooves and around the security gate. Reaching the doors at the end of the room, they paused to wait for the others.

Mythic proceeded through the security gate, which once again turned red and buzzed angrily. A guard swept her over, but again found nothing but her service weapon. Then Sunny Skies was waved through. As soon as she passed through the gate, the disguise spell that she had bound to herself vanished, revealing her true appearance. She looked around at the other guards with a cold expression, prompting all of them to half-kneel.

“Please follow me,” the same burly earth pony from before said, walking through the doors. Mythic and Celestia followed. Unseen and unheard by anypony, the three invisible ponies darted through the door before it closed.

They entered the blue room. The guard proceeded through the room and into the next room with his two charges. As the door closed, the spell that Celestia had used to shrink the trio began to fade away, causing all of them to slowly grow back to normal size. Still invisible, they spread out to search the room.

“Not this one,” Phillip said, scanning the painting of the beach scene.

“No notebook in this one, either,” Daring said, studying the painting of the sky. She glanced at the armor on the stand. Hmm...Chineighse, I think. Third Dynasty, if I'm not mistaken. This must've cost him a fortune by itself.

“No other gold-framed paintings here,” Arc said. “Let’s go to the next room.”

They proceeded to the doorway. Arc looked up at the security crystals and lit up his horn again. A haze appeared around both crystals, temporarily jamming their transmissions and freezing their images. It would only fool the guards for a few moments, but a few moments was all Daring needed to open the door, usher everypony through, and close it behind them.

They found themselves in a room that was colored in shades of yellow, including another suit of armor in the corner. Pegasus armor from pre-Equestria? Daring thought, noticing the curved crest on the golden helmet and the sharpened wing guards that would both protect the wearer's wings and act as an extra weapon, slashing at any foes that got too close. And it's definitely not just a recreation: that coat of arms on the collar is real enough. Wonder where that was dug out of.

She looked around and felt her heart fall as she noticed that most of the paintings in this room had golden frames. “This is gonna take a while,” she muttered.

The guard led Celestia and Mythic into the black and red room at the end. Silvertongue was waiting for them, sitting at the head of the table. He was framed by his coat of arms, the hoof crushing the snake intimidating as ever. He had a cat-like smirk on his face. Sitting on the table before him was a bottle of Amontillado, fresh from the wine cellar, and two glasses.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Your Highness,” he greeted Celestia with a low bow, pulling aside a chair with his magic. Celestia sat down as Mythic took her place behind her. The guard stepped out of the room, locking the door behind him.

“Some wine?” Silvertongue offered, filling both of the glasses.

“No, thank you,” Celestia said, politely dismissing the offer with a wave of her hoof. “I prefer to do my negotiations sober.”

“If you insist,” Silvertongue said, taking a long swig from his own glass. “So, let us put all our cards on the table. You know I have the treaty, and that I am willing to sell it to a foreign power.”

“And I know that there is nothing you value more than information,” Celestia said. “I also know that I could have you arrested for taking the treaty.”

“But you cannot prove that I have it, nor can you ascertain any connection between myself and the late Josephus. For the record, I was very upset when I learned from his death," Silvertongue added, frowning. "We both wish he could've gone home to his wife and child."

Celestia scowled, her hoof twitching a couple times and a quiet growl rumbling in the back of her throat, but said nothing.

"Not to mention that there are likely details that I could let slip that could be harmful to this nation in the wrong hooves," Silvertongue continued. "Such as, for example, what really happened to Captain Alastair. The North Griffon Empire still believes that his death was at the claws of griffon rebels...I wonder how they’d react if they learned otherwise.”

Celestia took in a breath through her nostrils. “I am willing to part with...information that would be of use to you. In exchange for the treaty, and your silence.”

Silvertongue leaned forward, placing his chin atop his hooves. “I am interested.”

They’d searched the yellow, green, orange, and white rooms without success. Finally, they had passed into the purple room. The three ponies walked slowly along the walls, scanning the paintings. Daring felt her eyes continually turning to face the armor in the corner. The demonic mask seemed to be grinning back at her no matter where she stood in the room.

“Daring,” Phillip whispered. “Look at this one.”

She tore her attention from the armor and studied the painting in front of her and Phil. This one was in a golden frame, and featured an image of a pond at night. A thin sliver of the moon was visible in the dark purple sky, which was reflected in the trembling waters. Cattails and reeds stood up from the ground, silhouetted against the sky.

But instantly visible amid the purples and violet watercolors was a splotch of red, half-hidden in the mud.

Daring reached out towards the painting. To her surprise, her hoof went right into the painting; it felt like she was pushing her hoof through a waterfall. She slowly leaned forward, placing her head through the painting.

A moment later, she felt herself falling, then landed in soft mud. Looking around, she found herself standing beside a pond beneath a violet-colored night sky. The cold mud squelched beneath her hooves, and there was the distant sound of a soft wind rustling through the reeds, bringing the faint scent of water and grass to her nostrils. She turned around to see that there was a great purple wall behind her. Set in the wall was an enormous golden frame; the room that she just left was visible through it, the image slightly washed out as though she was viewing it through a waterfall.

She turned and saw the little splotch of red in the ground before her. She walked forward and shifted the mud aside, revealing a large red spiral notebook, with several of the pages bookmarked with colored slips. She opened it up and started flipping through it. Every page was covered with hoofwriting and notes: photographs, documents, letters, and other papers were attached to most of the pages.

Daring frowned and flipped through the notebook, studying the contents. “Hmm,” she mused to herself, her voice echoing within the painting. Flipping to the front of the book, she found herself looking at a red bookmark with a name scrawled onto it.

“Sombra,” Daring whispered.

Attached to the page was a folded up letter with a crusty wax seal bearing a shield with a snowflake on it. Unfolding the letter, she scanned the contents. Her eyes widened, then a grin spread across her face.

Tucking the notebook into her shirt, she turned and leaped out of the frame, landing back in the real world. “I’ve got it!” she excitedly whispered. "You know, that was kind of anticlimactic. Could've done with at least a monster or two guarding it."

“Good,” Phillip said. “Now we can get out—”

A clanking noise interrupted them. Turning, they all gasped in shock as they saw the demon-faced suit of armor climbing off the platform it stood upon, moving under its own power. The eyeholes and mouth of the mask glowed with a sickly yellow-green light. The suit of armor paused in the center of the room, panning its head from side to side.

“Spread out,” Arc whispered. He, Phillip, and Daring all began to slowly move away from one another. The armor continued looking around, its gaze passing right over each of them.

It can’t see us, Daring thought with relief.

Suddenly, its eyes glowed red and locked onto Arc’s position. In a single motion, it charged forward and punched Arc in the face, sending the unicorn flying through the door and crashing back into the white room, where he lay dazed against a stone column. The invisibility spell faded away, revealing Phillip and Daring. The armor turned its glowing red eyes upon them.

At the same moment, an alarm started ringing and the steel shutters slammed down over the doors and windows. Blue energy covered the walls, trapping them inside.

Phillip and Daring looked at each other, then back at the armor, which glared back at them.

“Fuck,” they both muttered at once.

Case Six, Chapter Nine: The End of an Era

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“Your terms are unreasonable,” Celestia said, folding her forelegs across her chest.

“I apologize, but I only ask for what I consider to be absolutely necessary,” Silvertongue replied. “Considering what is at risk, I would think that you’d be more willing to negotiate with—”

He was interrupted by the blaring of an alarm. With a great rattling, a steel shutter slammed down over the door. Celestia sprang off the chair in surprise, Mythic half-drawing her sidearm on instinct.

Silvertongue froze for a moment in shock, then raised the hoof with the silver bracelet at his two guests. “Eico Expolso!” he shouted. A beam of silver light shot out of the bracelet and struck both ponies, causing them both to vanish from the room. Breathing heavily, Silvertongue then grabbed a telephone from a box hidden in the wall behind him and held it up to his ear.

“What happened?” he demanded, touching a gem embedded in the underside of the table. A projected image appeared before him. He stared in shock: Phillip Finder and Daring Do, engaged in combat with the demon-faced armor in the purple room.

“How did they get in?!” he demanded. “What? Another unicorn? Yes, in the white room, I see him, he’s busy with the armor there…the armor in the purple room saw him? Good.” He paused for a few moments of silence, then said, “No. Get all the guards assembled.” He raised the silver bracelet and projected his will into the totem. The bracelet glowed once more; inside the blue, yellow, green, and orange rooms, the suits of armor each looked up, their eyes glowing red. They stepped off their platforms and began to march towards the white room, the steel shutters opening and closing to allow them passage. A dozen Cerberus security guards followed, their electric batons buzzing with energy.

“No more, Mister Finder,” Silvertongue growled, opening the shutters between the white and purple rooms. “No more interference. You die here.”

A flash of light and Princess Celestia landed in reality again, her head swirling with confusion; taking in her surroundings in a glance, she realized that she was in the purple room.

Movement behind her. She ducked just in time to avoid a vicious punch, feeling the wind from the golem's punch pass over her head. She replied by lighting up her horn and pushing the armor away with a burst of magic: the demon-faced suit skidded back several feet, but kept its footing and charged at Phillip instead, who had to dive roll out of the way.

She turned and saw that the doors to the white room were open. Inside the white room, Daring and Arc Light were struggling with a different suit of armor, this one with metal wing-like attachments with blades that it twirled and slashed at them with, forcing them to continually dodge back.

Arc and Mythic both looked at each other and nodded, then grabbed the emerald necklaces that they both wore. Both the summoning gems glowed with a bright light, surrounding the guards’ bodies. When the light faded, both were donned in the battle armor of a Royal Guard: a dark blue vest that covered their torsos, boots with attached knee and shin guards, gorgets to protect their necks, and helmets with semi-tinted visors that covered their upper faces. Gold accents adorned the armor, along with plates that bore runes; each of them was armed with a .45 caliber N4 “grease gun,” the barrels of which were adorned with more runes. As one, they cocked these weapons with a sharp cli-clack.

At that same moment, the door to the white room opened. In marched four more suits of armor, accompanied by a dozen guards, each armed with a baton that buzzed and crackled with energy.

“Great,” Daring muttered.

“Phillip and Daring, focus on the guards!” Celestia instructed, firing another beam of magic at an approaching suit of armor; the golem slowed, but did not stop. “Mythic and Arc, to me!”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Mythic and Arc both shouted, immediately dashing over to Celestia’s side. They fired their N4s at any golems that approached, their bullets pinging musically off the suits.

Daring snapped her wing out at the approaching guards; three smoke bombs flew from her wing and detonated as they struck the ground, summoning a great black cloud that filled up the room. The guards halted in their advance, coughing and choking. Daring dove into the group, lashing out with her kusarifundo and her hooves, followed by Phillip and his baton.

Celestia lit up her horn, driving the smoke away from herself and her guards, and a ribbon of golden light blossomed from the tip. It floated down beside her, straightening into a line, and turned into a golden halberd. She immediately thrust at the demon-faced suit of armor, but the armor deflected it with its foreleg and pulled her in close for a punch. Going with the momentum, Celestia dodged the punch and struck the armor in the jaw with the blunt end of the halberd as she dodged past, then immediately jabbed again, striking it in the back of the knee and forcing it to the floor.

Two more golems pounded towards her and struck, their blows halted at the last moment by a golden shield. Their animated hoofguards pounded against her shield with gong-like blasts, forcing her back slightly, but she countered with the halberd, her weapon clattering against their foreguards as they blocked her blows.

Arc raised his N4 to his shoulder and shouted, “Frost!” A rune on the barrel glowed blue and Arc opened fire, blue streaks of energy blossoming from his gun. Where each of his bullets struck the demon-faced armor, ice formed, rapidly encasing and immobilizing the golem. Arc grunted in satisfaction.

But a moment later, the ice began crackling and creaking. A moment later, the golem shattered the ice around it, breaking free. It turned its glowing red eyes on Arc and charged at him.

Without missing a beat, Arc lit up his horn. Instantly, three duplicates of himself appeared and simultaneously charged, surrounding the armor. The armor paused, confused, then punched at one of the Arc Lights. The hoofguard passed right through the illusory Arc, allowing the real one to fire another ice bullet at the golem’s left foreleg, hitting the joint and temporarily immobilizing the arm. Charging forward as he dissipated his illusory copies, Arc struck the armor across the jaw with the butt of his gun, then in one fluid motion, drew a knife from his belt and slashed at the golem’s right foreleg, cutting through the straps that held the armor together. The arm, no longer animate, fell to the floor in a useless heap and the armor tumbled down after it.

“Arc, behind you!” Mythic shouted. Arc ducked as Mythic fired a burst from her own weapon, striking the tragedy-masked armor in the face and stunning it. Arc turned and slashed at his new enemy’s forelegs again, forcing it away. Mythic leaped up into the air and came down onto the demon armor like a meteor, pinning it to the floor and preventing it from getting up. She shoved the barrel of her gun into the mask’s mouth and barked “Armor Piercing!”

One of the runes on the N4’s barrel glowed red and Mythic fired a short burst that roared out of the weapon. The enhanced bullets tore right through the back of the helmet, reducing it to scrap metal. The suit of armor fell apart into inanimate pieces with a great crashing, parts rolling across the floor.

“Take out the helmets, that’s their weak spot!” she shouted.

No sooner had she said this than Celestia speared another golem through the face with her halberd and yanked its helmet off, flinging it at another with the force of a cannonball and sending her foe crashing through a cabinet of porcelain statues. “Good to know,” she grinned.

“I already told you officers, I don’t know anything,” Rhythm Blossom said, folding his forelegs across his chest. He was a dark blue earth pony with black hair and mustache, green eyes, and a cutie mark of a row of tulips stretched across a musical bar.

“It’s standard procedure for us to go back and double check with any witnesses,” Trace Evidence said, holding a folder in his magic. He and Red were sitting across from Rhythm in the stallion’s living room, which was decorated with a bright blue carpet and posters of jazz musicians on the walls. Trace looked at the photograph of Meadow Dance on top of the folder. “Where were you two weeks ago, when your sister was abducted?”

“The same place I told you the first time,” Rhythm said flatly. “I was at the Midnight Oil, having a drink and listening to the band playing. Gabby and the Globe-Trotters, this griffon trio. Real nice sounding.”

“You did not see your sister at all?” Trace asked.

“Of course not,” Rhythm said, looking down at the floor. “Maybe if I’d gone to see her, she might not have…” His voice trailed off and he fell silent.

Trace and Red both glanced at each other and Red gave a little smirk, ensuring that Blossom could see the gesture.

“See, here’s the thing,” Red said. “We went back and reexamined your sisters’ house, and we figured something out. We think that she was taken by somepony she trusted. Somepony she let into the house.”

“O-oh?” Rhythm said, shifting backward in his seat slightly.

“And here’s another thing,” Red said. “Whoever took her knew about that medical condition of hers, because they took that potion that she had.”

“And funnily enough, we checked with the apothecary you get it from,” Trace said. “And they told us that you bought refills for that. Twice.”

Rhythm flinched a little, trying to retreat from the questions. “I...it’s habit, you know? You get used to buying it every week, and…”

“What I can’t understand is how a pony can willingly kidnap their sister so that they can blackmail their brother-in-law, and yet still give enough of a fuck that they make sure that they buy her medicine,” Red interrupted, scowling at Rhythm. Rhythm froze in his seat, sweat trickling down his brow.

“This isn’t going to look good to a jury,” Trace said flatly. “Save yourself some face and just come clean with us. It could save you a few years in prison.”

“Y-you can’t prove anything,” Rhythm stammered.

Red snorted. “You think you’re so smooth,” he scoffed. “Did it never occur to you that you left some evidence? A few hairs are all we need to put you in for thirty years, and that’s if you’re lucky.”

Sweat was now pouring from Rhythm’s forehead. He looked around as if trying to find the closest avenue of escape, then sighed. “Look, it was just for the money, okay?” he said. “Between her potions and auditions, I was being bled dry. They promised they wouldn’t hurt her, and I still got her potion...look, I just—”

“Save it for your lawyer, I’m not interested in your bullshit,” Red interrupted, his lip curling in disgust. “Where is she?”

Rhythm hung his head. “I took her to a warehouse in the Financial District. I can give you the address.”

Dual-wielding his own baton and one of the guard’s electric batons, sweat pouring from his forehead and blood trickling from a split lip, Phillip carved his way through the onslaught of security thugs. Blocking one unicorn’s wild swing, he feinted with the shock baton, then struck his foe’s wrist with his other baton went they moved to block it, disarming them. Briefly shocking them with the electric baton, Phillip blocked an incoming attack and countered with a roundhouse kick to the side and finished the unicorn off with a heavy blow to the head.

Suddenly, a pegasus guard flew in and stabbed him in the side with her baton, shocking him. Phillip yelped in pain and flinched away from the electric touch, but another guard seized him from behind in a bear hug. Grinning, the pegasus shoved her baton into Phillip’s gut; he doubled over, his muscles seizing up. He struggled to move, to strike back, but his limbs refused to answer.

Suddenly, an antique Japonese vase flew across the room and smacked the pegasus in the back of the head. Her eyes rolled and she tumbled to the floor, unconscious. Phillip took a moment to recover his breath and rammed his head into the face of the guard holding him, breaking his nose and forcing him to let go. He dropped to all fours and bucked backward, sending his foe into the wall and knocking him out.

“Shit," Daring winced, looking at the fragments of pottery on the floor. "That was from the Trotugawa era. Should've just grabbed a baton."

“Phillip, Daring, get close to each other!” Celestia ordered. She and her two Guards were fending off the last three remaining golems, who were now determinedly protecting their heads from any further attack.

“Is this really the time?!” Daring shouted.

“I need to shield you both!” Celestia explained, parrying an attack from the golem with bat-like wings and forcing it away.

Phillip and Daring both moved close to one another. Gritting her teeth, Celestia lit up her horn. Golden bubbles of energy appeared herself and the Guards, Phillip and Daring, and the unconscious Cerberus guards. Then she took a strong stance and narrowed her eyes. Her horn began to sparkle with increasingly bright light, then with a sound like the sky itself was screaming, three beams of intense golden light fired from her horn, striking each of the golems in the head. The metal foes raised their forelegs to block the beams, but Celestia’s magic cut right through the metal. The heat from the spells was so intense that paintings on the walls curled and caught flame, and pottery and glass sculptures cracked and splintered.

Within moments, the golem’s arms, then their heads were reduced to slag that dripped into smoking, stinking pools on the floor. The golems collapsed into useless heaps, and Celestia dropped the spell and the shields, panting and sweating. The unharmed ponies stared at the destruction in awe.

“Why does she need protecting again?” Daring asked Mythic, who was staring wide-eyed at the headless winged armor. Mythic shrugged slightly.

“We seem to have worn out our welcome,” Celestia said, wiping her forehead. “We should go.”

“Not yet,” Daring said, pulling out the red notebook. “I need to talk to Chuck.”

“What?” Phillip said.

“If we just leave, he’ll have us all arrested for burglary,” Daring explained. “We need an ace in the hole.”

Celestia nodded and turned to the steel shutters covering the door to the final room. “That’s magic-proof steel,” Arc pointed out.

“It’s rated against unicorns,” Celestia pointed out, igniting her horn. “Not against me.” A thin beam of golden light blossomed from her horn and she began to slowly carve out a hole in the shutter. It took her just under a minute, but she finally managed to cut through the shutter and the wall beyond, giving them a tunnel into the black and red room. The group walked through the tunnel and entered the room.

Silvertongue slowly peeked out over the table he was hiding behind and raised his foreleg. Before he could summon his banishing spell again, Celestia reached out with her magic and plucked the silver bracelet from his wrist, tossing it into the corner. Silvertongue stared open-mouthed for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Your Highness, you can’t seriously think that this madness will go unpunished,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “You have brought thieves into my home, assaulted my guards, and destroyed my property. You will be arrested for this!”

“Oh, no, Chuck,” Daring said, walking forward with a confident grin as Mythic and Arc covered Silvertongue with their N4s. “You’re not telling anypony about this.”

Silvertongue swallowed but managed a shadow of his superior smirk. “And what makes you say that?”

“Because if you tell on us, I tell on you,” Daring said, holding up the red notebook.

Silvertongue’s eyes widened in horror as Daring flipped the notebook open and took out the letter with the black seal on it. “‘Dear Charlie August Silvertongue,’” she read out loud. “‘In the name of His Majesty King Sombra, the Crystal Emperor, I would like to commend you on your loyalty to the Empire. The intelligence that you have gathered has all but assured our victory…’” She smirked at Silvertongue. “You’re a spy. That explains who gave you this notebook, and how you went from a small-time art dealer to a big boss.”

Silvertongue swallowed. “You know what the sentence for treason during wartime is?” Daring asked, her smirk growing wider. “Death. By hanging. And here’s the thing: sometimes they make the rope a bit too short. The drop’s supposed to snap your neck, but if it’s too short, the rope strangles you instead. And that hurts. A lot. And it takes a really, really long time to die that way.” She leaned in closer. "See, I've met ponies like you. Big ponies who think that their dicks are three feet long and they can push other ponies around for no good reason. Beneath all that bluster and high-class bullshit, you're nothing but a bully, Chuck. And like all bullies, at your heart, you're a coward. And you're scared of dying. You might be able to get away from this with a long sentence, maybe end your life in some cushy minimum security place for old fucks who can't hurt anypony anymore. But if you're ousted as a spy, that's a one-way ticket to the gallows."

Silvertongue was trembling and sweating profusely. “So go ahead, call the cops on us,” Daring smirked. “When I sit in my cell and read in the paper about how Charlie August Silvertongue, respected art historian, was busted as a traitor and hanged, and that it took him five minutes of agony to die of strangulation, I’m gonna laugh my ass off.” She paused for a beat. “Of course, that’s assuming the gangs don’t find you first when they figure out you don’t have any leverage on them anymore. I hear Whitestone sometimes eats ponies she really doesn’t like. While they’re still alive. But, I might be willing to help you out a bit...for a small price.”

Silvertongue slowly turned to Celestia. “You...you won’t let this happen,” he whimpered.

“Goodbye, Silvertongue,” Celestia said, turning on her tail and exiting.

"You told us before," Phillip said coldly, his eyes as hard as stone. "You either bend, or you break." He and Daring exited after the Princess, followed by Mythic and Arc. Celestia gathered everypony close, then lit up her horn and the group vanished in a flash of golden light.

Silvertongue was left alone, looking out at the ruined artwork in the purple room, filled with the shattered golems and unconscious guards. Slowly, he collapsed to the floor, staring wide-eyed at nothing, staring as his doom approached.

The warehouse was an older establishment; if the fading sign hanging over the doorway was any indication, it used to belong to a paint and hardware chain.

Inside the warehouse, four ponies sat around in an open room with a blank concrete floor. A pair of zebras were playing poker at a card table, an overweight unicorn was sprawled across a sofa with a pornographic magazine, and a pegasus was tinkering with an old radio in the corner.

“She’s crying again,” the pegasus grumbled, brushing a strand of his bangs out of his eyes and glaring at a padlocked door in the corner. Faint sobbing and whimpering could be heard from inside.

“So what?” the unicorn grunted, turning an already worn page.

“It annoys the shit out of me,” the pegasus grumbled. “Gotta feed her, give her her meds. Why don’t they have us changing her diapers too?”

“If you find the crying so annoying, perhaps something else you could be deploying,” one of the zebras said, not looking up from her cards.

“How do you zebras get to be so good at the rhyming anyway?” the pegasus grunted. “Does it come off the top of your heads or—”

They were interrupted by an enormous crash as the door was blown open by a blast of magic. Before anypony could react, five ponies charged into the warehouse and quickly had them covered. “Do not move!” Prowl barked. “On your knees, hooves on your heads!”

The four thugs had no choice but to obey and were quickly patted down and cuffed. Recovering a key from one of the zebras, Trace walked over to the door with the padlock and unlocked it. Inside was Meadow Dance, her coat and hair matted and dirty, her eyes hollow, crouching next to a bucket that had been used as a makeshift toilet and a bottle of water. She flinched away from the door, raising a hoof to shield herself.

“It’s okay,” Trace said, crouching down and holding out a hoof. “You’re safe now.”

Meadow Dance stared for a moment while her brain processed the fact that she was being rescued, then threw herself into his forelegs with a relieved sob. Trace gently carried her outside as the sound of sirens announced the arrival of more police and an ambulance.

The group emerged into the snowy night just as the first cruisers and an ambulance were pulling up. Trace guided Meadow Dance over to the ambulance and placed her in the care of the waiting medics, who quickly wrapped her in a tight blanket and began to examine her.

Trace helped Red, Prowl, Bumblebee, and Flash shepherd the captors into a waiting paddy wagon, secured them inside, then sent the wagon back to the precinct.

“We’ll head back with them to make our reports and help with booking them,” Prowl reported.

“Good,” Trace nodded. “I’ll stay with Meadow.” He nodded as Prowl walked off with her two partners, then turned to Red. “Did you call him?”

“He should be on his way,” Red reported.

Trace nodded and walked back to the ambulance. Meadow was now sitting comfortably in the back, being tended to by one of the medics, a jenny with a brunette ponytail. “How is she?” he asked the other medic, a tall earth pony with a beard.

“She’s dehydrated and malnourished, but not seriously injured,” the medic reported. “No signs of...abuse. We’ll take her to the hospital.”

“Hang on a sec,” Trace said, holding up a hoof, noticing an approaching set of headlights.

A cruiser pulled up to the scene and stopped. Rusty Key stumbled out of the back almost before the vehicle had come to a complete stop and ran to the ambulance, panting. “Meadow!” he cried, his eyes lighting up in joy as soon as they spotted his wife.

“Rusty!” Meadow sobbed, leaping out of the ambulance and hugging her husband. The two clung to one another, both of them weeping in joy.

“She’s safe now,” Trace said to Rusty. “Silvertongue can’t hurt either of you anymore. He’s done.”

“And I’ll make sure of it,” Rusty said, his eyes filled with determination as he continued to hug his wife. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Case Six, Chapter Ten: Hearth's Warming

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The sun hung over Ponyville late that Hearth’s Warming Eve, painting the unusually clear skies blue and coating the snow in gold leaf. Every street was decorated with signs of the season, the scents of peppermint, roasted chestnuts, and popcorn filled the air, and many ponies who passed each other on the streets greeted each other with a smile.

A tight grouping of ponies was gathered outside City Hall, forming an arc around the marble steps. The front lines were formed primarily of reporters, standing ready with their tape recorders and notebooks while cameraponies snapped pictures and sound operators struggled with the weight of their boom microphones. At the top of the steps, an impromptu stage had been set up with microphones and speakers. Mayor Mare stood at the head of the landing.

“For many years, Charles Silvertongue ruled this city from the darkness,” she declared in a solemn voice. “He bred corruption, kept other ponies under his rule with blackmail and bribes, killed those who stood against him. The suffering that he caused cannot be measured.”

“But thanks to the hard work of a few brave ponies, ponies who saw the corruption around them and decided that enough was enough, Silvertongue and many of his co-conspirators are now in Frostback Prison, awaiting trial for their crimes. These ponies you see next to me now are those brave ponies, to whom we owe our thanks…”

The Mayor continued her speech while the seven ponies beside her stood and waited, some more patiently than others.

“Hurry the fuck up, I’m freezing,” Daring grumbled beneath her breath.

“Such is the price of fame, Daring,” Red said from her left, running a hoof through his mane. “Get used to it.”

“Didn’t know you knew what mane polish was, Red,” Trace muttered, half-smiling.

“Shut up, I wanted to look good for the paper,” Red hissed back.

“We’re like a group of superheroes now!” Bumblebee whispered excitedly, bouncing up and down in place. “We should have a name or something. Like...the Untouchables! Or, wait, I know: the Blue Line! No, wait, the—”

“Settle down, Bee,” Prowl interrupted, staring stoically ahead. “We have to make a good impression of the PPD here.”

“Right, right,” Bumblebee said, standing up straight in an exaggerated position of attention, frowning heavily.

Prowl forced down a snicker and rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to lay it on so thick,” she muttered.

“All of me is thick, boss,” Bumblebee said, breaking his serious expression to grin at Prowl.

“When I get home, I’m downing a bottle of Manticore Rare to keep me warm,” Daring muttered, shifting from hoof to hoof in an attempt to stave off the cold.

“Alcohol doesn’t warm you up, you know,” Phillip commented flatly from her right.

“Then maybe we should do something else for that,” she smirked, rubbing up against his side.

“Not in public,” he grumbled through his teeth, his ears turning red.

Flash stood on the opposite end of the line, shifting nervously. “Relax, Sentry,” Prowl said. “You earned this.”

“Are they gonna make me do a speech?” Flash whispered, seemingly wondering out loud more than actually asking somepony else.

“Shush,” Trace hissed.

“...their meritorious conduct in the face of danger and resistance has earned each of them the Bronze Shield for Service and Integrity,” Mayor Mare concluded, opening up a box that stood on a stand next to her. Inside, sitting atop a velvet cushion, were seven bronze medals, each of them bearing an image of a shield and two stars, with “Service” and “Integrity” written under them. The ribbons were colored in blue and white, the colors of Ponyville’s flag.

“Chief Cold Case will now present these ponies with their medals,” Mayor Mare said, gesturing to Cold Case, who stood beside her in her dress uniform, stoic as ever.

Cold Case lifted the first medal from the box. “Detective Sergeant Trace Evidence,” she said. Trace stepped forward to the sound of applause from the crowd and bent his head to receive the medal. He shook hooves with Chief Case and with Mayor Mare, then returned to his place in line.

Cold then called forward Detective Red Herring, Sergeant Prowl, Officer Bumblebee, and Officer Flash Sentry. Then she called Phillip Finder. He strode forward to receive the crowd’s applause and his medal, though his hoofshake with Cold Case was very curt. Mayor Mare held his hoof for a couple beats longer than she really needed to, grinning at the flashing bulbs of the cameras.

As Phillip was receiving his medal, Daring looked down at her right hoof. The cursed brand was still there, staring back pitilessly at her. It would remain with her forever.

She’d always be marked as a thief. She’d always have blood on her hooves. She’d always have that stigma across her shoulders. Just thinking about it made the mark burn again, a low, bubbling pain beneath her skin. She hissed and lowered her hoof to the ground.

“Daring Do,” Cold Case’s voice announced, tone emotionless.

Already Daring could feel the eyes upon her. Already she could hear their silent judgments piercing her. She took a breath and settled herself. Never let them see when they get to you, she reminded herself. She stepped forward to receive her medal, then paused, staring at the crowd.

Every single pony there was applauding her. In the front row was Twilight Sparkle, beaming proudly. Doctor Suunkii and Doctor Mortis were both next to her, Suunkii’s enthusiastic applause an amusing contrast to his stoic expression, Mortis grinning from ear to ear. Rainbow Dash was whistling loudly, while Steamed Carrot was thumping her hooves against the ground as hard as she could. Mavri stood off to one side, clapping his gnarled talons together. Maple Leaf was applauding as well; Skysong, supported in a baby carrier on his chest, was clapping her hooves together as well as she could, smiling in a wide, toothless grin. Gentle Guide stood nearby, a proud glimmer in his eyes; Sweet Nectar stood next to him, applauding politely. Sugar Loaf winked at her from near the back of the crowd. Pastor Sound thumped her cane against the ground rhythmically, smiling widely even though her eyes were fixed at a point several feet to Daring’s left.

Amidst the crowd, Daring spotted three other ponies. Sunny Skies gave her a broad smile and a wink, while Arc Light shot her one of his grins. Mythic Aurora kept her expression neutral, applauding lightly.

The pain of the brand evaporated away. Barely making an effort to fight down her smile, she bent her head to receive the medal. The weight of the bronze medallion around her neck seemed to only buoy her slightly, so much so that she barely noticed that Cold gave her a tight-lipped scowl and refused to shake her hoof (not that she offered anyway). Mayor Mare smiled and extended her hoof, tilting her head to the side a little so that the reporters could capture her face. Daring extended her right hoof and shook the Mayor’s as the camera bulbs flashed in the corner of her gaze.

As she returned to her place in line, Mayor Mare stepped up to the microphones again. “With Silvertongue gone, this city can move forward again. The Ponyville Police Department will continue to rebuild itself into a proud service that will protect and serve our citizens fairly. And our great city will survive. Thank you; the Holy Mother bless us, and may you all have a Happy Hearth’s Warming and a prosperous new year!”

The crowd applauded again, the photographers fired off another round of pictures as the accompanying reporters began to shout questions. The medal recipients quietly shuffled off to the side, walking away from the baying of the crowds. Twilight separated from the crowds and ran up to them.

“Congratulations!” she cried, hugging Flash.

“Thank you, Twilight,” Flash said, hugging her back. “I wish they could’ve given you an award, too.”

“I don’t need an award,” Twilight said modestly. “I just helped out.”

“If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have solved a lot of those cases,” Flash replied, putting a foreleg around Twilight and squeezing her to his side. Twilight blushed a little.

“Hey, will you be bringing Spike out for the dinner tonight?” Flash asked, whispering in a lower voice so the others wouldn’t hear.

Twilight frowned. “I...I don’t know about taking him out. He is a dragon, after all. What if other ponies—”

“Twilight, trust me,” Flash said. “The Church is for everyone. And that includes dragons. Let him live a little, he’ll be fine.”

“I...I’ll think about it,” Twilight said slowly.

“We’re all still on for the celebration at the Apple Pie tomorrow night?” Bumblebee asked, happily bobbing down the sidewalk and making his medal bounce against his chest.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Phillip confirmed. The others all gave similar consent.

“Finder, Do, wait,” a voice called. Everypony turned to see Cold Case striding up behind them, fishing her pipe from her coat and inserting the stem into her mouth. “The rest of you move along.”

The other ponies hesitated for a moment, then walked on, leaving Phillip and Daring standing on the sidewalk, facing Cold Case. Cold approached them and looked them both in the eye.

“Silvertongue is gone,” she said. “That notebook sealed his fate. Do I want to know how you did it?”

“Who says it was us?” Daring replied. “As I recall, that was left in your mailbox in a blank envelope.”

Cold Case frowned at Daring for a moment, then reached into her coat and pulled out a folder with her magic. A folder labeled “Lucky Dice” in marker.

Daring tensed up, her heart rate increasing instantly. She instinctively took a quick glance around, planning escape routes, noting the surveillance crystals on the street corner, the passing police cruiser, the crowd of reporters still hovering in front of City Hall mere meters away.

Phillip merely stared at Cold, expression neutral as always, no sign at all that he was planning on running or fighting; he stood with the same sense of finality as a convict before the firing squad.

“You are not above the law,” Cold Case said. “Either of you. You know that.”

Phillip nodded. After a moment, so did Daring, who had to grit her teeth to ignore the slowly increasing pain of her brand.

Cold was silent for a moment longer, then with a flicker of her horn, tossed the folder into a nearby trash can. As Daring and Phillip watched in mute astonishment, Cold then plucked a long match from a matchbook, struck the match into flame and lit her pipe with it, then dropped the match into the trash can. The folder caught flame, slowly turning the contents into useless, burnt scraps.

“Consider this your one Get Out of Jail Free Card,” she said, turning on her tail and walking away.

“Did we at least pass Go first?” Daring called after her. Cold ignored her.

“Cold,” Phillip called. Cold paused.

“Come to the Apple Pie tomorrow,” Phillip said, ignoring Daring’s glare. “You can speak to AJ and Coloratura there, get some time off.”

Cold was still for a few moments, then said quietly, “I have work to do.”

“You also have a life to live,” Phillip said. When Cold didn’t answer, Phillip sighed. “Just...think about it. And Happy Hearth’s Warming.”

Phillip turned and walked away, leaving Cold standing alone on the sidewalk. Daring followed after Phillip, shooting a final frown at Cold over her shoulder.

“If she shows up tomorrow night—” she started to say.

“Both of you will keep your distance and your silence,” Phillip interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically hard. “I can accept that you’re not friends, but neither of you needs this shit. And nor do I. Especially not this time of year.”

Daring looked at him for a beat, then shrugged. “Fine. Just don’t expect me to give her a gift.”

Phil just smiled softly. “Let’s get home. We’ve gotta get ready for tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” Daring asked.

“Something I haven’t done in a long time,” Phillip said.

In comparison to the rest of the city, the Church of Navahism’s decorations were fairly sparse, but they had a special quality to them all on their own: the hoof-decorated candle holders made of plastic milk cartons that lined the sidewalk shone brightly amidst the snow, and the two wreaths that hung from the grand doors were decorated with glass baubles containing sparkles of unicorn magic and tiny cloud sculptures crafted by young pegasi.

The sanctuary was already empty, the Hearth’s Warming Eve service already complete. Ponies were now gathered in the lobby in the basement. A grand table with a bright red and blue tablecloth stretched across the room, lined with chairs and place settings. A buffet line was set up next to the door, steam rising from the plates and dishes stacked high with donations, staffed with volunteers. Small families and homeless ponies walked in, gratefully taking plates and bringing them to the table. The Ponytones stood on a raised makeshift stage in the corner, singing acapella renditions of favorite carols. Pastor Sound was standing near the door, exchanging greetings with ponies filing by.

Phillip descended the stairs, carrying a large plastic bag slung over one shoulder. Daring followed behind him.

“Charity dinner for the poor and homeless,” she said. “Not how I thought I’d be spending Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

Pastor Sound turned towards them, her sightless eyes seeming to brighten. “Phillip! It’s been a couple years since you were here.”

“Didn’t have time for it then. I do now,” Phillip said. “Good to see you again.”

“And you as well,” Joyful said, nodding. She turned towards Daring. “Welcome, Daring.”

“Pastor,” Daring nodded back.

Joyful sniffed. “Did you bring those portobello burgers and anzac biscuits you used to make?”

“I did,” Phillip nodded. “Daring helped me out.”

“Wonderful,” Pastor Sound smiled. “We’ve been missing those. Bring them inside and set them on the buffet table. Will you be staying?”

“Yes,” Phillip said, walking past Joyful. Daring followed.

Phillip set the heavy bag down in front of the buffet table and pulled out the contents: two large plates covered in plastic sheets, loaded with burgers dripping with sauce and melted cheese, followed by another covered plate with stacks of sweet biscuits. The two of them set them up on the table.

“Oh, hey!” Flash Sentry walked up, grinning. “I didn’t think you’d be here!”

“I used to come here regularly to help out, but I haven’t had time the last few years,” Phillip said. “Haven’t seen you here either.”

“Yeah,” Flash admitted. “Even before I enrolled in the academy, I was usually working some odd job on Hearth’s Warming Eve. Y’know, since mom couldn’t work…” He smiled and shrugged. “But I have time now.”

“Me too,” a voice said. Flash looked up and his eyes widened.

Twilight was walking towards them, waving happily: Spike was riding across her shoulders.

“Hello!” she said. “Thanks again for inviting me, Flash.”

“It was my pleasure,” Flash smiled. “Hey, bud!”

“Hi, Flash,” Spike said, bumping his claws against Flash’s hoof. A few ponies started at the sight of a baby dragon riding astride Twilight’s shoulders, but quickly shrugged it off.

At that moment, there was the sound of rapidly pattering hooves and a voice squealed, “Uncle Phil!” The next moment, a zebra colt with frizzy hair that ran down to his shoulders, green beads decorating his tail, and a cutie mark of a drum ran up and hugged Phil around his forelegs.

“Muziqaa, you little ankle-biter!” Phil said, grinning broadly as he hugged the colt.

“We’ve missed you!” Muziqaa said. He turned and waved. “Mama, papa, I found them!”

Suunkii walked up, a smile on his face. Accompanying him was a beautiful zebra mare. She had bright green eyes, a long snowy white mane that almost draped down to the floor, and her long tail was decorated with golden bands near her dock and beads woven into it. Her cutie mark was a silhouette of a dancing pony.

“It is wonderful to see you all,” Suunkii said. “Everypony, this is my wife, Sirba.”

“‘Tis always joyful to meet new friends,” Sirba said, bowing deeply. “Let us enjoy this feast until it ends! This night is not just about the toys, it’s meant for family and joy.”

“I didn’t know zebras celebrated Hearth’s Warming,” Twilight said, starting to load up a plate for herself.

“We do not celebrate Hearth’s Warming as Equestrian ponies do,” Suunkii explained. “However, we do celebrate the spirit of Hearth’s Warming.”

“Besides the joyful and celebratory mood, 'tis not like my husband to turn down food,” Sirba smirked, drawing laughter from the others.

Muziqaa looked up at Daring. “Are you Daring Do?”

“I am,” Daring said.

“Cool!” Muziqaa said. “Are you and Uncle Phil gonna get married one day?”

Phil and Daring both froze, their faces coloring.

“Son, perhaps it is best to leave those questions for another day,” Suunkii said, quickly ushering Muziqaa away. Sirba had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“He’s adorable,” Daring commented dryly.

“He did not mean to be injurious; like all foals, was just curious,” Sirba said.

“He’s a good kid, Daring,” Phil said. “And he’s got quite a talent for music, you should hear him someday.”

Daring smirked. “Also, ‘Uncle Phil?’”

“He’s known me since he was a baby,” Phillip said, somewhat defensively. “He—”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it,” Daring said. “In fact, it’s kinda cute.”

Phil’s ears turned a deeper shade of scarlet. The group loaded up their plates and headed to the long table to sit down. Daring took one of the portobello burgers, a few salads, and at the end of the table, the last slice of a chocolate cake. As she turned back, she heard a voice behind her.

“Aww, there’s no more cake?”

She turned to see a young colt staring forlornly at the empty platter with the cake.

“It’s okay, dear,” said the older mare with the dusty-gray mane next to him. “Maybe next year…”

Daring looked down at the cake on her plate for a moment, then turned around. “Hey, kid, c’mere,” she said. She bent down and used her fork to place the slice of cake onto the colt’s plate.

His eyes lit up. “Thank you! Happy Hearth’s Warming!” He scampered off to find a place.

The mare looked up at Daring and smiled at her. “That maniac Tinderspark almost burned down our home. If it hadn’t been for you, we might not be alive now.” She leaned forward and stroked Daring’s cheek. “Holy Mother bless you, Daring Do.”

“Uh...yeah. Thanks. You, too,” Daring said slowly. But she couldn’t help a smile creeping up her face as the mare walked off after her son. She joined Flash, Twilight, Spike, and Phil at the table as the Ponytones started a round of Jingle Bells.

As the hours went by with idle chatter and laughter, ponies came and went, the buffet line was gradually restocked as more donations were added. A few hours later, only a few ponies were left behind. Phillip was sitting on the stage, lost in thought.

Daring sat next to him, in silence. She slowly looked down at her right hoof, staring at the brand.

“What’s wrong?” Phillip asked.

“I was just thinking of Hearth’s Warming with the Family,” she said. “You know what my very first gift was? This compass that Bright Sparks nicked from a pawnshop.” She half-smiled and let out a small chuckle. “I got her this fake magic set from a toy store: you know, cups and balls, cut a coin in half, shit like that.” Her smile faded away.

“That was my family,” she whispered. “She was my family. And now…”

Phillip put a foreleg around her shoulders. “They were. But...you’ve got a new family now.”

Daring looked over at Flash, Twilight, and Spike, all of whom were sitting in a small grouping a few feet from them, laughing. Suunkii and Sirba were talking with Pastor Sound, a snoozing Muziqaa sprawled across his mother’s shoulders. She looked over at Phillip, who had his head tilted to the side a little and a small smile on his face. She smiled back at him.

“Pretty crazy family,” she said.

“But a family that loves you,” Phillip said.

“Yeah,” Daring smiled. She leaned in and closed her eyes. Just as she’d hoped, she felt his lips brushing against hers and his forelegs gently hugging her around her waist as she draped her forelegs around his neck. They held the kiss for several long seconds, him gently rubbing her back, her rubbing his ears with a hoof.

They finally broke apart, but still held the embrace. “I love you, Daring Do,” Phillip whispered.

“I love you, Phillip Finder,” Daring whispered back and nestled against him. Outside, the snow continued to fall over a still, peaceful city as the day began to close. A new year approached with its promises of a new chance for all ponies, and all was well.

Case Six, Chapter Eleven: Le Roi Est Mort, Vive Le Roi

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The falling snow glowed and twinkled in the morning light, taunting Silvertongue by always dancing away from his barred window. He sat on the bunk in his one-pony cell, staring out the window at the gray sky. He wore the gray coveralls and magic-disabling bracelet that marked him as an inmate of Frostback Prison. He had traded his richly decorated walls for close, crumbling brick with peeling gray paint.

Turning, Silvertongue glanced out his closed cell door. Several other inmates were milling about the dayroom, chattering with one another and playing cards under the watchful eye of the unit officer. He caught a group of ponies looking towards him, smirks on every one of their faces; when they saw him looking back, they turned away. One of them, a small, scrawny unicorn whispered something to his companions and all three of them laughed.

Bile flooded Silvertongue’s veins. How dare they laugh at him! He was Charles August Silvertongue, the King of Ponyville, Lord of the Underworld, and no one insulted him with impunity! He was…

...powerless. He was in a cell in a prison, surrounded by the lowlifes who had once groveled at his hooves, whom he had controlled, kept in check. His magic disabled, his money unavailable, his bodyguards no longer at his sides, and the power of secrets that he had wielded with impunity was denied to him.

He gritted his teeth. Damn the prison! Damn Cold Case and her honest lackeys! Damn Phillip Finder! And damn Daring Do! If it cost him every bit he had, if he had to claw with his bare hooves, he would—

“Silvertongue?”

Silvertongue looked up at the door. A thestral corrections officer with a nametag that read “Guide” stood at the doorway with an envelope. “Letter for you,” he said, holding it out.

Silvertongue took the letter and scanned the typewritten address, rejoicing to find that it was from his attorney. He ripped the letter open, ignoring Officer Guide’s compulsory statement of “Happy Hearth’s Warming.” Unfolding the letter within, he paused in confusion to find that the letter was written in swirling cursive ink instead of the usual curt typewritten lines. The confusion turned to fury as he read the message.

Dear Silvertongue,
Happy Hearth’s Warming! I do hope that you are enjoying your new accommodations as well as you can; I have heard that Frostback has a bit of a cockroach problem, though one would think that the cold would keep them under control.
I suppose right about now, you are sitting in your cell, wondering where it all went wrong, pondering just how a king such as you could fall from grace so hard and so fast. I will give you a very clear explanation for those questions: your fate was sealed the moment you decided to defy me.
When I came to you last year and explained who I was and who I represented, I had hoped that I could count on your assistance. Instead, it seems that years of complacency under the rule of the false goddesses has made you fat, selfish, and lazy. You attempted to maneuver yourself into a position that you did not earn, a position above mine. You threatened me to my face with blackmail and sabotage and demanded more than you had earned. We had thought you reliable and trustworthy during the War, but it seems that that trust was misplaced; at the end of the day, you are just another criminal.
And like all criminals, you have earned your rightful punishment. And now, what was once yours is now mine. Mine and my master’s. We shall put it to far better use than you ever did.
XOXO,
Scarlet Letter.
P.S. Oh, by the way, the paper that you’re holding now was treated with a special potion. When activated by water—for example, sweat—it causes anything it touches to quickly dissolve into ashes. And I might have made it a bit too potent. You should be noticing the effects any moment now, so I do hope you’re a fast reader.

No sooner had Silvertongue finished this sentence than the paper he held, along with the envelope it had come in, began to rapidly dissolve into ashes. He watched in mingled shock and fury as his enemy’s taunt vanished before his eyes.

The shock quickly overwhelmed the fury when he noticed that his hooves were dissolving into ashes as well: in seconds, as though being eaten away by invisible piranha, his skin was crumbling away, followed by the muscles and the bones. An acrid scent grew in his nostrils as his hooves, then his forelegs crumbled away before his eyes, smoke wafting off of the vanishing limbs; the numbness, the sudden loss of all sensation that spread up his body was more terrible than any pain. Horror gripped his chest in its icy embrace, and by the time he thought to scream, his forelegs were already completely gone, and the potion ate away at him at an increasing speed.

His screams dissolved into gurgles, then silenced as the potion ate away at the walls of his throat; the skin on his sides vanished, exposing his ribs. He collapsed onto the mattress as the muscles on his back disappeared. He heard the first cries from the other inmates just as his lower jaw was vanishing into the ever-growing pile of ashes on his bunk, followed by the running hoofsteps of the unit officer.

The last thought Silvertongue had in the brief span of a second before his brain dissolved was to wonder if this is what Hell would be like.

“Go on, open it,” Daring said, shoving the wrapped package towards Phillip from across the dining table.

“Can I at least finish breakfast first?” Phillip smiled wearily, his pancake-loaded fork halfway to his mouth.

“You have breakfast every day, Hearth’s Warming only comes once a year. C’mon,” Daring urged.

Sighing, Phillip set his fork down and took the package. He tore off the hastily-applied silver wrapping paper and opened the box. His eyebrows raised as he examined his prize. Inside was a small set of black folding binoculars, the lenses tinted a faint green color.

“Found those in an outdoor gear shop,” Daring said. “They’re practically indestructible, can see almost a hundred and twenty meters, and have night vision and a built-in compass.”

“Ripper!” Phillip enthused, holding the binoculars up to his eyes. “Thanks, Daring.”

“Happy Hearth’s Warming,” Daring smiled. “Now I get to open mine!” She dashed over to the small fake tree that Phillip had set up in the corner of the living room and snatched up the wide, flat box wrapped in red and green paper beneath it.

“You wanted me to have my present just so you could open yours guilt-free?” Phillip asked, smirking.

“No judging,” Daring said, unwrapping the present and opening the box. “Oooh,” she breathed, taking out the hoof-carved boomerang inside. The edges were perfectly smoothed, and the walnut brown was varnished to a high polish.

“Carved that myself,” Phillip said. “I’ll teach you how to throw it. In time, you’ll be able to infuse the wood with your magic, and it’ll obey you.”

“Thank you, Phil,” Daring said, walking back over to him and leaning down. He turned and they shared a kiss that tasted of maple syrup.

At that moment, there was a knocking at the door. Sighing, Phillip got off his chair and walked to the front door, opening it wide and causing the bells on the wreath mounted to the front to jingle.

“Package for Mister Finder,” the delivery burro standing on the step chirped, holding out a clipboard. Phillip signed on the dotted line, and the burro handed him a brown paper package in return, departing with a tip of the hat and a “Happy Hearth’s Warming.”

Phillip examined the package. His address was written on the top in pale red ink that formed swirling cursive. There was a return address for a condo in the Financial District, but there was no name. There didn’t need to be one: he recognized that writing.

“Scarlet,” Daring hissed, entering the front hallway. “What’s she want this time?”

“We’ll find out,” Phillip said, finishing his examination of the exterior. He carefully peeled off the paper, revealing a plain box. He opened up the box to find a hardcover book sitting inside. The cover of the book showed a side view of a golden unicorn mare with white-gold hair in a trenchcoat and scarlet fedora walking down a snow-covered sidewalk, her expression contemplative. The store window next to her was decorated with lights and hanging mistletoe, but the reflection showed not her, but a dark brown earth pony stallion in a dark cloak with a reddish-brown mane and beard, wearing a masquerade-type mask over his eyes and a smirk on his face as he looked over at the mare. The Mistletoe Masquerade read the title in raised golden letters, and at the bottom was the author’s name: Scarlet Letter.

Daring snatched up the book, and as she did so, a note fell out of the pages. Phillip read it:

As I promised, an advance copy, as a thank you for everything you’ve done. Happy Hearth’s Warming!
XOXO,
Scarlet.
P.S. Five seconds this time.

And sure enough, no sooner had Phillip finished reading the message than the note burst into flames and crumbled away into ashes.

Daring flipped to the back of the book and read the About the Author blurb on the jacket:

Born in Prance, Scarlet Letter discovered a love of writing as a young filly. Graduating magna cum laude from Amore University in 1934 with a degree in literature, she spent the next several years traveling Equestria and beyond as a freelance writer, producing a few short stories and novels under various pen names. The Mistletoe Masquerade represents her first foray into writing novels as her primary career. She currently lives in Ponyville. Scarlet enjoys fine wine, chocolate, poetry, and walking in the rain.

“Plus, murder, robbery, and blackmail,” Daring snarled, tossing the book into the trash can. “Smugfaced fucking little—”

The phone rang, interrupting her. Phillip answered it. “Finder and Do.”

“Phil, you need to get down here,” Trace’s voice filtered over the phone. “There’s a multiple murder that you need to be at.”

“Where?” Phillip asked, detecting a disappointed sigh from Daring in the background. Trace gave them an address in the Dockside District. “Be there ASAP.” He hung up. “Daring?”

“The vacation time on this job sucks,” Daring grumbled, tossing on her neck warmer and hat. The two of them stepped out onto the snow-covered front porch. Taking Phillip beneath the forelegs, Daring spread her wings and lifted off into the air, headed south.

The address turned out to be a warehouse near the riverbank. Patches of ice atop the black water floated past the attached dock. Several cruisers and unmarked vehicles were already sitting outside the warehouse, including the coroner’s van. As Phillip and Daring landed, the dark blue pickup truck labeled “Police CSU” pulled up to the curb and stopped. Doctor Suunkii and Twilight Sparkle climbed out of the cab and began to gather equipment out of the back of the truck, their expressions grim.

“This can’t be good,” Daring muttered as they approached the door, which had been broken open. The crime scene tape stretched across the doorway flapped in the breeze.

Trace Evidence was waiting on the other side of the tape, which he lifted up as they approached. “Hell of a Hearth’s Warming gift,” he commented, leading them down a short hallway to another door. “It’s in there,” he nodded.

Phillip and Daring entered, and immediately stopped, staring in disbelief. They were in a small room that was likely meant to be used as an office. There were a dozen chairs in the room, all of them facing the door. In each sat a corpse, their postures slumped and mouths hanging ghoulishly open, necks red with dried blood that had poured from their slit throats. But what made the detectives’ breakfast lurch in their stomachs was the fact that each and every one of the corpses was missing their eyes: the empty, ragged, blood-stained holes stared at them as they entered, seeming to speak of pain and shock even from beyond the grave. In a bizarre additional detail, each of the bodies had a bright red bow and gift tag tied around their neck, as though they were presents.

“Each of them was caught off-guard and had their throats cleanly slit,” Doctor Mortis was explaining as she studied the empty eyeholes of a griffon’s corpse. “It looks like it was from in front, most likely by a right-hooved pony. Based on the lack of defensive wounds and other injuries, I think that the eyes were removed post-mortem. I can say with confidence that none of them died here, though. And all of them were killed sometime last night.”

“Recognize any of them?” Trace asked, slipping into the room behind them. Daring took the opportunity to slip back out, dry heaving.

“I do,” Phillip said, his voice unusually low. “They’re all high ranking members of local gangs. Nightmare Moon Disciples, Mareish Mob, Whitestone’s Crew, the Sinalope Cartel…”

“Check the tags,” Trace told him.

Phillip bent down and read the tag attached to the bloodied neck of a male griffon.

TO: Phillip Finder
FROM: An admirer
Happy Hearth’s Warming, my love!

“So whose meeting is this, anyway?” Whitestone snarled, pacing in a small circle around the round table. The snowy wind rattled at the third-floor windows of the building they were in, an office and business center in the Industrial District, its unrented rooms showing the first signs of neglect: the circular table and chairs were the only furniture in the room, the paint on the walls was peeling, and only one lamp, situated above the table, was functional.

“Not mine,” Coin Toss grunted, tossing a coin to himself. His two bodyguards stood close behind him, eyeing the other occupants of the room, the heads of what remained of Ponyville’s criminal underworld. “If somepony’s codding us, they’re rooting for a kneecapping.”

“Cap’n, we should just go,” Roaring growled, fingering the cutlass at his hip. “None of these mules are worth—”

“Well, this is some party,” a loud voice proclaimed. A turquoise unicorn with red hair strode into the room. He had shaved off the mustache and replaced his old uniform for a black jacket, but his cutie mark of three red stars was more than familiar.

“Should’ve known,” Coin Toss scowled. “The new eejit head of the Nightmare Moon Disciples, come to throw shapes around.”

“Hey, I earned my place here,” Star Cluster snarled, shoving his face into Coin Toss’. Both of Coin’s bodyguards raised their pistols.

“Earned it after you lost your badge,” Whitestone snarled. “And no surprise there, what with you flaunting your wealth about like some two-bit whore on the docks showing off her shriveled, tiny pussy.”

Star Cluster sneered at her. “Speaking from experience, captain birdbrain?”

“Nopony talks about the captain like that!” Roaring roared, lunging at Star Cluster and drawing two of his cutlasses. The blades swiped through the air, narrowly missing Star’s neck as he ducked and leaped out of range, using his magic to draw two pistols from his jacket. The other occupants of the room all jumped out of range, many of them drawing their own weapons in a chorus of clicking hammers.

“Halt!” a voice barked, and suddenly everypony froze, their bodies surrounded by a golden glow. A pony walked into the room, his black eyes flicking about at the visitors through the haze of smoke from his cigarette.

“Zugzwang,” Whitestone glared.

“There is no need for this violence,” Zugzwang announced, deactivating his paralysis spell. Everypony slowly stood down, holstering their guns. Roaring sheathed his swords last, still glaring at Star Cluster.

“This is my meeting," Zugzwang declared. "Mine and my new partner’s.”

A light pink unicorn mare walked gracefully into the room, smirking and flicking ashes from the cigarette in her holder; behind her walked a tall dark red unicorn mare, glaring around at everypony. A BAR was slung over her shoulder, and a pistol sat at each hip, the belt tight around her round belly. “Enchantée, Messieurs et mesdemoiselles,” the pink unicorn said, bowing slightly. “I am Scarlet Letter.”

Several ponies stiffened at the mention of her name. “And you’re our new bosses?” Star Cluster asked.

“I know that it was not long ago that you all considered myself an enemy,” Scarlet said politely. “However, I believe that the best way to destroy one’s enemies is to make allies of them.”

“No one in this room had any love for the late SIlvertongue,” Zugzwang declared. A slow ripple of confusion ran through the room as ponies noticed his wording. “He was a fool, a coward, and a bully. Frau Letter and I are neither.” He took a slow drag on his cigarette and blew out a cloud.

“Let me explain the situation. You all will continue your business as usual, and you will receive our assistance: weapons, money, information, and plans. In return, you will grant us a quarter of your spoils, as well as leave your ponies at our disposal.”

A soft, intrigued murmur ran through the room: this deal was by far more generous than Silvertongue’s demands of a full forty percent for minimal assistance.

“However, there will be limits,” Scarlet added. “No prostitution. No slave trading. And no selling drugs to foals. If any of you harm a single hair on a child’s head, that pony dies.”

“That’s a generous offer,” Whitestone said, ruffling her wings. “But why exactly should we follow you?”

Zugzwang lit up his horn and a wrapped present floated into the room, borne by a golden aura, and set itself on the table. Everypony stared at it warily. “Go on, open it,” Zugzwang said.

Roaring grunted and stepped forward, tearing the wrapping away and opening the box. The gathered ponies looked into the box, then reeled away in shock.

“Those were your lieutenants,” Zugzwang stated. “That took me three hours. Do you want to see what we can do in twenty-four?” He flicked his cigarette onto the floor. “Let me be clear. We are not asking you to work for us. We are ordering you to.”

And with that, the trio vanished in a flash of golden light, leaving the cowed gang leaders standing in the room, staring at the gift box full of eyeballs.

On the rooftop of the building opposite, the three ponies reappeared in a brief flash. Smiling, Scarlet turned to Zugzwang and held out her cigarette.

“What do you think, Frau Letter?” Zugzwang asked, pulling out a lighter and lighting her cigarette with it.

“Le Roi est mort,” Scarlet grinned, puffing on her cigarette as she stared up into Zugzwang’s empty black irides. “Vive le Roi.”