It was a dark and stormy night.

The tempest raged outside, thunder rattling the blinds as Fenrir gripped another shot glass of cheap whisky with his mouth, tipping it back. The liquor trickled down his throat as he crunched the glass, adding a sharp sting to the burn. The stench of smoke hung heavy in his room, clouding the air.

Business was bad. There was no stack of unpaid rent notices on a desk, no final warning that the arcanite would be cut off, but Fenrir Stormrider, Private Wyvern hadn’t gotten a client in months.

Maybe it was time to close up shop. Maybe the world had moved past the need for a private wyvern. Time passed, eras changed, and Fenrir hadn’t changed with them.

It certainly had nothing to do with his office being in a dorm, nor with only a half-dozen people who had access.

The door to his office slammed open at the same time as a crack of lightning, and Fenrir was momentarily blinded by the light.

A dame stood in his door. Pretty, with burning wings and an attitude to match. Usually all her feathers were in order, but right now, she was a flaming mess, practically sobbing into her mango juice. A little birdie, here to dish.

“Brrrrpt?”

She had a case. It stank, but a case was a case, and it wasn’t like Fenrir had clients beating down the door. Her cookies were as tasty as anyone’s.

Someone had thrown up in the dorm hallway, and Auri wanted Fenrir to get to the bottom of who’d done it, and if anyone was going to get ill from it. Not the most glamorous of cases, but the glamorous ones never came to him. Those went to the watch, all pretty and shiny. No, the dark, dirty underside of the School was where Fenrir lurked.

Fenrir put on his hat, and left his office. He took an experimental sniff of the air.

Ah yes. Students. Iona and Elaine had crammed two beds into one room, moving the desk and chair to another. They were enjoying themselves, finding small comfort in each other’s arms as the world fell apart. Skye and Reinhard were out, attempting to better themselves in spite of the bleak prospects that awaited them all off the island.

Fenrir roamed the dingy hallways of the School dorms, walking on his wings and legs, tail lashing behind him. He could fly now, but the hallways were closing in on him, becoming too narrow to easily fly in. The rain could be heard even from here, the gale winds wild and fierce. His nose went to the ground, sniffing and tracing back to the scene of the crime.

It didn’t take him long to find it. Someone had spewed chunks all over the entrance to the dorm, students stepping over it with barely a look of disgust. Typical. Too small for the fuzz to handle, and nobody would pay them off to investigate.

Fenrir gingerly sniffed the… contents… trying to work out who it could’ve been by.

The stench of half-digested booze made him reel, but it should be expected at the School. Nobody could face the cruel realities of life sober.

There were meats and grains, and some brown lumpy things mixed in with the rest.

“Fenrir! No! Bad wyvern!” Iona yelled from behind him.

It had been a setup! The dame had framed Fenrir for the crime! She’d brought the heat onto him. Fenrir didn’t know why, but that was unimportant at this moment. The important part was to escape, before the hired goon could practice for her chiropractic degree.

Fenrir fled through the door, spreading his wings into the storm and letting the gale lift him up. The goon vanished into the mist below.

Fenrir chewed over the pieces of the puzzle, as lightning struck him time and time again.

Who wanted to throw up in the entrance of the dorms? Who benefited from such a senseless act? There was always someone who benefited, gems making a wonderful clink as they changed hands.

Why frame Fenrir? Well, that was an easy one. Only Fenrir’s landlady would miss him when he was gone, and even then the only thing she’d miss was an eviction lawsuit.

There were no answers to be found up here in the clouds. Fenrir dove down, looking for one of the seedy bars that School students were known to set up. Illicit, but a few greased palms had the cops looking the other way.

The place didn’t even have a name.

Fenrir prowled his way to the bar, only for the bouncer to block his way.

“Dude, we’ve told you, you’re not allowed in.”

Fenrir growled at the bouncer, making an elegant argument why he should be permitted. It was different this time.

“No.” The bouncer crossed his arms.

Fenrir narrowed his eyes, but left.

They were in on it as well.

How deep did this conspiracy run? Who else was in on it?

What was it all for?

Well, the perpetrator always returned to the scene of the crime, and that was where Fenrir was heading to next. The heat should be off by now.

Fenrir fought against the winds, landing by his dorm.

Gone!

The cleaners had come! All evidence of the crime had been removed! Whatever dastardly deed they had wanted to accomplish had been done! Fenrir was too late to stop them!

It was time to admit defeat. It was time to face the music, and call in the big guns.

Head hung low, Fenrir dragged himself back to his office.

“Hey Fenrir, you ok? Auri explained it wasn’t you, I’m not mad.” Iona asked him.

Fenrir hesitated, then curled up on Iona’s lap. It was a good spot, with good scratches.

More hands joined in as Elaine sat down next to Iona, the brunette’s hands joining with the blonde’s to get in all the right spots.

Fenrir settled in, growling contentedly. He sniffed the air, Auri’s baking, and his pay, smelling heavenly, mixed in with just the slightest hint of old booze and meat.

His eyes flew open, and he shook off his adoring fans. Stretching his wings, he hop-glided to the hallway, put his nose to the floor, and started to trace the scent.

It took him three steps to end at a door. A door he knew all too well.

Varuna!

The unicorn had done it!

It didn’t answer the why, but the redheaded dame hadn’t asked for a why. She’d just wanted a who. Speaking of, the dame was here now, with the sweet, sweet sound of cookies rattling around.

“Brrrpt?”

“Varuna.” Fenrir growled back, barely managing to force the word out.

“BRrrrrpt!”

Fenrir couldn’t believe it either, but who knew what motivated the unicorn.

The case was closed. It wasn’t as closed as he’d like it, but it was the rare case that stitched itself up all neat and tidy. A few loose ends wouldn’t hurt anyone, and more importantly, he’d gotten paid. Paid in the only currency that mattered. Tasty, tasty cookies.

Another successful day for Fenrir Stormrider, Private Wyvern.