Old Friends

“The sharpest blade is the one held by doubt.”

— Selryn Vordahl,

Eleventh Prophet of the First Order

***

A figure stepped elegantly into the doorway, immaculate as if pulled straight from the glossy pages of a fashion magazine. The only flaw in his polished appearance was a slight limp, which he attempted to balance with a sleek black cane, its silver raven handle gleaming under the muted light. His sharp, chiseled features were framed by a pair of dark, watchful eyes that glinted with a dangerous mix of amusement and menace. Despite the limp, he exuded a suave charisma that commanded the space.

He smirked. “Miss me?”

“Kane,” I greeted him, straightening up, doing my best to bury the irritation gnawing at me. “What brings you here?”

Once something formidable, now a bureaucratic pawn for the Council. The menace hadn’t entirely left him, though. He strode forward slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, but there was still a predator lurking behind those sharp eyes. A wolfish grin spread across his face, never quite reaching his gaze.

“Just business, Jack. And maybe to offer an old friend some advice.” He moved deeper into the garden, the limp in his step only adding to the unsettling edge of his presence. He took one good look at me and whistled. “Devil’s tits, Jack. You look worse than Sarge’s soggy breakfast.”

I shrugged. “Still prettier than you. How’s the bum knee?”

He smirked. “Gets me where I need to go. But honestly, what the hell happened? You look like you got in a bar fight with a blender.”

I nodded and waved him on. “Go ahead, get it out of your system.”

“I’ve seen fresher stiffs in the morgue. Looks like Death dragged you halfway back and decided you weren’t worth the trouble.”

I nodded. “That one’s not too far off.”

He squinted. “You gonna spill or what?”

“Not if I can help it. Maybe another time.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Sure, Jack.”

There was a beat, a silent exchange, and for the briefest moment, I was reminded of what it used to be like… before everything went to hell.

His bravado slipped, and I caught a flicker of something raw—was it sorrow buried deep in those haunted eyes?

“Listen, Jack. I know I’ve said it before, and I know it’ll never be enough, but I’m sorry. If I’d had any idea—“

“Cut it, Kane. That chapter’s closed. No need to go opening old wounds.”

A sharp pang hit my chest—a reminder that pain was still a privilege I hadn’t lost.

Kane and I met in the War. He was a Pyromancer—the only Caster I’d ever really called a friend. What we saw out there… men have gone mad for less. War changes a man. Puts stone in your bones, ice in your blood and if you’re not careful, it can leave you hollow, ready to die at a moment’s notice. I was no exception. Plenty of good men came home already cracked under the pressure.

But Kane got it—we shared the same scars and made it out with what humanity we had left. Afterward, we’d opened shop together: Kane and Callaghan, Private Eyes. Back then, he was more than a friend. Probably the closest thing I had to a brother.

It was one of his cases I’d been running errands for, just a quick stop at the precinct… when I lost everything. Everything. I wasn’t even supposed to be working that day. That was before I’d packed up my hero days, locked Frank away, and walked out on that life for good—or so I’d thought.

We didn’t speak for a long time after the incident. When we finally did, I learned he’d joined the damned Midnight Council. The Caster community’s answer to control freaks—unelected, power-hungry, with their fingers in every pie. They claimed they were here to protect Normies from Relic-ranked Artifacts, the kind that could level buildings, cause possessions, or worse. But now, they were involved in anything that so much as brushed against aether. They were the invisible hand behind every enchanted lock, every forbidden spell whispered in the dark.

And I was certain they had their slimy fingers wrapped tight around McGuffey’s corpse.

Now, Kane’s just a reminder of what I left behind—and why. He stood before me then, a faded ghost of the hard-nosed bastard I once knew. Ol’ Killer Kane.

My sword and gun, both artifacts in their own right, lacked Council Permits, but Kane pretended not to notice. I’d say he missed it, but he never missed a trick. They felt heavier on my hips.

He nodded, and the veneer returned, the sadness in his eyes fading like a mirage, as fleeting and forgotten as a week-old dream.

“I’ll skip the pleasantries, Jack. I know you hate them. Listen, you’ve got yourself in deep, tangled up with the wrong people.”

I chuckled, low and cold. “Is that all? Here I thought you had something important to say.”

Kane’s voice sharpened. “You need to walk away from this case, Jack.”

I brushed shards of the cup from my shirt, bits of broken porcelain catching in the fabric. My brow furrowed, a familiar weight settling in my gut.

“And why would I do that?”

The charm drained from his face, replaced by a cold, unyielding glare. “Because the Council’s involved. That box you’re chasing—it’s not just some trinket. It’s royal magic, Jack. High-tier Relic rank. The kind of power that could tip the scales of the city.”

“All the more reason they shouldn’t have their hands on it,” I said, keeping my voice low, steady.

Kane exhaled, a slow, drawn-out sound that reminded me of the last drag off a cigarette. “They don’t know I’m here, Jack. Consider this a courtesy. Once I walk out that door, the gloves come off.”

“You think I’m scared of you or your Council?”

“You should be. Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared. And Jack, you’re a stubborn bastard, but you’re no idiot.”

“Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere with me, Kane.”

Kane grimaced, a flicker of anger tightening his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. A heavy beat of silence hung between us before I shook my head, letting out a slow sigh as I pressed on.

Night slid in slow, sneaking shadows through the garden, until all at once, the chill settled in—a sudden, biting cold that clung to the bones.

“I can’t back down,” I said. “You know that. I’m in too deep, seen too much to just walk away. I didn’t go looking for this case, but it’s mine now. Maybe it’s a death sentence, but if I don’t solve it, if I walk right now, do you really think that’ll satisfy whoever’s trying to bury the truth—and me along with it?” I shook my head, resolve hardening. “Tell the Council I still have the right, as a former cardholder.”

“You gave up that right a long time ago, Jack. Unless you’re itching for the Recognition Trials again, don’t kid yourself. I can set it up. The Council would love another chance to watch you squirm.”

I shook my head, knowing he was calling my bluff. The trials would be a death sentence, and if I somehow crawled out alive, I’d be right back under their boot. I’d rather keep my cards close to the chest—even if I was holding the losing hand.

“No, I don’t think so. Besides, remind me—who exactly gave the Council the right to decide who gets to wield and who doesn’t? I don’t recall voting them in. Do you?”

Kane’s sigh was heavy with frustration, tinged with a flicker of reluctant admiration. “Stubborn as ever. But get this—they’re not playing around on this one. They’ll erase you if you get in their way.”

Anger surged through me, and before I knew it, I was grabbing his collar, yanking him close. “You think I don’t know that? The past few days have been hell. For all I know, it’s them who put the hit out on me. Maybe it’s time I sent them a message.”

His eyes ignited, a molten gold as mana pulsed through him—a caster gearing up for a brawl. He bared his teeth and his clothes rippled in a non-existent wind.

“You’re a fool, Jack. A damn fool. But if it’s a fight you want...” An ember burned in his gaze.

I braced for the storm, letting the feral edge creep in. My mouth twisted into a hungry snarl.

The air thickened with tension, a palpable shift that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And then, something slithered across my skin, and I froze, sensing the danger before I saw it. Kane did the same.

The lush greenery around us rustled, the once-peaceful garden now a coiled snake ready to strike. Mildred’s home, usually a sanctuary, felt like a trap.

I glanced down, catching sight of vines curling around our legs, tightening like nooses. Bright flowers, once innocent, now bristled with menace, their petals glistening with drops of green and black poison. A slender vine, tipped with a spike, hovered near my arm, poised to strike. Kane wasn’t faring any better.

Mildred stepped into the doorway to the garden, her presence like a calming breeze. The garden responded to her, the plants easing back slightly. “Gentlemen,” she said, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t test the patience of my home. It has a rather...unique way of handling conflicts.”

Kane and I exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between us. In this place, under Mildred’s watchful eye, any violence would be met with swift, lethal retribution from the very walls around us. The shattered cup was tolerated only because it wasn’t intended to harm.

His smile returned. He glanced around the garden as if searching for something unseen. “Of course, Mildred. Just a friendly chat.”

We both took a careful step back, the vines retracting, their poisonous quills withdrawing like disappointed serpents. Kane straightened his suit, brushing it off. My temper still simmered beneath the surface.

“Listen, Jack.” Kane’s voice softened, almost pleading. “If you won’t drop this case, at least be ready. If you get there before they do, they’ll come after you. The Council doesn’t play fair, and they don’t like competition.”

I nodded, his words settling in my gut like a stone. This wasn’t just another job—this was war, and it had only just begun.

“I know that better than most.”

I hated asking him for anything, but to hell with pride.

“Kane, one thing,” I said, my voice dropping. “Did the Council cover up McGuffey? Demon attack? Rogue spell? What was it?”

He just smiled, a thin, dangerous curve. “Jack, you never did know when to shut up and let sleeping dogs lie. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Promises, promises,” I replied, a half-smile tugging at my lips.

He started to leave, then paused, his tone shifting abruptly. “Oh, Jack, how’s Cat? You two still on good terms?”

The sudden shift threw me off balance. I hadn’t spoken to “Fat Cat” Catigan in ages, though his name had been cropping up more often than I’d like. His criminal network was likely still thriving, still running the biggest underground casino in the city.

“Can’t say I have,” I replied.

Kane tipped his head in acknowledgment, then turned and limped out. My eyes followed him, my thoughts swirling like a brewing storm, caught between what was said and what was left unsaid.

As Kane’s footsteps faded into the mist, Mildred approached, her steps more careful but certain. Though her eyes were clouded, they found me with unsettling precision, a hint of a smirk pulling at her lined mouth.

“How was your coffee?”

“Bitter.”

She nodded.

“Risking more than your life on this, Jack,” she whispered, voice like smoke over embers. “Tell me… do you even know if you’re holding a winning hand?”

My jaw tightened as I met her white gaze, a grim smile tugging at my lips. “Guess we’ll see when the cards are turned up.”

Mildred reached out and rested her hand gently on my arm, her touch both comforting and cautionary. “You aren’t in this game alone. You know that, right?” She plucked a cigarette from a pack, flicked the lighter with a practiced ease, and took a long, deliberate drag, the ember glowing like a devil’s eye in the dim light.

My eyes scanned the area, absorbing the vibrant colors and the soothing warmth radiating from the many plants. The contrast to the harsh world outside was striking, offering a brief respite. I allowed myself a moment to bask in that thought before nodding subtly to Mildred and turning toward the door.

The soft click of the door closing behind me was the only sound as I stepped back into the shadows, leaving the sanctuary’s embrace behind.

“Can I ask for one last favor?”

“Favors aren’t my business, Jack,” she snapped, not even bothering to glance up from her cigarette.

“Then bill me,” I pressed, leaning in just enough to let her know I wasn’t backing down.

She gave me a long, hard look, like she was sizing up a carcass, then sighed, the kind that meant I was pushing my luck. But she nodded.

“You got a scry I could borrow?” I asked, keeping it light, like I was asking for a light.

Her eyebrow quirked up. “I thought you swore off Rift junk and the hocus-pocus.”

“Life’s full of exceptions lately.”

She studied me, eyes narrowing like she was reading the fine print on a bad deal. “How far you looking to see?”

“Just the city,” I said, working to keep the edge out of my voice.

Her gaze sharpened, and for a moment, it felt like she was peeling back my skin, layer by layer. “You got a true name?”

“Partial,” I admitted, knowing it was enough to raise more questions, but she just gave a curt nod, dropping it like a stone in water.

Minutes later, Molly was at the door, silent as a shadow, holding a flat wooden box. No chit-chat, no games—just business.

I took the box, feeling its weight, and stepped out into the night, the air thick with the kind of tension that clings to your skin. I knew what was coming, and I didn’t like it.