Chapter 505: Arc 6, - 121: The Right Thing

Chapter 505: Arc 6, Chapter 121: The Right Thing

The dawn of a new month breached through the window of the room. Opening his eyes with a strained yawn, he adjusted to the light, and noticed the figure sat by his bedside. "Hey kid. Morning," Peter Werner uttered.

Fumeko caught the metallic marble she was playing with in between her fingers and looked up, "Morning Mr Werner."

"No need to be all formal-like, call me Pete. Kaz always did."

The brunette pocketed the marble and left the silence to linger in the hospital room.

Peter let himself get a few breaths in. "What day is it? It’s April innit?"

"First."

"So public funeral’s tomorrow—got it, got it."

...

"If you came to keep me company kid, you ain’t doin’ a good job," he jested.

"Any of your family visited?" Fumeko still toyed with the marble in her pocket.

Peter’s head turned back to stare at the ceiling. "I got no family to come visit."

"Is that so."

"What’s with the ring? Didn’t take you for the type for jewellery."

Fumeko’s thumb brushed the golden ring on her finger, "Has one shot—a spell."

"Are you plannin’ to make it count?"

"I hope."

The gleam of the hospital lights bounced off of her headband and into the corner of Mr Werner’s eye, of which he took notice and chuckled. "I remember Kaz sayin’ something along the lines of you’d be crying if that headband ever left your head."

"It’s a cheap piece of plastic."

"One from your mother," Peter smiled. "Cheap’s not just a price tag kid."

"You gonna keep spotting things on me, or are you gonna ask why I’m here?"

"Figured you’d tell."

"Dad’s and Detective Quinn’s funeral’s tomorrow. Mrs Aetherton’s probably going... but I can’t; I know I won’t be able to."

"Oh? And why’s that?"

"A gut feeling? We’ve got a lead on a cultist, and we’re hunting him down today. Plus, Ms Ward’s gonna have something from Detective Rose soon. Something’s gonna happen. On an eventful day like tomorrow? I’m sure the cult’s licking their lips, waiting to pounce."

Peter watched the dead expression of the girl sitting by his side. He smirked, "I don’t think Kaz’d have it any other way."

"Dad wanted to shield me from this life so bad that he kept me locked up for seventeen years," she retorted.

"I didn’t say he’d approve," he chuckled, and realized his body was hardly at the point for his small jolts of movement. He steeled himself from the discomfort, and continued, "Kaz’d do the same on a funeral.

I think he’ll understand if you don’t make it to his second," he winked. "Hell, I didn’t make it for the first or the second. Best I get’s a rock with a name on it. Two of my best boys, down for the count," he sighed.

Fumeko looked up to the ceiling. "...What’s having no family look like?"

"Ain’t so bad; you get used to it."

"How?"

"Friends kid. Lots’ of ’em. Or at least enough that you can make a family of your own. Trust is hard; but if you can find it, and give it, and it holds—what more could you ask for?"

’A lot.’ "I think I get the gist." ’Dad’s been the only one there for a long time... ...’ "Guess I’ve got family left still."

"Protect ’em. Let them flourish and bring out the best and worst of ’em," Peter smiled. "It became a company somewhere along the line for me."

"Speaking of which, this isn’t public information, but Lady Pinberry’s put me on the case for the cult. If it all plays out right, I think I’ll be joining your company soon enough."

"Then I’ll see you when that happens and welcome you into the fold; not that you already aren’t kid. Before you go though, where’re they buryin’ Kaz and Q?"

’...’ Fumeko glanced elsewhere, finally breaking her icy demeanour. "I, don’t actually know. I’ve been really focused on the case..."

Peter looked at her and his gaze softened; he lightly shook his head.

"Don’t say it."

"You hear people say it on the radio dramas, you read it in a good book, but damn if it ain’t jarring to see it firsthand... If Kaz was about one quarter of his size, it’d be a mirror," he laughed.

"I’ve got a busy day so," Fumeko got up and adjusted her scarf.

"I’ll see you when I see you kid. And I know the right thing to do’s not always gonna be what feels right," he advised. "Stay outta trouble."

"If this cheap plastic’s survived for over eighteen years, I’ll be fine." Fumeko turned and walked, "Bye Mr Werner; get well soon."

"Pete—Pete’s fine kid."

The brunette ignored him as she exited the room.

_

Fumeko flapped the folded newspaper open and sighed. ’Dammit Alicia.’ Written on the paper was the reports of the gangsters that Clyde had assassinated in the previous couple of days.

Front and centre however, was a photo of a tattoo—the symbol of the Deuctus Cult in black and white upon some muscly shoulder.

Outside a building of jade green hue and at least ten stories high, the brunette stood in a phone booth. She jammed a pencil into the dial and spun it up to dial. ’Looks like she found her own way to what we figured.’

She could see the newsstand she bought it from through the glass while the telephone dialled. Citizens flocked towards them, leaning over each other’s shoulders to read those who actually bought the papers.

Shortly after, they discussed it amongst one another right then and there, causing a congestion on the pavement. "It doesn’t take you this long to pick up, what’s-"

"Beep. Beep. Beep."

The brunette gripped the phone that failed to respond. She clicked the telephone forcefully back onto its stand, and opened up the phonebook in the booth. "Phoenix News, Phoenix News," she repeated and went through pages.

She then squinted in realization, and checked the newspaper, before she quickly scanned for a number. The detective put a copper piece into the slot, dialled with the pencil in the rotary, and put the phone onto her shoulder.

...

"Click-Ping." "Good morning, Phoenix News Headquarters, Newsroom, our line is currently crowded and we may put you on hold, how may I assist you?"

"Fumeko, Namora; can you put me through to Alicia Langstirk?"

"Oh, Namora? Oh. Ms Langstirk is not currently in; in fact, she just left the building not but a few minutes ago."

"Did she say where she’s going?" Fumeko could hear pages flapping on the other side.

"Uh, if it is for investigation purposes, you will need to come to the headquarters directly; otherwise, the locations of our journalists are strictly confidential."

"You just told me where she is," Fumeko furrowed her brows.

"W-well I’ve been told that Ms Langstirk has a special relationship with Mr Namora-"

"Detective," Fumeko corrected.

"Sorry; but we usually connect him to her directly. Is this an emergency?"

Fumeko groaned. "You know what, no." She hung up the phone with a shake of her head.

"Tap. Tap. Tap."

"Mekoooo," Asobi had her face and hands pressed up against the glass. The disgruntled brunette came out of the booth, as her party exited the building with a tall red-armoured figure and a weary archer in tow.

"Is he doing alright?" Fumeko looked at the flaxen-haired elf.

"I’m doing fine mate," Clyde put a hand up while his head hung low. "Just a bit tired."

"Aru, could you rejuvenate him?" the brunette asked.

Hotaru’s ears bristled, "He’s just woken up from potion overdose, and you want me to spike him?"

"In this current moment, the master of archery may prove more of a liability than an aid," Tiffany crossed her arms.

Fumeko shrugged a shoulder, "Tiffy gets it. Can you handle yourself?"

The question was directed to Clyde who was staring right back at her, "I’ve got this far. I’ll handle myself just fine, detective."

’Don’t like the way he said that.’ "Fine."

"Who were you callin’ dude?" Ben pointed to the booth.

"I tried to call Alicia," she displayed the front page of the paper.

"That’s the symbol!" Asobi affirmed.

"How did she get it?" the wolf-girl swiped the newspaper.

"It’s Alicia," Fumeko answered. "I assume her camera worked the same as when she took pictures of the ghost during the murder cases earlier this year. Which means, in theory, photography could reveal enchantments."

"Or she forced whoever this is to show it," Asobi added.

Fumeko inhaled and raised her shoulders, gesturing ’it could be’ to the magician.

"If we get a camera we could find out ourselves; just throwing it out there," Ben suggested.

"Or another journalist with the priorly stated device perchance?" the eccentric blonde added.

"If a camera could reveal enchantments, ooo! Can it reveal people who go invisible too?" Asobi hopped.

"Invisibility’s an illusion, so like, no? A camera captures light, so it would capture the illusion too, because it messes with light and perception. Guess there’d be distortion," Ben pondered.

"Regardless," Fumeko announced loudly. ’It’s Alicia is just an easier answer; no wonder the company always defaulted to saying it.’ "We don’t have time for this. Clyde, where’s your next mark?"

"Follow me."

_

’With everything on high alert since last week, and the fact that Clyde hasn’t killed an actual cult member yet, it’s safe to assume why he hasn’t been hunted down by either the police or the cult.

He’s already looking for gangs, so them being the only ones truly after him works in his favour. In a time of crisis, vigilantism can rise easily, and slip into the public eye; it’s how dad did it...’ Fumeko looked ahead at Clyde checking around corners and guiding them down the alleys far southeast of Mandrake Borough.

The gleaming red armour of the Scorching Inferno, the similarly red wolf-woman in blues, the glittering elven magician, the blonde dressed in frills and accessories from hair to heel—Fumeko herself appeared rather... mundane in comparison.

Her last name lingered in her mind, reverberating again and again with all the voices that called it throughout her journey across the land.

Whilst they all quickly paused to check their surroundings of alley cats, rubbish bins, boarded up windows and faded streets, Fumeko continued to take a good hard look at them all.

She even considered the one missing—her features that of a noble, the voice of a songbird. The one whose single strike can thunder across the city and make even dormant seeds bloom if she so wished.

Another case solved itself before her eyes—another answer she needed to confront. She had to let it go... Considering her father’s legacy, is it wrong to do so? Considering his wishes for her, is it right? More than that, is it fair? Is the fame worth the hassle?

’I can’t... Why shouldn’t my name matter too?’

Diana Ward’s words poked her mind. And then she heard the literal Diana Ward’s words, "Out of the way!"

As a massive sword, with a blade bigger than Fumeko’s form was staked into concrete. It all came back to her in a flash; a return to the scene of a crime.

No cars were parked outside this warehouse, nor was there a wyvern about to fly out. There was however, a fox-woman by some large crates, and a ramrat on top of one.

A grey metal gauntlet grabbed the sword by the handle; a figure over three and a half metres tall, and with considerable bulk. Each plate of its armour clinked as it shifted.

It pointed ahead to the newcomers, "A challenge for me?" the voice rumbled out the helm. "HaHaHAha! For me to be vanquished by thee, do you not dare flee? Then so may it be, so may it be!!"

"Friend of yours Tiffy?"

"Silence thyself."

"I wasn’t tipped off about this bloke..." Clyde stated with a squint and readied his bow

The suit of armour grabbed the sword in both hands, and charged!!!