Maorrighan rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulder blades relaxing as the building seemed to relax. His eyes flashed and the dusty yellow lights floated a few feet above the table. He dimmed the electrical lights using the switch on the wall. Soon, he would be open. The sun would set, humans trapped in their homes. Nonhumans had multiple ways of getting around unseen. Not all, but enough. He was most keen to know about a certain sprite. Hopefully, it all went to plan. The grouchy little bugger did not belong in the company of wizards. And really, the grumpy ball of pessimism was a bit adorable.

Lazy buggers they were. Wizards, not sprites nor said grumpy bugger. Always expected to come easy and rarely wanted to pay the price. While mages were considered wizards and warlocks, wizards and warlocks were not considered mages. They (mages, not wizards and warlocks, keep up) were one step below a sage. The ultimate magic user. Very few had ever reached that level. But it came with heavy sacrifices, a price that most would not pay. He was content with his status as a mage. He had become known – very well known, too well known, extremely well known and feminized – after Merlin had villianized him as a dangerous magical figure.

Well, Merlin hadn’t been wrong. Maorrighan was dangerous and ruthless (only vindictive in the rarest of cases [Merlin]) and sure, Maorrighan had been known to look pretty in a dress (don’t take it out of context, he had shapeshifted into a local friend to sneak into a party to get back as the asshole who thought it would be funny to beat the living hell out of her… it had been funny to see the look of pure horror on his face (he was very angry back the. Rightly so though)). But for whatever reason, history remembered him as this villainous bitch. Which, quite frankly while accurate, was not the actual truth. He hadn’t given a damn about Camelot, Arthur or Merlin even. It was about… he shook his head. No. It was past. And the story had been told wrong. If he ever saw Merlin again… not even the Inquisitor’s vast army could stop him.

“I’m home!” a voice rang through. “You there?”

Of course he was! Where else would he be?!

Mordred groaned as he entered the Witch’s Bar, throwing his jacket on the nearby booth. “I’m home!” his voice rang out, almost as if echoing. It was a cool magical effect he’d learned from a biting gnome. He rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulder blades relaxing. “You there?” He saw Maorrighan’s smiling face.

“Hey, how was your day?” Underneath Moarrighan’s glamoured eyes were colors that would match Mordred’s. He leaned forward on the counter, a glass of water appearing before him. He took a small sip from it. There were many similarities in their appearances, but he didn’t mind it.

“You know, when will everyone learn that Squid is never allowed behind the wheel? I found Cerberus passed out, hanging halfway out the door. If he were really a dog, his tongues would be hanging out.”

“I’m sure it actually was,” Maorrighan raised an eyebrow. “It’s them or they. You know they don’t like anyone thinking they’re one individual.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, shaking his head. “But I gave their furry ass a ticket.”

“A detective giving out traffic tickets?”

“Naw. I got the cops that stopped them to give them one,” he grinned wickedly. “I mean, they won’t pay it, either of them, but I made my point.” He lifted his hand an a small ball of light floated. The smile slowly left his face. “I got a call about a rogue sprite in the area.” The ball of light made a soft whistling sound. “Strangest thing, though, its handler wasn’t harmed, just paralyzed.” Their eyes met. Maorrighan’s glamour had worn off. “Your name was floating around, but you know, the thing is, we couldn’t connect anything with you. No, it was Orge’s Eyes.” He stood up, crossing his arms. “I don’t want to know anything, but I do know a vuldaberger when I smell one. Sprites and Pixies… have a unique reaction when just smelling them, don’t they?”

They both knew.

“Whatever do you mean?”

They both knew.

“When their blood is mixed in, it glows… when you make a mage drink it… it reveals hidden paths, lies. Secrets.” It also rendered said mage, wizard, witch or warlock into a paralyzed state. Fully conscious, but totally immobile.

“So? What does this have to do with me?”

“Old Woman. Merlin. The wizard this happened to… a lackey of Merlin.” He had grown up on stories of the Old Woman and the one who had put a stop to her. Also, he had heard from others the story of Merlin. And what happened between them. He wasn’t surprised the man was involved indirectly.

Maorrighan’s face didn’t show any expression, any emotion, nothing. Except mild curiosity. “I had nothing to do with it Mor. I don’t take orders, I just serve the drinks they need. We’ve been over this.”

“Uh-huh,” Mordred rolled his eyes. “And I just happened to see Squid speeding in the pup’s car? What a coincidence she stopped by here first.” He slid onto the stool, the two men refusing to be the first to comment. It was a strange battle of wills. No malice, but the refusal to acknowledge what they both already knew and confirmed. “I haven’t and I won’t say anything. You’re one of the reasons why this city doesn’t have a higher crime rate. But… be careful, alright? You know that Merlin has been untouchable for some time now.”

“Merlin can chew on bamboo for all I care,” Maorrighan grumbled. “He can eat–” He stopped seeing the look on the detective’s face. “Fine!” He crossed his arms, looking irritated he hadn’t been able to finish the sentence. “Any new curfews tonight?”

“All in by sunset, no time given,” he ran his hand through his nearly white hair. “I don’t get why. He’s being–” And here came the professor lecture.

“He understands herd mentality,” Maorrighan sighed, obviously predicting he’d have to lecture. “He knows how to inspire just enough fear to make them rather stay with the devil they know, than the one they don’t.” He slid his hand across the bar, a trail of tarot cards appearing. “He scares the humans with the shadows, but scares the nonhumans with the light. He is effective in using the least for the most effect. Too much, and they riot and panic. Too little, and they think him a paranoid fool.”

“Is he paranoid?”

“A powerful man surrounded by power-hungry blood merchants? ‘course he isn’t,” the older man chuckled. “The Grand Inquisitor is no hero, but a very dangerous villain. I would not want to be in his crosshairs.” There was reason why people who went missing by his [Inquisitor’s, not Maor’s] hand stayed missing. He pulled out a card, it was blank. “You notice, unlike most movies with a similar plot, he doesn’t have fliers, propaganda, any of it? Those who speak about the injustice are just laughed off the streets. He’s ensured that the people believe, even if they hear or see different things, they are safe and healthy. Fine. Their leader, lord, king, what have you, cares for them and doesn’t tell them what they don’t need to know so they’ll be safe. The few rebels, traitors, again, what have you, don’t succeed because he isn’t just an asshole tyrant.”

He had seen the rise and fall of kings, queens, emperors. This Inquisitor had clearly learned from their mistakes. The people were happy, well fed and, frankly, safe. In the beginning of his campaign, the Inquisitor had been transparent, open, created himself as the villain. When the political opponents attack him – well, the media and public revealed the opponents’ flaws as well. It had been a masterful attack – and the Inquisitor only had to cut himself a little to make his enemies bleed out. He listened, observed and patiently waited while his enemies attacked and yelled and debated. He merely… waited.

Then once he had been secured in his power, he rolled out his initiatives slowly – like raising the temperature to a frog in a pot. He had paid actors to attempt to stir up dissent, to call him out on his own corruption and misdeeds. He didn’t bother talking much, only a few words that were straight to the point.

He did allow the people to talk badly of him, however, it was because he understood the need to vent and rant. Now, the people were loyal to him, some even devoted. He probably had no idea how his initiatives also benefited the humans as well as the nonhumans.

“The Inquisitor understands what we need and provides what we need. He doesn’t give a damn about what we want,” Maorrighan saw his somewhat unamused expression. “Alright, think back to the kings and queens of long ago – were they all benevolent? No. Did they give a damn about the poor? Majority couldn’t care. But how did they stay so long? They gave the people what they needed.” Even if they had been bloody tyrants.

“But–”

“Mordred, enough!” Maorrighan voice echoed and vibrated through the room, the temperature lowering. “I am done discussing this.” He threw the dish towel onto the counter. “This is not a debate. The Inquisitor is the one in charge – you are one of his lawmen, whether or not you choose to accept it. We are not to speak of this again in a public place.”

“Dad–”

The two colored eyes glowed violently. Sometimes, Mordred forgot just how scary his father was – how dangerous, vicious and ruthless he could be. The legends didn’t do him justice. He had become that when his mother died but that’s all his father would say. He took a step back and held up his hands. “Look, I’m sorry. I was–”

He watched his father close his eyes and the room warmed. There was a calmness that replaced the anger. “No, I’m sorry,” a small smile. “I sometimes forget… nevermind. It’s a busy night, so go get some rest, alright?” Both could hear the door open, the first customer of the night. “Spell the door if it gets too loud in here.” His voice sounded old, tired.

Mordred nodded. He wondered at the stories his father never told: the ones that still haunted him, centuries later. He returned a smile and disappear through a black door.

Maor was smiling at the bright eyed man sitting at the bar, placing a simple glass of water before him. He studied the tallish man, noting the slight tension in the arms, the flicker of annoyance as the jaw clenched occasionally. Then, the eyes that were too bright to be genuinely happy or content. He was concerned about his quiet customer. “Julian,” he began to speak, but then decided against it. Julian was not the type to spill personal drama or troubles. He didn’t like having his life pried into.

And the bartender respected that. Instead, he just decided to be adorably annoying and study the man so lost in his thoughts. Julian wasn’t tall nor short for a man, indeed, he was quite average. A nearly forgettable face – in fact, no one could ever seem to quite remember who Julian was – with a nearly invisible presence. The eyes were human as well, nothing spectacular or alluring. But Maor knew the secret behind Julian – it wasn’t his appearance that drew the mage’s interest – and he definitely wasn’t sharing. It wasn’t his secret to tell.

“So, how’s Mordred?” Julian spoke after another moment. And there it was, the calculating, highly intelligent and mocking glance that no one else had ever picked up. “I heard he ran into some trouble today…”

“Squid hijacked Cerberus’s car,” he shrugged. “Everyone knows it at this point, I think.” And how she almost ran over a she-pig demon and a ghost… or was that she made someone into a ghost? No, they’d have heard about it on the news. So, she just ran through a ghost. Could someone run through a ghost?

“Oh, not that,” Julian waved his hand. Everyone did know a different version of today’s events. Gossip mongers.

“It’s not?” What had his son done now? Oh, please let it not be what he thought it was. EJ had already thrown enough books at Mordred that there wasn’t a place where he wasn’t bruised. The two men really hated each other.

“Nope. But it’ll probably be known by tomorrow. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you.”

“Tell me what?” the mage could feel his temper heat. Or maybe Mordred had mouthed off to his boss again, triggering the wolfman something fierce. (The werewolf was actually pretty docile for such a mean tempered creature. Pretty much a teddy bear compared to the other wolves in the city). No one like Sheriff Lucan angry. Or did he get badly injured and not dare to tell his father?! That was the worst of all! He’d–

“Maor?” Julian raised an eyebrow, clearly guessing the single father’s train of thought. “Breathe and actually wait for me to tell you before you look ready to summon Bloody Murder.”

“Right. Right. Whatdidhedothelittlebastard?!”

“Threw a Hunter through a wall,” Julian said. “Then pretty sure, if my information is correct, he turned the other two into chickens.”

Chickens? Maorrighan was rather disappointed. Surely Mordred could’ve done better than that. He shook his head. He saw how the other man tensed slightly as two more patrons entered the bar. Julian either came in as the first customer or the last one. Never during the busiest times. It was as if he didn’t like the crowds or maybe didn’t want to be recognized. No matter, it wasn’t his business anyway. The Hunters were his business. “They’re still snooping in the city?”

“Yeah, apparently the Orge’s Eyes had to be shut down and EJ was closed when they tried to get in,” Julian shrugged. “I’m assuming they were sent out by Merlin to hunt down something priceless. I’m surprised he was stupid enough to hire them.” Their eyes met, neither believing Merlin would make such a mistake. “He attempted to make an attack against the Grand Inquisitor, no doubt.”

“What?” Maorrighan nearly tripped standing up. He really was hoping that he hadn’t heard what he just heard. “Please tell me this is one of your not funny jokes.”

“Wish it was. Apparently tried to use some of the supernatural lawmen to incite. I have a feeling that’s where the Hunters came in. Luckily, they all came out relative unscathed and only one set turned to chickens. But imagine if his lawmen were to start turning against him?”

Maorrighan felt his insides churn but kept it off his face. His thoughts raced to Mordred who was always one to fight for the weak and try to do the right thing. Merlin wouldn’t… would he? He would. Bastard.

Julian waved his hand before the mage’s face. “Relax. You really think that the Inquisitor doesn’t know what his lawmen think of him?” he leaned back in his chair. “He does. Believe me, he doesn’t care what Mordred says – I’m pretty sure he’s heard worse from a certain blonde,” Squid, “and anyway, Mordred is one of the most honest detectives about. It’s like he really can’t tell a lie.”

Maorrighan groaned and rolled his eyes. How did someone who shared the same blood be unable to lie? “Please tell me he didn’t.” Mordred did not tell his boss that his own father had purposefully sent a curse after the ex-sheriff had purposefully placed Mordred in a life or death situation several years back. Of course, Mordred had found out bout the corruption and gave his exboss the heads up he was reporting him. The new Sheriff aka the wolfman was an absolute gem compared to that corrupted piece of shit.

“He did.”

“He outed me?”

“No, you just did.”

“Damnit!”

Julian chuckled and shook his head. “I always knew you were responsible for that. I don’t think Mordred actually knows who was responsible for it,” he slid off the seat, towering over Maorrighan. “I’m going to head off. I have fifty million things to do before reporting to the Grand Inquisitor.” He offered a weak smile and grabbed his jacket. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t know that you’re related to that Sprite incident.” With that he left, chuckling as Maorrighan let loose a strings behind him. The hell he knew what he said. Either way, Mordred would rue the day he made his papa fret with worry!