When looking for Derek, Vincent had taken the Zeta Squad to a hotel in Halifax, Canada, where they met Fallon. So, Renekom and his team started their search at the same location. Much to their dismay, however, Fallon was not there and they found that he had left for the UK two days earlier.

  “What now, sir?” Obadiah asked. “His network is so wide, if he wants, he can evade us for days.”

  A few lines appeared on the Seear’s forehead. “He can’t evade us forever.”

  Michael Brown stepped ahead and said, “That’s why I told you to keep a few of those Zeta Squaders on this case as well, Renekom. They could’ve been useful here.”

  Renekom shook his head. “Let them chase ghosts. Like I said earlier, either they find something in the black markets or they give me a reason to shut them down for good.”

  A few looks went around but everyone knew, just as well as the Seear, that Hugo Baylis and his squad were their best chance at infiltrating the black markets effectively. Only he could find information from the depths of those pits of arcane shadows.

  Upon the Seear’s orders then, the Mystics did a quick scan of the entire area. They shot Ki traces which stretched far and wide and encapsulated the entire hotel and its neighbouring casino, but no trace could be found. Fallon was not there nor was the White Bolt.

  So, the group quickly moved on. Their next stop – Liverpool, England.

  In Liverpool, it was just 15 minutes past midnight when they arrived. The city was calm, suspended in the stillness of midnight. The River Mersey lay still, save for the slow sway of moored yachts and the distant churn of an unseen cargo ship. The docks glistened with moisture. Slick stone and cobblestone paths were reflecting the sparse orange glow of sodium lamps as fog rolled low. The air smelled of sea salt and diesel, faintly mixed with cologne and smoke from late-night wanderers. It was quiet – perhaps too quiet.

  Between two repurposed warehouses stood an ultra-exclusive boutique hotel named the Orpheum. The hotel overlooked the river with its upper floors shimmering faintly at night – a Ki ward disguised as lighting.

  Just like all other establishments owned by Fallon, the Orpheum served as a neutral ground for all arcanists. Cultists, Rogues, agents of the Eye or the Order, or even independent wizards or witches – Fallon ensured protection and anonymity for all who entered. No distinctions were ever made; once inside, everyone was given protection. Runes and enchantments were set in place to ward the entire structure, masking Ki presence and even demonic energy signatures at the same time.

  The interior of the hotel was posh, perfumed, and slightly too symmetrical. The hallways were carpeted with gold-threaded constellations while the walls whispered faintly with hidden enchantments. The soundproof and warded private suites were often rented for weeklong negotiations or much shorter arcane frivolities.

  However, the main attraction for many, was the Astral Club. Partially covered with a glass dome, this rooftop bar always played soft live music and remained open until three in the morning. The bar counter was circular, centred beneath a large astrolabe-style chandelier, and served all merrily.

  The crowd at the Astral Club that night was just as mixed: Cult envoys, arcane traders, retired mercenaries, and a few oblivious plebeians. Fallon himself was sitting in a corner booth, half-shadowed, champagne glass in hand, overlooking the party below.

  He smiled, closed his eyes, and whispered, “And the cavalry’s finally arrived…”

  Moments later, the music began to trail off as the laughter quieted down. A single empty glass rolled off a table and shattered. A few guests gasped, but no one said a word.

  The crowd parted as nine figures in beige cloaks emerged, led by a tenth draped in maroon. The Seear and his contingent had arrived – teleporting in directly from Canada.

  Standing at the bar counter, the Seear called, “I can sense you, trickster! No use in hiding.”

  Fallon chuckled. “Then why didn’t you come over here directly, I wonder?” He slowly stood up. “Or maybe, your senses are not as sharp as the Seekers’ after all.”

  He snapped his fingers. His attendees all stood up and left. Another snap and the music came back on. The rich man then walked to the edge of the raised platform and grabbed the railing with both hands. “People!” he called. “His holiness, the Seear of the Eye walks among us peasants! Rejoice! For the rest of the night, all drinks are on me! CHA-CHA-CHA!”

  A loud cheer erupted. Fallon grinned and walked back to his corner booth beneath the golden chandelier. Through the rowdier crowd, Renekom and his partners forced their way to him.

  Fallon was lounging in a deep-blue three-piece suit that looked tailored to arrogance itself – silk tie loosened just enough to suggest the comfort of a man who owned the room.

  “I won’t ask you to sit down.” The rich man brought both legs atop the round table. “And you don’t drink either.”

  Renekom and Michael sat on either side of him. The others surrounded the area.

  “Do you know why we’re here?” the Seear asked.

  He nodded and then took a sip of his drink. As he placed the glass down, he answered saying, “You’re here looking for Vincent.”

  Michael looked at Renekom who further asked, “Then tell us where he is.”

  “Wow.” He giggled. “The entire might of the Eye is unable to track him and somehow I should know where he is… that’s rich.”

  “He came to you.” The Seear leaned closer. “Don’t play games with me. I can shut your whole operation down for aiding and abetting a fugitive of the arcane world!”

  “What does my license say, Seear?”

  “It doesn’t matter what your license says!”

  Fallon picked up his glass of champagne once again and looked at Renekom. “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” Very faintly, he whispered, “Cha…”

  The leader of the Eye smacked the glass from his hand; it hit the floor and shattered.

  Renekom’s index finger lingered inches from Fallon’s face. “Don’t mock me, rich boy!” he said, grinding his teeth. “You do not want to make enemies with me.”

  Finally, the smile on the entrepreneur’s face vanished. “Let me just understand this… You barged in here unannounced with your entire boy band, you scared my customers, you broke my favourite champagne glass, and you think these antics are somehow going to intimidate me – did I miss anything?” After just a moment’s pause, he said, “Ah! And you wanna know where Vincent is! My establishments see all manner of arcanists come in and go. Some think they are full of themselves while some just come in, take care of business, and leave.”

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  He paused again. This time, he grabbed the Seear’s finger and said, “Need I remind you all of the supplies you’ve received from my associates just in this past year?”

  Renekom’s posture was suddenly not as stiff. He eyes wandered away as his breath quickened. His associates, all close councils, shifted uneasily.

  Fallon slowly moved the finger away and smiled. “Look at you acting all grown up,” he said quietly. “With the Outsiders gone, you’ve got no strength, and you know that…”

  Renekom shook his hand away and stood up. “You will not use that name in my presence!”

  “Why? You chicken?”

  As Fallon giggled away, the Eye contingent kept standing there helplessly.

  “Get out o’ here, morons,” the rich man said, waving his arm. “You didn’t even pay me for the latest supply of Caucasian teens. And Dorothy’s been asking me about those girls too. Oh, and you’re also buying my people’s services for spying – even on your own operatives! And you think what you own me or something? If I pull the funding, Renekom, you won’t even have the money to feed the people of Ayn. And if I go public with your lusts, buddy…” He shook his head. “Just don’t ever disrespect my establishments like this again.”

  He looked to his right and snapped his fingers. A young lady approached. He then looked at Renekom. “Vincent came to me as any good customer does. He pays well, doesn’t disturb anyone and leaves quietly as well. The way I see it, you need to learn a thing or two from him.”

  The host shook his head once more, then addressed the young woman. “Please see off our guests – and be careful. I hear their hands linger.” Showing his claws, he added, “They like grabbing…”

  Frustrated yet powerless, the Martial Artists backed off in silence. Fallon kept staring as they vanished in a flash of light. His nonchalant expression quickly hardened; his gaze narrowed, fists clenched, and his head dropped. A long sigh escaped him, a frown settling on his face.

  A close associate walked over with a new champagne glass. “What was that about, sir?” he asked. “I don’t remember Renekom ever paying a visit before.”

  “He’s never been this powerless.” Fallon quickly grabbed the glass and took a sip. “This storm needs to end him.”

  “Sir?”

  “He’s a weak man. If he loses, he needs to be killed in the process. Otherwise, he’ll send the whole world into a frenzy.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Hmm. He’ll destroy the world before he sees it fall out of his control.”

  Elsewhere, the Seredum sisters and the Mystics had begun inspecting the Sierra Norte de Sevilla. Trained extensively in the manipulation of the metaphysical elements, the sisters began searching through the area immediately.

  In the dark of the night, the forest was unusually quiet. Even animals were staying away from the area due to the heavy Ki residue. But some operatives of the Eye were patrolling the region. Ella and Faris, choosing to refrain from being spotted, kept moving atop the tree lines, carefully. The Seredums on the other hand, kept walking around on the ground casually, not bothered at all.

  “How are they doing that?” Ella eventually asked Faris, whispering and looking down at the sisters standing merely six feet from a patrolling Sokidu. “Those white tights and peculiar look – and no one is bothered in the slightest!”

  “That’s because they can’t really see them,” the senior Mystic replied with a chuckle. “They have allowed it, so we can see them. But to them, they must appear as some animal, a rodent or badger or a cat or something.”

  “Amazing…”

  Ella glanced at Faris with a look of disbelief before looking down again. Erina then went and sat on the edge of the river. She dipped her hands in the water and sat there for a few moments.

  “What’s she doing now?” the young Mystic asked, whispering.

  Faris shook his head. “No idea,” he replied. “But I’ve heard the Keepers draw their powers from large bodies of water. They have some sort of dominion over the waves they say. The Seredums may not be Keepers but they are direct students of the Keepers.”

  He looked over at the freaked out youngster. “Relax, alright.” He smiled. “They’re on our side.”

  Eventually, the Seredum stood up and said something to her sisters. She then tied her hair into a messy bun, one-by-one took all her clothes off, and walked straight into the water. The Mystics kept staring perplexed, trying to make sense of what was happening. Neck deep in flowing water, Erina closed her eyes, stretched her arms wide, and waited.

  “O… k… this is officially weird now,” Faris whispered. “Is she taking a bath in their or what?”

  The Seredums could converse with nature – as easily as one person speaks to another – reaching elements and animals alike. And, as Faris had mentioned, they had an innate connection with water – the element of life. Every life form had water in it. So, through water, they could communicate with it all at once.

  Ella shrugged. “Beats the heck out of me. But boy would Marcus have loved to be here right now…”

  “What, sorry?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Erina began swimming up the stream against the current. Her sisters walked along. Ella and Faris followed as well.

  “Did you find anything?” Eira asked.

  Erina shook her head. “It’s being blocked.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am unable to pinpoint the signals.”

  Slowly, the eldest sister reemerged from the water. After she had put her clothes back on, she called the Mystics down.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “They won’t see you.”

  Hesitantly, the duo came down and stood beside the sisters.

  “What did you find?” Faris asked.

  “Those with similar Ki and intentions to the ones you fought here have been moving around all over Europe.”

  “How did you find that?” Ella asked.

  She smiled. “You sense Ki. It feels like waves of energy, right? Well, we can sense and communicate with many other frequencies. And let’s just say it’s easiest to communicate with water.”

  Faris nodded. “Makes sense. And could you pinpoint a location?”

  “I had trouble finding an end of the traces. Certain areas are becoming blind spots. Some are natural, but some feel very artificial.”

  “Where?”

  “Multiple spots along the Pyrenees.” Her smile disappeared. “Someone or something unusual is blocking access over there.”

  “Do you think the Alchemist could be doing it?”

  “If he can kill our Lord than he can certainly block us.”

  ‘I highly doubt he killed the Keeper,’ Faris thought. ‘If he knew magic of that kind, he wouldn’t need those damned artifacts to fight Hugo.’

  “So, yes,” Erina continued as she sighed. “There’s a good chance that the Alchemist and his Hearth are somewhere in that area.”

  Eila looked at the Mystic and asked, “Master Naji, what do you suggest we should do now?”

  Faris nodded. “I say let’s visit some of those blind-spots. We’ll be able to decide the rest once we’re there.”

  Mystics were generally believed to be nothing more than experts at defence against Black Magic and the Dark Arts, but in reality, their expertise and dominions of control were far greater. Experts such as Hedish Norma or Faris Naji were able to tap in and out of the dimensions of reality. They had the keys to escape the three-dimensional plain and go even beyond and enter the Continuum of Sempiternity and access a place beyond the grips of space and then even time.

  “But should we not send for help?” Eira mused, looking at her sisters. “At least let Master Baylis know about this…”

  “I’d give him a little bit more time.” Faris shook his head and took a deep breath. “Let him visit the Bazaar. We might need what he finds there. And we can’t send for anyone else either. We came here against their will, remember? So, let’s just look into this on our own. I think we’ll be fine for now.”

  Where the Keepers and their subordinates were masters of the metaphysical, Mystics had the abilities to bend the limits of the physical. But the art of Mysticism was tough, and its masters scarce. Many of those in the modern world who were enjoying the title and post of a Mystic were not even close to being actual Masters of the rare art form. Master Faris Naji, however, was one of the very few who had managed to attain complete mastery over this craft.

  “They’re no Keepers,” the senior Mystic asserted. “Nor can they escape reality. Let’s just head over there and fish out the bastards.”