Looking for the end of the rainbow only leads to more clouds.
It had been nearly two days since my encounter with the Necromancer.
Des was a mess when I finally returned home, pacing back and forth, demanding an explanation for my sudden and literal disappearance. I shrugged, muttering that I was busy. That wasn't enough to calm his nerves, nor did it satisfy Rolo or Alex's curiosity, but they didn't push. They knew better than to expect a real answer from me.
After that, Alex started watching me with a suspicious eye, his gaze sharp and analyzing. Rolo, when he thought I wasn't looking, would sneak around and even rummage through the trash to read the crumpled notepaper I had discarded. Des, on the other hand, tried bribing Simon, desperate to coax him into revealing what I'd been up to.
Simon, as usual, wasn't much help. He hovered nearby, as he always did, reading or watching TV, giving nothing away. It was as though his silence was a constant, unspoken presence.
I had, however, my own task to focus on—finding Dorian Vincze. And it was turning out to be far more difficult than I had ever anticipated.
I started with the usual crowd at the pub, asking my friends and even Hajnal if they'd ever heard of him. But they hadn't. Then I went to some of my more questionable acquaintances in the underworld, hoping one of them might have a lead. But again, nothing. After the third dead end, frustration began to creep in. The list of people I knew was vast, yet none of them could help me. Not once did I find a connection that pointed to Vincze.
That's when I decided to switch gears.
If there was anyone who knew everything—even how many times someone had visited the restroom in a day—it was Ruben. So, late at night, I decided to pay him a visit. This time, I left all my friends behind, knowing that they wouldn't be much help in this search.
I knocked on his door, hearing the familiar sound of a camera lens adjusting, followed by a squealing noise that could only be described as a rat in distress—or it could have just been Ruben.
"W-what are you doing here?" he squeaked through the microphone.
"Wanna guess?" I grinned, my voice dripping with mock cheer. "I came for information."
"Leave!" he snarled in response.
"If you don't let me in..." I threatened, raising a rat that I'd caught on my way over.
I immediately recognized the dark blue collar—the signature of Ruben's rats. The animal squirmed in my hand, screeching in panic.
"Amber!" Ruben's voice broke, full of panic. "Not Amber!"
"Are you going to let me in or not?" I demanded, and before he could protest further, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open.
I stepped inside, walking straight up to Ruben's study on the second floor. The door was already ajar, and I didn't hesitate to enter.
He was right there, glaring at me with eyes full of hostility, trying to act tough, but it was hard to take him seriously when he barely reached my shoulders. The little fat mouse.
"Give me Amber back, or you'll regret it," he spat.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You'll get her back, safe and sound, if you answer a few questions."
His eyes darted to the rat in my hand, which was squirming pitifully, and he winced, looking close to tears.
"O-okay!" he stammered, and I tossed the struggling creature into his arms.
Ruben cradled it carefully, muttering to it softly as if trying to calm it. He walked back to his desk, clearly unwilling to admit how much he'd just given in.
"What do you want?" he asked, settling into his chair, his gaze warier than before.
I crossed my arms, trying to hold back the frustration building inside me. "I need information about Dorian Vincze."
"A moment," Ruben muttered, then began furiously slapping at his keyboard.
"That's strange..." His voice trailed off as his eyes flicked over the screen, following the lines of code scrolling at an almost impossible speed.
"What is it?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"I'm not seeing anyone by the name of Dorián Vincze in town," he replied, uncertainty lacing his words.
"Keep looking," I insisted, my voice low and demanding. "Dig through everything you can. See if you can find any scraps of information."
Ruben didn't find a thing, even after ten minutes.
"Alright," I said, tapping my foot impatiently. "Look up his birth year—1993."
He hammered away at the keys again, his eyes scanning the screen, but this time he muttered under his breath, "This is even stranger... There's no record of anyone born with that name in '93... Not in the three years before or after."
I clicked my tongue in frustration.
"Are we looking for a ghost here?" Ruben muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "It's like he doesn't even exist."
I clenched my fist. "This is harder than I thought."
Ruben leaned back in his creaky chair, folded his hands, and sighed. "If I can't find him, then there's no way he exists. It's that simple."
"I must find him," I said, my voice determined as I began to pace, my mind racing with possibilities.
"Tell me, Ruben, there are three top informants in this town, right?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied, looking bored.
I was third on the list, Ruben being first, thanks to his rats.
"Who's second?" I pressed.
He tilted his head, clearly thinking. "I don't really know him."
"I didn't ask if you knew him," I reminded him. "I asked who he is."
Ruben let out a long breath. "His name is Zénó."
"And where can I find him?" I pushed.
"The Goblin's owner," he said with a shrug, "though not many know that."
Without wasting another second, I stood up and turned toward the door.
"Shaytan," Ruben called after me. I stopped but didn't turn around.
"Are you involved in something that's none of your business again?" he asked, his voice tinged with something like concern.
"Come on," I said with a half-smile, "I'm just paying a debt."
"Oh," Ruben said quietly, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.
I hesitated for a moment, then grinned devilishly. "If you tell me to take care of myself, I swear I'll kick you."
Ruben's voice softened, his usual sarcasm replaced by something more serious. "I just want to ask you not to come back here... at all, in the future."
I paused, then smirked. "I'll think about it," I said, letting the tension hang in the air. A devilish grin spread across my lips. "Actually, I thought about it. You're asking too much of me."
As I turned to leave, I reached into my pocket and casually dropped a gold bar into Ruben's lap. His eyes widened, the disbelief clear on his face as he stared at the heavy metal in his lap.
I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What? I told you last time, I'm paying up, no?" I said, my voice light, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ruben just sat there, stunned, the gold bar weighing down on his lap like a secret too heavy to carry. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Then his eyes met mine, and for the first time, there was something different in them.
The shift was subtle but unmistakable.
He finally muttered, "You really… You weren't lying."
I just grinned and turned toward the door. "Would I ever lie about something like this?"
His gaze followed me, a mix of astonishment and disbelief, as the door clicked shut behind me.
(...)
The Goblin Café sat nestled between the shelter of two massive trees on King Street. The terrace, with its rows of black armchairs and glass tables, provided seating for those who preferred to experience the city's hustle and bustle while enjoying their orders.
The café's name, Goblin Café, was scrawled in simple, large handwriting across the peach-colored wall, standing out in contrast to the calming atmosphere.
It was the only café in the entire city catering exclusively to monsters—humans don't typically drink coffee at 8 PM, the shop's opening time, unless they're working the night shift. Besides, people like me don't come here unless they're feeling reckless—monsters don't exactly love mixed-bloods.
I entered, the bell above the door chiming softly. For a brief moment, they didn't notice me, allowing me a chance to take in my surroundings. The interior was dim, bathed in a kind of twilight that was easier on the eyes of more nocturnal patrons.
The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air. Inside, the layout mirrored the terrace — chairs and glass tables scattered across the room, each adorned with little trinkets and drinks trays.
It was still early, so the crowd was light—only about a dozen monsters. They'd told me it was busier at night. Near the entrance, two mages were chatting idly, while in a far corner, a shapeshifter sipped black tea with serene elegance, absorbed in a stack of papers that seemed far too mundane for this place.
Closer to the counter, several shapeshifters were engaged in quiet conversation. The counter itself was positioned in the middle of the room, offering various coffee machines, and, much to my surprise, a beer tap. The shelves behind the counter held an assortment of spirits, with two price lists posted above them.
I slid onto one of the cushioned bar stools in front of the counter.
The bartender, a man in his late fifties, gave off the distinct scent of a shapeshifter—a sly fox, to be exact. Despite his age, he dressed sharply, the same as a waiter in a high-end restaurant, complete with a bow tie. He was busy wiping down a glass.
I turned my attention to the group of shifters nearby, but before I could relax, a low growl came from beside me.
"Mongrel!"
Great. Just what I needed. I sighed deeply, silently praying Ruben hadn't sent me here to die. I turned to face the snarling wolf who was already looming next to me.
"Get out of here, mongrel!" he barked.
Mongrel? Really? I thought, but kept my cool.
Another sigh escaped me. "I'm not in the mood for this. Can't you just ignore me?"
He grabbed my shirt, yanking me up from my seat. Well, guess that's a no.
"Would you mind letting me go?" I asked, but the wolf only snorted, snarling louder in my face.
I sighed yet again, this time with more finality. "Fine, you want to do this? Let's."
I reached for his wrist, twisting it with enough force to dislocate it. The wolf howled in pain, his face contorting as his body began to shift—the transformation was already starting.
"Back off," a raspy voice called from the shadows in the corner.
The wolf froze, its eyes wide with fear as it turned toward the voice. I was equally startled, having completely overlooked the figure in the café when I entered. Only when he spoke did I realize someone else was there.
The stranger was imposing, his frame tall and broad. As he took a few steps forward, I could finally make out his features. The man appeared to be in his early fifties, his auburn hair laced with strands of grey. His face was heavily lined, with a scar running through one eye, and his lips curled into a dangerous half-smile.
"That mongrel saved my son's life," he said with a voice as gravelly as the earth.
"What?" The wolf and I spoke in unison, both of us equally shocked.
We exchanged a look, a silent challenge in our eyes, before turning back to the old man, silently waiting for an explanation. The stranger took a few more steps toward me, and I had to crane my neck to look up at him—and I'm a hundred and ninety centimeters tall.
He towered over me by a good head and was at least three times my width. He looked like a giant from some old folk tale, the kind you'd expect to come lumbering out of the woods. With a satisfied puff from his cigar—which smelled sweeter than honey—he flashed me a wide grin and ruffled my hair. His hands were so massive, they could've swallowed my head whole.
"Erm..." I muttered, blinking in confusion. "I don't understand what's going on."
Meanwhile, the wolf, his ears flattened and tail between his legs, scurried back to his pack.
The old man scratched at his stubbled chin, his brow furrowed in thought. "Are you the fallen king's brat? The resemblance is negligible."
"Excuse me?" I stammered, trying to get his attention. This was all moving far too fast for me to process.
I shifted into polite mode, a switch I didn't usually make. When was the last time I'd used that word? Had I ever? In any case, I figured being extremely polite would be my best shot at surviving this encounter with the Grizzly.
"I don't understand," I repeated, this time a little more firmly.
"You're kind of short," he mused, apparently not listening to me, his hands wandering to feel my biceps. "You eating enough, kid?"
"Sir," I interjected, desperate to bring his attention back to the matter at hand.
He grinned at me, his expression as wide as his hands were large. He patted my shoulder with such force that I thought he might dislocate it. "Come on, don't be so formal. Makes me feel ancient," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Call me Vid, everyone else does."
"All right, Mr. Vid," I said slowly, still trying to wrap my head around everything. "Do we know each other?"
He rolled his eyes. "I told you, no formalities, kid. Just Vid. And hold on a second!" He suddenly shouted to the other side of the room, "Alfonz! Get over here, you won't believe who's here!"
From behind a door that blended so seamlessly into the paneling I hadn't noticed it before, another figure appeared. The door opened without a sound, not even a creak—probably why I'd missed it earlier.
"Hi!" the boy said cheerfully.
I blinked. It was the same kid who had collapsed into my lap just weeks ago. On closer inspection, he looked significantly better. The pale, sickly color had returned to his cheeks, though to be fair, it wasn't hard to look better than someone half-dead.
"I'm Alfonz," he said, offering me a hand. "Sorry, I didn't thank you properly before. My dad was so worried, he was about to tear the whole town apart looking for me. I didn't want to cause him more trouble."
I didn't care much for his excuse; I hadn't even noticed his departure. If anyone had been worried, it must have been Alex, but I nodded anyway. I figured I'd let him know the kid was alive, just to ease his nerves a bit.
That was when the Grizzly took a huge, friendly swing at my back, and I could swear I heard a few of my ribs crack. My lungs felt like they'd been punctured.
"Come on, kid, I'll buy you a drink!" he boomed.
With that, he practically dragged me to one of the bar stools and plopped down next to me. His son, clearly eager to get out of the spotlight, hurried back to the door from which he'd come.
The bartender, who had been silently watching the scene unfold, finally spoke up. "How may I help?"
It wasn't until then that I noticed the slight narrowing of his eyes — they weren't closed, just perpetually squinting.
"A hot chocolate, please," I said, nodding.
The bartender shot a glance at the Grizzly and added, "Please don't make too big a show of it, Vid. You'll frighten my customers."
"So, what brings you to this fine establishment, kid?" the Grizzly asked, casually leaning back on his stool.
"I'm looking for someone," I replied. "His name's Zénó. He's the second-best informant in town."
The bartender smiled slightly, placing his hand on his chest in an exaggerated bow.
"You?" My eyes widened in surprise.
"Personally," he said, still grinning, before returning to the task of preparing my hot chocolate. "What are you looking for, Shaytan?"
I wasn't surprised that he knew exactly who I was. It seemed like everyone in town did.
"I'm looking for someone who's in town," I replied, my voice quieter. "His name's Dorián Vincze."
The bartender placed my steaming hot chocolate in front of me, topped with whipped cream and a little scoop of vanilla ice cream that began to melt the moment it hit the surface.
"Unfortunately," he said, his smile fading only slightly, "I'm not aware of anyone by that name around here."
He went back to wiping down the counter, as though our conversation had never happened.
This was much harder than I thought.
After a moment of reflection, I quickly finished the sweets, murmuring my thanks, and stood to leave. Zénó and the Grizzly both encouraged me to pop by again sometime if I felt like it, and I nodded, assuring them I would.