Chapter 1: In Which a Crime is Announced

Some notes on a former client's first impression of Scarlet Letter:

A young earth pony mare, perhaps in her twenties, perhaps a bit past. A well-trimmed coat, orange in color. A mane and tail of dark-brown hair, perpetually unkempt, the enemy of every groomer and stylist in the land as well as many brushes. Her cutie mark is apparently unrelated to her profession, and appears to be a bright gold butterfly alighted on the edge of an open novel with a rose growing from the page. Bright eyes, constantly darting about a room as if trying to take in every detail at once. Her voice is a bit deeper than expected for such a small mare. Highly animated, prone to sudden emotional outbursts as well as periodic lapses into awkward silence. Winces in bright light. In short: not a favorable first impression.

Scarlet Letter's opinion of her client's description: "This is why I prefer to work by correspondence."

It began at eight-thirty in the morning, as Scarlet's days usually did.

Life, in her opinion, was a series of challenges to overcome and puzzles to solve when you reduced it down to its base elements. The most difficult of these were the ones you encountered so often that solving them no longer resulted in a sense of satisfaction. For instance: convincing yourself that it is better to wake up at a reasonable hour and accomplish something productive than to spend the rest of the morning with your face in a pillow and a warm blanket pulled over your head. At this point the act of convincing herself was so time-consuming a task it nearly drove her further under the covers.

Still, it was Tuesday, and Tuesdays were always a little bit easier to wake up for. So she steeled herself and solved the puzzle using the most expedient solution: kicking her nice, warm blanket halfway across the room. It floated through the air for a moment before draping itself over a haphazardly assembled pile of novels sat in the middle of her bedroom floor.

She dragged herself out of bed with protestations and set about the task of making ready for the day. This, too, was a puzzle with an expedient solution: always start with the ritual of the morning brew. She could do, and had done, this relatively elaborate task in her sleep. Wander to the kitchen. Find the jug of filtered water. Avoid the broom she had knocked over while making dinner last night. Pour the water into her automated Quick Fix's Self-Fixin' Kettle(tm). Tap the little ruby at its base to energize the thaumic coil. Watch in blissful glee as steam began to rise.

Find the cabinet. Move the box of expired cereal she had forgotten to throw out. Find the tea chest. Measure the leaves into the strainer. Pour the kettle just as the water finished boiling. Allow herself a few precious moments to yawn as the leaves steeped. Discard leaves. Lift teacup to lips and—

A small 'fwoomph' sound came from the living room. Scarlet frowned. It was far too early. Usually the 'fwoomph' waited until at least nine-thirty. If it happened now she would either have to wait to investigate it or interrupt the morning brew, both horrible options. She allowed herself to return to sipping her tea. If the morning 'fwoomph' was going to be so inconsiderate as to be early, it would simply have to wait until her timetable found it convenient. It said on her flier that she kept her own hours, and she had meant that, damn it.

Instead of walking through the opposite door of the kitchenette into her living-room-cum-office, she set her kettle to boil again and made her way back to her bedroom, where she freed the tower of novels from their blanket prison and began searching for her copy of Market Crash

It was ten in the morning and she was halfway through her third cup of tea by the time she finished reading Market Crash. She had become quite enamored with Short Stock's novels since he had published Lyre's Poker four years ago, and his latest novel was superior in almost every way. To think though—publically traded companies selling financial products backed by mortgages? What utter insanity! No regulatory agency in Equestria would have ever allowed the scheme to get started.

She sighed as she set the book down. It was about time, she supposed, to deal with the 'fwoomph'. She rather disliked cases she got via 'fwoomph'. Every so often she got one with enough intrigue she half-wanted to write a novel about it—girls, police chases, dastardly schemes, a twist in the third act and all.

Most of the time, though, they were rather dull. "Miss L., my husband has been spending far too much time with the colt down the street with the golden mane. I worry he's cheating on me—how can I tell?" "Miss L., last night someone stole my wife's heirloom silver—and I just know it was the help!" "Miss L., last night during our weekly bridge game, someone slipped poison joke into my aunt's tea"—and so on and so forth.

The problem with taking business from Canterlot clientele when cases were interesting was that they recommended you to their friends if you did well, and their friends recommended you to yet more friends, and soon you were overwhelmed by case after case that did not fit your services well. And that meant writing letter after letter patiently explaining that you were an official consultant specializing in fraud but willing to dabble outside it, not a private investigator willing to stalk someone's spouse.

Scarlet's living room was a wreck, as usual. The two short bookshelves by the kitchen door hadn't been dusted in a week, the rug was rumpled and still bore mud-stains from when she had walked home through that rainstorm three days ago, and the bronze statue of a dragon in the corner badly needed polishing.

She inspected the dragon statue's claws. Sure enough, the day's 'fwoomph' was between them: a letter, rolled into a small tube, tied with red ribbon, and marked with a wax seal indicating the noble house of origin. She recognized this one as being House Blueblood's which was something of a relief. The Prince rarely wasted her time when he requested her services, and unlike some minor houses he at least paid his fee on time when she accepted his cases. She'd used the proceeds from the last one to buy the very magic-mail statute this letter arrived via.

Breaking the seal, she studied the letter's contents and sighed. Not a waste of her time, but nothing exciting either. A simple case of blackmail. Blueblood had invited a few guests to a rather intimate party the week before. Now he had received an anonymous letter asking for money and informing him that should he fail to pay, photos would be leaked to the press of him in a rather compromising position, which Scarlet assumed meant that photos had been taken with the escort on top this time.

Really, it was all rather dull. Blueblood himself would be thoroughly confused about the solution, but that was because for all his good points he was never any good at understanding how ponies thought. At their core, ponies were puzzles too intricate puzzles , personalized to each mare and stallion, but puzzles nonetheless. If you removed everything extraneous and focused on what mattered most to your case, it was easy to build a model for how they would act—or react.

It shouldn't take long to solve Blueblood's problem at all—a quick scan of the guest list and what they had said to him before dinner would probably clear it up. She scribbled a request for further information on the back of his original note and placed the letter back in the dragon's claws before pressing its nose. There was a sudden 'fwoomph' as it sent out a small jet of green flame from its jaws which consumed the paper completely.

Scarlet stretched and sighed. She had caught up on her last three cases. What now? It was Tuesday, which meant—she was forgetting something, she knew. Was it her day to take the afternoon shift at Quills and Sofas—no, she had been let go the week before after arguing with the owner about prices. Job search day again? No, she'd dropped off her resume at Herbal Remedy's tea bazaar, she was a shoo-in there, it was just a matter of waiting. Conjure the Meeting club—no that wasn't until Friday. What was special about today?

She trundled back to the kitchen. No matter what it was, she'd remember it by the fourth cup of tea, she was sure.

She was about nine cups of tea into the day by five o'clock and hadn't remembered a thing. Still, the day had been productive enough. She had remembered to throw out that box of cereal for one thing, finished off the leftover pasta from last night, and rebuilt her Conjure deck a few dozen times before sleeving it up for the end of the week. She had even found time to let Blueblood know how to deal with his little extortion problem. Now she was curled up on her bed and mulling through her copy of The Mare Named Stardust Comet for roughly the three-hundredth time. Really, it was evenings like this that made life feel—

A sound from the living room, this time a 'thwump, thwump.'

That wasn't good. A 'fwoomph' from the living room could be annoying at the wrong time of day, but it was mail. Mail was ultimately easy enough to deal with. A 'thwump' meant the door knocker which meant company which meant trying to act presentable. Acting presentable was exhausting. Acting presentable meant trying not to be too excited or unusual, and it meant being charming. She could do charming sometimes, but it was hard and it always felt forced and strange and never lasted. With a sigh, she pulled herself away from her novel and raised her voice. "Who is it?"

She couldn't quite hear what was said but she knew the speaker instantly. The voice was muted, hushed, low and musical. And that only meant one thing.

Scarlet was instantly seized by a sense of desperation and panic as she fell out of bed onto her side painfully.

No. This was not good. She had one job.

Tuesday. Tuesday was date night. Date night meant Perique. Perique meant making everything perfect. If it was not perfect Perique might not be happy and unhappy Perique would be the worst thing in history. What had she done—had she done anything? Dishes. She had done dishes! No—no she hadn't, she'd washed a few plates but they were still in the sink. Sweeping? She had swept the—no, that was last Tuesday she had done that. Cleaning up the books—

Her eyes swept through her room, for the first time taking note of just how many piles of dog-eared paperbacks she had accumulated.

Nothing. She had done nothing. Luna and Celestia above she had let an entire day—probably an entire week slip by again. She was a bad pony. Why was she such a bad pony? She had one job, one simple job. How could she make up for this? She couldn't. She'd apologize. Or something. No that would be no good. Meet Perique at the door and tell her not to come in—no that was rude she couldn't be rude to Perique. Perique was—

"Is everything alright in there, Scarlet?"

Oh no. Perique was worried and she'd let herself in. Scarlet panicked—it must have been the noise she made falling off her bed. This was no good. There were no solutions left, only screaming panic and crisis. Maybe honorable suicide—but then Perique would be sad so that would also be a terrible solution. It was over life was over she was going to be so disappointed and oh no hoofsteps were getting closer and—

Scarlet felt a hoof gently tap her on the shoulder and hit an octave she'd thought previously impossible for her to reach as she shrieked in surprise, scrambling under her bed.

"Scarlet?"

Slowly, her body shaking with fear and embarrassment gnawing at the pit of her stomach, Scarlet poked her head out from under her bed.

Some notes on Perique Blend the batpony, as made by Scarlet Letter:

She walks like a pony who has no idea how beautiful she is, when if she simply spread her wings and chose to strut around town like a noble more than a few ponies might kneel before her on reflex. She says her mane and tail knot and she has trouble keeping them in order, but at most I count a few adorable curls in that flowing orange. She is gentle and kind, and never tries to stare back at you or demands that you meet her gaze, and instead smiles whenever you find the courage to do so. Her tufted ears are so expressive, her coat is lustrous, her voice a low song I can't help but want to hum along with, and every time I talk to her I feel guilty she ever fell for me. Because no pony like me deserves a mare as perfect as her, and if asked to choose between her and Luna as princess of the night I'd indict myself for treason.

Perique Blend's reaction to these notes when allowed access to Scarlet's private diary: "Oh. Gosh."

Scarlet felt herself tearing up as she slowly crawled out from under the bed. "Perique.. Perique oh my, I'm, Luna above, I'm so sorry—" she cut herself off as Perique cringed back reflexively. "Oh no that's right you don't like when we use the princess's names like that oh my—my word I'm, no, I, this—"

Scarlet shut her mouth as a leathery wing caressed her lips, silencing her. "Shhhh. Sshhhh. Calm thyself, little one," Perique cooed, using her wings to pet Scarlet and gentle her until her panic passed.

Scarlet let herself nuzzle against Perique's side, enjoying her touch. "I'm... I'm so... mess...sorry," she managed, finding it hard to choke the words through the ball of anxiety in her throat.

"Mess? Little one, thy mess is nothing but organized disorder. I'll invite thee to my smoking-room Tuesday next and give you a look at my notes for the next Scrivener novel's plot, and there will be a mess worthy of thy panic," Perique chuckled, playfully nibbling at Scarlet's ears as she continued soothing the panicked mare.

Scarlet slowly processed everything. Perique was here. Perique did not absolutely and utterly hate her because her house was a mess and she hadn't done any real work on a Tuesday. She was okay. Things were somehow okay. Perique had even lapsed into Old Colony-speak the way she always did when she began flirting. And called her little one. Perique was calling her little one. With a sigh of relief she pressed herself against the batpony. "T-thank you. M'sorry. I'll be okay."

Perique raised an eyebrow and waited a moment.

Scarlet ventured further. "I'll be okay... Miss?"

"There's a good girl."

Scarlet felt her cheeks light up with embarrassment. Several months into the relationship and it was still like this. She was smitten, good and hard.

"Shall we take a walk, little Scarlet? I have heard the moon will be unusually clear tonight, with the clouds needed for the great storm over in south Canterlot."

Scarlet nodded and nuzzled under Perique's chin, enjoying the warmth and the closeness. "I'd like that."

"And that is when yon priest of the night-mother does explain why he was bold enough to smash a few windows in the course of his evening walk."

Scarlet frowned. "Oof. You weren't joking—that is a bit of a mess. Are you sure the third act with the policemen is completely necessary?"

Perique sighed. "I was worried about that. Thy judgment is usually correct in such cases." Her wings drooped as her lips curled into a frown. "Perhaps I should scrap this one, begin with a new premise entirely—"

"My judgment is sometimes correct in these cases," Scarlet interrupted, pressing herself close to her marefriend and nuzzling her. "Not always! And I think it's super solid, it's just that I feel like the undercover policemen thing is going to get really confusing and it's probably not worth including just to reference The Mare who was Thursday."

Perique's dour expression broke as she chuckled, spreading her wing to hug Scarlet close. "See, thy sensibilities are quite often correct, down to naming my inspiration without me telling you—thou little minx."

Scarlet felt her cheeks flush as Perique leaned over to nibble the tip of one of her ears. It was all she could do to remain upright instead of falling to the ground and asking her marefriend to please take care of her right then and there, on a dirt lane by the edge of Whitetail Woods.

"Thou'rt thinking of asking me to take thee right here, on the edge of the woods, little one," Perique whispered into Scarlet's ear with a low growl.

"Was not," Scarlet said a bit too quickly. Then thought better of it. "Was. Yes. Absolutely was." She scuffed at the dirt with her hooves. There had been a reason she hadn't wanted to do it right here though. What was it? Was there any good reason to stop Perique from leaning over and nibbling the base of her neck, and stroking her flank, and oh heavens that felt delicious, and now she was being tackled and— "I remember now!" Scarlet blurted suddenly.

"Remember what, little one?" Perique had already forced Scarlet to the ground and now stood above her, her muzzle less than an inch from Scarlet's ear.

Scarlet grinned sheepishly. "Um... guess who completely forgot her collar in the aftercare room last time we were at the Society?"

Perique withdrew, chuckling, and Scarlet couldn't help whining in disappointment. "Well then, little minx, we'll have to discuss thy punishment on the way there, won't we?"

Scarlet felt her thought processes come to a screeching halt. She mumbled a barely-audible reply, knowing what Perique's response would be.

Sure enough, the batpony smiled down at her, only a little condescendingly. "What was that, little girl?"

"Y-yesmama," Scarlet mumbled, just a bit louder.

"There's a good girl. Now stay close and don't wander off. Tonight, thou and I shall enjoy all the pleasures."

"meep,"

Some notes on the Clocktower Society, made by Scarlet about a month after being accepted:

Big. Almost too big. It's a miracle the club is still even remotely secret. I think half of Ponyville is secretly a member. Actually, I'm pretty sure half the population of Canterlot are members. At least, all the rich ponies with time on their hooves are. I can't decide whether this is too much of a good thing or the best thing I've ever encountered.

This place was built by the kind of ponies who don't understand what "overkill" means, who build research labs for elaborate sex toys, comission architects to raise false cities to simply chase ponies through, and convert an elaborate cavern system into a transit route for the closest thing we have to social workers. And since I've been here, not one pony has told me I'm an annoyance, or a mess, or disgusting. When I can't look somepony in the eye, the worst they've done is turn it into an excuse to play out the scene a bit more. I'm not the strange pony here. I'm... normal.

Scarlet's addendum to her own notes, written a month after the fact:

In retrospect, I'm not sure if that says more about the ponies who built this place, or me.

The Clocktower Society was a veritable garden of earthly delights for an aspiring kinkster. Travel down one path and you could indulge in faux slave-auctions, complete with branding and transport for those truly committed to their kayfabe. Down another and you would reach the Storytellers guild, willing to temporarily implant new memories or personalities for a nominal fee, guaranteed purgeable at any point. Down still another and you could play the frightened prey in the City, running from particularly predatory dominants until they tracked you down and used you to their satisfaction.

In Scarlet's opinion, all of these were wonderful additions with their own charm but ultimately window dressing. The best place in the Society was beneath the feet of your mistress, wherever she happened to be at the time.

So it was that she found herself curled under a small table on the outskirts of the City, near a little cafe called the Hard Day's Night, enjoying the smell of fragrant herbal teas drifting from the cups set in front of its customers. It served as a bit of an intermediary ground between a full play area and an aftercare room, a place for dominants to gather and show off their obedient little pets to each other while enjoying a nice non-alcoholic drink, often a Clocktower-specialty "clocktail" potion but just as often a delicious tea or coffee.

In the case of a good little sub like herself, it was also an occasion to show how grateful one could be to her top.

Perique was only partially visible to her, seated as the batpony was in a chair by the table. Her hindlegs and hooves were all Scarlet could easily access from her position, curled beneath the table with her forehooves cuffed together and a leash and collar around her neck to remind her to be a good pet. But even with Perique out of sight, it was easy enough for an eager pet to show her devotion. Scarlet leaned her neck forward and began lapping at Perique's hooves, trying her best not to visibly gag in case her mistress looked down.

Hooves, like many things where sex was concerned, were more fun to eat than to taste. Perique was tidy enough to clean hers semi-regularly but even then Scarlet could taste the flavors of the dirt trail they had walked down, the sharp bite of the grass they'd lain in, and a slightly funky after-taste which never quite seemed to go away and which she was slightly embarrassed to ask Perique about. In short: they tasted terrible, and a regular pony would never in a million years take pleasure in cleaning them by tongue.

Perique lifted her left hoof and Scarlet slipped her entire mouth around it.

Good pets didn't worry about flavor, or after-taste. Good pets showed how much they loved being disciplined, and gentled, and trained. Tasting mama Perique's hooves was part of showing her devotion. The more she could do, the longer she could keep her tongue in place, the happier she knew Perique would be, and Perique being happy was wonderful, and magical, and perfect.

As if reading her sub's mind, Perique reached down at that moment and began to scritch just behind Scarlet's left ear. The earth pony felt her entire mind melt into an explosion of color and warmth and happiness as she let everything else go. Mama Perique was happy with her. She was being Very Good. Very Good little pets got rewards and—

"Clockface."

Scarlet blinked in surprise. Clockface? It was rare for ponies to use the "pause" safeword in an area like this, where most scenes were affectionate rather than disciplinary in nature. What's more, despite the voice coming from near her table, it hadn't been Perique's. Something must be wrong.

It was about at this moment of coming down suddenly from her obedience high that she realized Perique's hoof was still deep in her mouth, and didn't taste any better than when she had started. She spat it out hastily and gagged, trying to remove the aftertaste from her mouth.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your fun like this, but something serious has occurred, and we're trying to gather information."

Scarlet emerged from beneath the table to get a good look at the speaker, a bright yellow unicorn with a silver mane. It was her hoofcuffs which interested Scarlet more than anything- she could tell from the clasps and design that the speaker was a den mother, one of the many traveling aftercare-specialists and caretakers of the Society. A den mother interrupting play to make inquiries wasn't just a bit unusual, it was worrying.

"What seems to be the problem?" Perique asked, her proud smile evaporating into a look of concern.

"Does anyone here know a unicorn by the name of Floral Fragrance?:

Nopony at the cafe responded in the affirmative.

"She's a unicorn mare with...": The den mother leaned down and tapped the Pipsub device on her right foreleg, bringing up a description. "...a teal coat and pink mane, and wears a red collar. Her cutie mark is three flowers surrounding a perfume bottle. Have any of you seen a sub matching that description recently?"

Scarlet racked her memories. Teal coat and pink mane weren't enough to go on—she'd seen two ponies that might apply to since coming to the society that night alone, and there were many, many red-collared submissives. Unicorn mare narrowed things down some though, and the cutie mark was fairly distinct. Try as she might, she couldn't remember seeing anypony matching that description. "Why do you ask?" she ventured.

The den mother sighed. "It's alright. We're trying to follow her movements tonight. Everypony, I have some very troubling news."

Scarlet's breath caught in her throat. She'd never heard a den mother talk this way before. This wasn't just a minor worry or infraction then. Something capital-W Wrong had occurred. She fumbled with her society-issue hoofcuffs, easily unclipping them—she'd learned how to do that on her own in case of emergency in her first week there—as she listened.

"Earlier this evening, Miss Fragrance was found in the Borderlands area by one of our dominants. She was gagged and her Pipsub appeared to be malfunctioning. When we picked her up, one of the Torch Legion members found cotton wadding stuffed into her safety bell."

The cafe erupted with collective gasps and shrieks of near-horror. Scarlet looked at Perique, who had removed her dominant's mask and now looked stricken with terror and far too tense, as if worried about an unseen attacker.

The Clocktower Society was governed by three simple principles: All sexual activity, regardless of the level of intricacy involved, must be safe, sane, and consensual.

Consensual was a given, of course: At any time either a dominant or submissive felt a scene was too intense or uncomfortable, they had the right to pause it, slow it down, or end it entirely through the use of the three Society safewords.

Sane and Safe, however, were a bit more difficult in implementation for such a large organization. This was what had led to the development of the society's intricate color-coded collar and mask system, but also to the safety bell and pipsub, both of which could be used to communicate when a submissive was unable to speak. Three rings on a tail bell could end a scene as easily as a safeword, and every society member had been drilled to never silence a submissive without first checking their bell.

A gagged submissive with a silenced bell was worrying enough in its implications. A gagged submissive with a silenced bell in the Borderlands, where consent was implied unless safewords were invoked, was the stuff of nightmares.

Scarlet felt the blood begin to drain from her face.

One of the other submissives in attendance, a pegasus mare, raised her voice. "Was—was she—"

"No, thank the Flame," the den mother replied. "The first dominant who found her was quite observant and one of our more experienced members. He noticed her reactions were unusual and called Clockface to make sure she was alright. That's when he discovered the sabotage. She's currently recovering in one of our medical wings, and her pipsub and bell are currently being investigated further to determine the nature of the sabotage."

Scarlet frowned. One of the details here seemed... off. She raised her hoof. "Miss?"

"Yes?" The den mother looked down at Scarlet, still half-hidden under the table. "Do you have information related to this?"

"Not exactly, but I was wondering something." Scarlet tilted her head. "Did anypony check to make sure the enchantments on the safety bell were intact?"

The den mother blinked in surprise and nodded. "The first Torch Legion member on the scene did. He wasn't able to do a full scan but according to him, he saw no signs that the enchantments had been tampered with in any way."

"Interesting," Scarlet muttered before she could stop herself.

"If everypony else is satisfied, I'm going to return to check up on Miss Fragrance. If you remember anything or find more information which could be related to this incident, please bring it directly to the nearest den mother, guard, or legionnaire. Remember: in this society, safewords are law. Conspiring to harm another pony in this way goes against every foundational belief of the Clocktower Society." The den mother bowed her head. "For now, I suggest you all do your best to enjoy the rest of your evening."

She turned to leave, cantered a few steps away, and paused. "Ah, and I almost forgot: Clockface. You may resume play."

The cafe erupted with a buzz of whispers and rumors as Scarlet sat on her haunches, puzzling through what she had just heard.

The Clocktower Society was as secure a location as she had ever encountered. She had never seen an organization with as many byzantine rules and safeguards to ensure that as few ponies as possible came to harm during what was an inherently risky and stressful way to enjoy oneself. And tonight, somepony had almost managed to find a way to flout all of them—and maliciously, at that.

She looked at Perique who, despite the scene technically still being in progress again, was shivering. Perique had been to the borderlands before, when she wasn't playing mistress. Scarlet could only imagine what she was thinking—there were already members of the society who privately worried about the kind of ponies who enjoyed rape-play. To hear that ponies Perique might very well know had almost become accomplices in a real crime...

Scarlet gritted her teeth, then moved to her marefriend's side and nuzzled her. "Perique, I'm going to find her. And I'm going to make her sorry she ever messed with this place."

Perique's expression was a bit vacant, and her voice had fallen into the same hushed tones she usually spoke in rather than her Old Colony-tinted flirting-voice. "Who?"

"The rat-bastard. The bitch who did it. Our culprit. In fact..." Scarlet unclipped her own leash, gently setting it down—the time for being submissive was not the present, apparently. "If I may have everypony's attention," she announced in her loudest stage voice, leaping atop the table, "my name is Scarlet Letter, my trade is consulting detective, and I hereby declare I will solve the case of the Silent Bell in a week's time! I'll stake my reputation on it!"

She winced. That was too far, wasn't it? Based on the expressions of the ponies staring at her, almost definitely too far. Which meant Perique would be embarrassed or angry so she'd probably ruined everything and was now a good time to commit honorable suicide? Probably but then—

Oh wait Perique was hugging her really tight which was probably a good sign.

Perique nuzzled her cheek against Scarlet's. "We should probably go," she whispered into her sub's ear.

"This is a delightful idea and I am glad someone else thought of it," Scarlet replied, breaking into a trot as they hastily made their exit.

"Well, now I've done it. I'm sure at least one of the ponies back there is a member of my clientele from the big Flim-Flam Bridge to Manehattan scam thing," Scarlet complained as she nuzzled against Perique. The two had retired to the batpony's home for the night, and were now snuggled deep into her featherbed with a comfy blanket pulled over them. "I'm going to look really silly now if I don't solve this case by the deadline."

"You're taking it seriously then?" Perique asked. "The torch legion and den mothers have things covered. You don't need to do this."

Scarlet frowned. "But I want to do this."

"Why?"

Scarlet sighed. She'd known that this was coming. "Because you looked scared back there, and when you're taking care of me you do such a good job making me feel safe and loved that I wanted to do the same thing for you. And because the Society's important to me, too. And if I'm being really honest... it's a challenge. I haven't had a real challenge in such a long time." She bit her lip. "I was afraid I'd get rusty."

Perique chuckled, kissing Scarlet's forehead. "The thought is appreciated then."

“But I shouldn't have spoken up like I did," Scarlet grumbled, digging herself deeper into the bed. "If I only have a week to wrap things up then I'm going to need to go knocking on doors and doing interviews instead of sending out letters and waiting for replies, and knocking on doors means I'm going to need to find somepony to be my muscle in case one of the suspects decides to throw their weight around."

Perique blinked. "That should be easy, shouldn't it? What about your other other half?"

"Gilda?" Scarlet blushed. "Yeah, this is normally something I'd ask for her help with, but she's up in Griffonstone working on some kind of job that I'm like, eighty percent certain is mostly legal. She won't be back until the end of the month."

Perique smiled. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to play the Dim Bulb to your Smart Cookie this time, won't I?"

"You?" Scarlet scooted back, aghast. "No, nononono. You are way too sweet and kind and perfect to be backup muscle, you might get hurt—"

Perique's smile turned into a predatory grin and Scarlet realized exactly how badly she had screwed up as the batpony reared up in her bed, the covers falling away as she spread her wings and exposed her very sharp-looking fangs. For a moment, Scarlet remembered what the batponies of the Old Colony were once rumored to be, and felt a delicious tremble run through her.

Perique knelt close, her lips just shy of Scarlet's exposed neck. "I received mandatory militia training, little one. I polish my hoof-blades every night. Do you doubt that I can be properly imposing when the time comes?"

Scarlet gulped and looked up into her marefriend's eyes. "...no ma'am."

"Good girl," Perique purred, and bit down into Scarlet's throat hard enough to leave a mark.

The two didn't sleep until much later that night.

Author's Note

Special thanks to all my pre-readers for putting up with me on this one.

As of this writing, we have three of my planned six chapters completed, with updates coming sometime in the next week or so. Sex will not be announced in chapter titles but hidden within like a shiny present.