Celestia’s sun was low on the horizon. As twilight encroached, the nightlights of Ponyville flickered on one by one.

Looking out of an apartment window in the Everfree District, Cold Case scanned the streets. Hardly anyone was out at this hour, and that included car traffic. However, she could count at least three unmarked cars parked on the street below or adjacent with armed officers waiting within. Her black Fleetracer and a gunmetal Commander Super Six Four Door sat out front.

“I don’t think this is entirely necessary,” she said, shutting the blinds and closing the curtains for good measure. She turned to the other occupants of her living room – Phillip Finder, Daring Do, and Beacon Fire.

“Whatever flock of griffons has my weapons made it pretty clear they’re after you,” Beacon remarked from her seat on the couch. Her radio and her service revolver were on the coffee table in front of her for easy reach.

“Beacon’s right,” Phil nodded. “Better safe than sorry. This way, if they do come for you, we’ll be ready.”

“We got at least one officer on each floor,” Beacon said. “Half a dozen more watching outside, and you have me in here.” Cold frowned at her.

“And Wheellock said she’d be on the roof with her rifle,” Daring added.

“What will you two be doing?” Cold asked her and Phillip.

“We know a griffon who knows some griffons at the Gold Griffon’s Head,” Phil said. “And he’s willing to talk. He might be our best lead on finding whoever’s responsible.”

“I’ve sent Sergeant Pizza to Canterlot for some ordinance. He’ll be back on the first train early tomorrow,” Beacon said. “And Captain Glide should be on her way back with what weapons we’re dealing with.”

“Good,” Cold said, nodding to Phillip and Daring. “Stay safe out there.”

Phillip walked over and set a hoof on her on the shoulder. “And you stay safe,” he said quietly with a nod.

Cold’s gaze lowered and she merely nodded in reply. Beacon watched him and Daring leave with a curious expression. As the door shut behind them, her gaze shifted to a bookshelf. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in Cold’s modest apartment.

A row of books adorned the lowermost shelves, mostly law books. The rest of the shelves were sparsely occupied by photos and memorabilia. Awards and medals sat next to pictures of a younger Cold Case and one of her and her former partner fresh out of academy.

“Are you and Phillip close?” Beacon asked, looking to Cold. She had made her way to the apartment’s small kitchen area. She levitated a glass out of the cabinet and shot an icy glare at Beacon over the bar.

“No,” she replied. Cold bent down to a lower cabinet and fished out a bottle of whiskey. She poured herself a glass and knocked it back.

“You seem awfully tense. And I don’t mean about this whole threatening message written in blood business,” Beacon remarked.

“Well, I don’t suppose you’d know what it’s like having somecreature out there wanting to kill you,” Cold replied. She seemed to weigh something in her mind before pouring a second shot.

After she had knocked it back, she noticed Beacon’s warm demeanor had faded. She looked at Cold with a rather hard gaze and shifted on the couch so she was sitting upright.

“Yeah. I do,” she said, unzipping her jacket and pulling it open.

Cold squinted. In the warm lighting of the apartment, Beacon’s coat was even darker by contrast. As she rounded the bar, Cold could faintly make out five small, round indents spread across Beacon’s chest and blinked.

“I’m sorry,” Cold said quietly. “I forgot you were…” She trailed off, looking down.

Beacon sighed. “Yeah.” She zipped up the jacket again and sat back down in a more comfortable position on the couch. “I don’t know how they managed to miss anything vital. At least it got General Shining Armor’s attention.”

“Oh?” Cold floated her glass back over to the counter and put the whiskey away again as she approached her.

“He was proud of me, said I went above and beyond the call of duty for saving soldiers,” Beacon continued, smiling fondly as her gaze fell to the coffee table and grew distant. “Then he joked I was going about it wrong and said I needed a proper shield.”

Cold walked over to the armchair adjacent to the sofa and took a seat. She rarely had company and often wondered why she had kept it, but now she was grateful for a comfortable seat for the story.

“As I was recovering, General Armor taught me his shield spell. That famous one he used at the Canterlot wedding. Of course, I was always more of a pyromancer and I managed to put my own twist on it.” Her smirk focused back up at Cold. “And so, the ‘Flaming Shield’ was born.”

Cold nodded. “I’m… sorry, for being rude. I’m not much of a social butterfly,” she said. “And I’m certainly not used to direct death threats.”

Beacon nodded. “Who do you think it is, anyway?” she asked. “I mean, they called you out by name and they went through the trouble of stealing stolen military weapons from armed ponies.”

Cold fell silent. It was hard to tell by the complexion of her coat, but all the color drained from her face as her gaze fell. She sniffled instinctively as a familiar itch began building in her nose. It was only when she lifted a hoof and set it on the pocket the purple coin resided that it subsided.

“I know… one who might,” she said. “But it was a long time ago.”

“The longer the grudge, the more it grows,” Beacon replied.

Cold nodded. “It was years ago, back when Phillip and I were partners on the force. I was called in to assist with a raid on a supposed drug and illegal weapons house. I’d been in raids before, but the thought of the unknown always put me on edge.

“This was back before Charles Silvertongue had the reach he did. Gangs were loosely organized, and they didn’t always hire the most reliable creatures for the job. Back then, griffons were hired for intimidation – their stature and the still fresh stories from the war of griffons eating ponies made them candidates as bodyguards.”

Cold swallowed and took a shaky breath. “This gang had one griffon at the house, named Gjord. What we learned later is that he had no criminal history, nothing other than being from a former enemy of Equestria. He was just there to earn some quick money to start a family.”

Beacon inhaled. “Poor guy,” she muttered.

Cold nodded. “The officer in charge of the raid was an insufferable bastard, to say the least. Sexist as they came, especially against mares who actually did their job and got promoted. So he put me in the front, even in front of the breaching pony.

“So, there I was. Riot shield in my magic, pistol in hoof. We announced our presence and broke the door down and made entry…” Cold swallowed again, her mouth growing dry. She didn’t notice her hooves start to shake.

“The first thing that came at us was Gjord, a pistol in his talons. We told him to freeze and drop his gun, but he just stood there. I… I think he was just… stunned. He turned towards us and I… I…” She shut her eyes, trying to will the memory back into its cage.

Beacon hopped off the couch and set a hoof on one of Cold’s shaking ones. The sudden presence of warmth drew Cold from her mind, surprised to see Beacon so close to her. She gulped and continued.

“I shot him dead, right there. My superiors said it was justified, but it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t.” Cold shook her head, gently taking her hoof back from Beacon. “He was an innocent life. I’d faced all manner of creatures trying to kill me, but they were the bad guys. This… this felt like murder.”

“What was Phillip’s reaction?” Beacon asked softly.

“He… he tried to console me. He said it happened in our line of work, good creatures make bad choices. It just… happens.” Cold lowered her head. “It didn’t help, though. By the time he was kicked off the police force a year later, I had found my own way to cope…”

Beacon frowned. “What way is that?”

Cold’s eyes shot open as she realized what she had said. “Nothing!” she snapped. “It’s none of your business.”

Beacon rubbed her chin, looking to the kitchen. “You can hold your alcohol, and it doesn’t seem to be smoking…” she pondered quietly.

Cold felt her cheeks flush. “It’s none. Of. Your. Business,” she seethed, ice seeping into her words.

Beacon looked back at her unfazed. “I’ve looked griffons in the eyes as they were about to tear out my throat and fought alongside dragons five times my size. You’re not going to scare me off, Cold,” she said, her voice calm. “So, please.”

Cold blinked as the words sunk in. She lowered her eyes as her blush changed from one of anger to embarrassment. “I… I was a user,” she muttered, her ears drooping. “Red poppydust. At first it was just… to unwind about killing a creature, to help forget, but it got worse. I made excuses and let it snowball, saying it was for stress and anxiety.” She shut her eyes tightly. “I let others hold it over me and turn me against ponies that were my friends.”

There was silence for a moment as the words hung in the air. Then a warm hoof was set on her shoulder. She looked up at Beacon to find a friendly smile, her warm demeanor finally back.

“I knew a lot of users in the army,” she said. “Soldiers needed to unwind too, and they couldn’t get their hooves on a bottle or a brothel on the front lines. Poppydust was easy to smuggle and conceal. I can’t count how many of them I caught in the act, and I often wonder about all the ones I didn’t.

“I told them all the same thing. Like a parent to a child, I wasn’t mad – just disappointed. They were there to fight a war for their families, their neighbors, their country. I gave them one warning: if they couldn’t bring it upon themselves to overcome a speck of dust, then they weren’t fit to serve Equestria. Most of them shaped up, but I did end up sending a lot home.”

Cold fought back her tears, shame burning her face. “I would’ve been one of the ones sent home.” She carefully pulled out Phillip’s coin, running a hoof over the 10 emblazoned on it.

“That yours?” Beacon asked, nodding to it.

Pocketing the coin again, Cold shook her head. “Phillip’s. He gave it to me, said I could return it after ten months sober. It’d be the longest I’ve been sober.”

“He believes in you then. And I do too.” Beacon chuckled. “I don’t think you’d have been sent home.”

Cold frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Because you got over a speck of dust,” Beacon explained. “You’re here, you’re clean. I’m not going to say the urge isn’t there when it is, but you have something to fight for, to work towards, to overcome it. That’s what those soldiers had.”

Cold nodded, smiling softly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Huh.” Beacon smirked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile since I got here. You’re even prettier when you do.”

The smile faded to a scowl. “What’s that supposed to… oh. I see.” Her eyes narrowed.

“What?” Beacon blinked as Cold shook off her hoof.

“I’m no Phillip Finder, but I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you look at me, and asking about Phillip,” Cold continued. “Getting close to me just to get in my bed. You aren’t the first pony to try their luck.”

It was Beacon’s turn to blush, her ears drooping. “I… look, it’s not like that,” she spluttered. “Yes, I think you’re attractive, but I was serious about the poppydust.” She sighed. “And, yes, outside of this situation I would ask you out on a date.”

Cold scowled, shaking her head and looking away. Still, it wasn’t as harsh and frigid as it had been. “Perhaps we should get back on subject then.”

“Yeah,” Beacon sighed more than said as she walked back over to the couch and sat down. “So, about Gjord – I’ve heard the reports about what happened here in Ponyville, but I highly doubt a dead griffon can carry a grudge.”

“Not him,” Cold shook her head. “He had a mate, named Iron Claw.” Beacon looked up at her quizzically, and she answered with, “It’s the name she chose to go by.”

“What makes you think it’s her?” Beacon rubbed her chin.

“She screamed bloody murder at me when she came to identify Gjord’s body. Spat words in Ponish and Griffonese I’d rather not repeat and had to be escorted out. She’s the only one that comes to mind,” Cold said, getting up and walking over to the kitchen.

“Well, hopefully Phillip and Daring can come up with something from this griffon they know,” Beacon said, watching as Cold rinsed the glass out and put it away.

“Hopefully.” Cold turned and walked toward her bedroom door. “I’m going to head to bed, let me know if something comes up.”

“Will do,” Beacon said. She nibbled her lip as Cold set a hoof on the doorknob. “And Cold. I’m sorry… for prying. It’s a bad habit of mine.”

Cold paused, but didn’t look back at her. “It’s okay,” she finally said, before disappearing into her bedroom.

Beacon huffed a sigh, shaking her head. “Dammit Bea,” she muttered, looking to her radio and gun.

In the quiet of the apartment, the gears in her head kept turning. She went over it in her head: everything Cold had said and the message screaming bloody revenge in literal blood. A cold sensation formed in the pit of her stomach.

She quickly picked up the radio and waited a few minutes. When she was sure Cold was in bed, Beacon switched the radio on with a crackle. “Hot Sauce to Skyberry, Hot Sauce to Skyberry, what’s your standing, over?”

There was another soft crackle before a reply came. “Skyberry to Hot Sauce, I’m at base camp with your freaking manifest. Took them damn long enough. How’s Cool Mint? Over.”

“Icy as ever.” Beacon briefly smirked. “Skyberry, I’m going to need you to suit up and get your wings in the air on the double. I need you to check on something. Here’s your flight orders…”

Phil grunted as they touched down in front of the Gold Griffon’s Head. A few griffons exited the bar, chatting amicably and laughing among themselves. The flashing neon sign that announced the sale of Manticore Rare continued to blink constantly.

The construction site across the street had quieted down for the evening, leaving this side of the city mostly quiet. No cars passed as they crossed the street to the bar.

Stepping inside, they found the bar was busy as it usually was, albeit with a more diverse clientele. Mules and ponies were chatting alongside griffons at the tables and at the bar, intermixed with laughter or curses.

Phillip and Daring weaved their way through the crowd to the bar and claimed two unoccupied seats. A familiar dusty griffon in a white vest and bowtie gave a soft sigh and approached.

“Evening, amica, detective,” Botgilla said. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for a griffon,” Phil said.

“And some Manticore Rare, dry. It’s been a day,” Daring added with a grin.

Botgilla sighed and shook his head. “So, the usual then,” he remarked, pulling out a bottle of dark red spirits and a glass. He set the former in front of Daring and filled it. “Who are you looking for this time?”

“Well, we’re not sure,” Phil said. “Have you heard about what happened at Trademan’s Road today?”

Botgilla nodded. “Was it really murder?”

“Mass murder, eight dead,” Phil said as Daring knocked back most of her drink in one swig. “We think griffons are responsible, and they made a pointed effort to threaten Chief Cold Case.”

“We know that might be a lot of griffons,” Daring remarked. “But do you know anygriff who hates her?”

Botgilla hummed. “There is one. She complained about Chief Cold Case in great detail every time she came by. I don’t know where she lives though.”

“A name and any information you have will help greatly,” Phillip nodded.

“She goes by Iron Claw,” Botgilla explained. “She fought in the war and earned her name by using her talons more than guns. She and Whitestone went back before the war, and it didn’t change after Whitestone defected.”

“Anything else?” Daring asked.

Botgilla nodded. “I know she hated ponies—she still often referred to them as food—but she was a staple in the griffon community after the war. She helped us, Whitestone, everygriff any way she could. And I know Whitestone often helped her, getting her shelter, weapons, and griffons to assist her.”

“That certainly explains the scene at the warehouse,” Phil said to Daring. She nodded and finished off her drink. He turned back to Botgilla. “Could she be using one of Whitestone’s safehouses?”

Botgilla paused, then nodded. “Could be, but you’d have to find them first.”

“Any reason why Iron Claw would target Cold Case in particular?” Daring asked. “I know she’s not the sunniest pony in the world, but still.”

Botgilla took the glass from her and shrugged. “Iron Claw said her mate was killed in a police raid and often talked about what she’d do to the… well, she didn’t use the friendliest of terms for them.” He flashed an apologetic smile.

Phillip blinked. “Hooley dooley…” he muttered. “Thank you, Botgilla. You’ve been very helpful, but we need to get going.” He turned in the barstool halfway, then paused. “How’s Gallus?”

Botgilla smiled. “He’s better. I think he’s finally opening up to the world – even talked about possibly joining the police department.”

“They’d be happy to have him,” Phillip nodded as he hopped off the stool. Daring slapped some bits on the counter and followed him outside.

Once they were across the street, Daring looked at Phillip with a raised eyebrow. “You figured out something in there, I saw that look.”

“I know why this Iron Claw is after Cold,” Phil admitted. “She’s the one who killed Iron Claw’s mate, I remember her talking about it years ago.” At Daring’s scowl, he huffed. “It was in the line of duty – it wasn’t… murder.”

Daring nodded and walked closer to him. “I figured,” she said, smiling. “So, care for another flight home?” She flared her wings.

Phillip scowled and shook his head. “The trolley’s still running at this hour, we’re taking it,” he said, looking to the dark purple sky.

Daring huffed and lowered her wings. “Sometimes you’re no fun,” she replied. “So, what do we do now?”

“Nothing for the moment. We wait until morning when Pineapple gets back with the ordinance and start tracking down safehouses,” Phil said. “And we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“A group of trained, highly armed griffons that could be former pirates and a bloodthirsty griffon with a vendetta.” Daring shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like the worst thing we’ve been against.”

Phillip chuckled. “We have been in worse spots, haven’t we?”

Daring smiled, then noticed the stores they were starting to pass in front of on their way to the nearest trolley stop. They weren’t the fanciest shops, like the ones downtown, but they still had a variety of goods. Some glittering jewelry caught Daring’s eyes.

“You know,” she said. “Hearts and Hooves Day is coming up soon.” She batted her eyelashes in Phillip’s direction. “Whatcha getting me?”

Phillip’s blush climbed nearly to his ears and he scoffed. “Once again, it’s a surprise,” he said. “And it’s not going to be a surprise if I tell you.”

Daring pouted. “Well, I hope it’s something good. The better the present, the nicer… my present for you will be, let’s say.” She bumped her flank into Phillip’s with a playful wink. He grunted and his blush brightened, causing Daring to laugh.

Phillip reached into his vest and pulled out his compact, opening and carefully angling it. Daring frowned as she watched him.

“What’s up?” she asked quietly.

“We’re being tailed,” he replied levelly. “Looks to be a thestral based on the wings, but I can’t see much more than that.”

“Not a griffon, think they’re related to the case?” Daring asked.

“Not sure. Keep walking ahead and act casual,” Phillip said in a low voice, pocketing the compact. “We’ll see if they’re still with us at the trolley stop. Until then, be on guard.”

Daring nodded. “I’m just saying, Phil,” she said in a louder voice. “You treat me nice and I’ll treat you nice.”

Phillip rolled his eyes as he glanced at her.

The thestral fluttered at the corner of Phillip’s eye. They were coasting gently, mostly gliding with only a few, barely audible flaps – a trained maneuver.

“Whoever it is sure knows stealth,” Phillip remarked. “I’m starting to wonder if this is—”

“HIT THE DECK!”

Phillip and Daring spun around at the sudden shout. The ping of bullets against pavement erupted around them. There was a loud whooshing sound and a cry of pain as a heavy mass of flesh crashed into them from the street. The trio tumbled into an alley, their assailant dragging them to the back of a dumpster.

Daring readied a haymaker, but Phillip held her back with a hoof. “Wait,” he ordered.

A security light from an adjacent store buzzed and flickered on the thestral. She hissed, then straightened her Wonderbolts flight suit – or a black and midnight blue version of one. Her green goggles reflected the alleyway light – and the muzzle flashes outside. Along with a utility belt around her barrel, two shoulder holsters and an assault rifle were slung between her wings, which were tucked tightly to her side. She shuffled closer to the two as they ducked from the gunfire, hissing from a gash in her barrel.

“Captain Frost Glide?” Daring asked.

“Yeah,” the thestral panted, fishing around for something out of one of the pouches of her belt. “Lieutenant General thought it’d be best if I tailed you two. Looks like she was right. Motherfucker.”

Phillip eyed the two holes torn on Frost’s wing, the blood dripping down her side. “How bad is it?”

Frost lifted her goggles. “Grazed, I think. I’ll be fine,” she reported. “But I’m grounded. Here.” With one hoof she shrugged off her assault rifle and handed it to Phillip. “Your bogie’s on the roof across from the alley, but he won’t be there long. Looks like he has our gun.”

Daring’s ears swiveled towards the gunfire, wincing at each ricochet. The gears in her head turned: there was no boom or crack before each ricochet. “It’s suppressed, whatever it is,” she said to Phillip, drawing her own revolver.

“If you see him, take the shot,” Frost ordered, fishing out a small cloud and slapping it on her wound with one more hiss. Crystalline ice spread across the wound, and she steadied her once shaky breaths.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Daring grunted. She aimed across the top of the dumpster with her revolver, grimacing at the smell coming from below her. Phillip lay on the ground, the rifle pointed towards the mouth of the alley.

Another hail of silent death. Some bullets pinged off the metal lid of the dumpster. One went rogue and shattered the alleyway light, bathing the trio in darkness.

“Daring, we need to bring him to us,” Phillip said. “We can’t fight him on his terms.”

Daring nodded, pulling out a smoke bomb from her pocket and lobbing it over the dumpster. A white mist shrouded the alleyway entrance. The bullets ceased their assault, and the only sound that followed was a distant snarl.

With one hoof, Frost pulled out one of the pistols, using her other hoof to feel around for the radio clipped to her belt. Daring and Phillip retook their positions against the dumpster.

The sound of asphalt crunching underhoof caused the trio’s ears to perk. Slow, steady steps emanated from the other side the alley. The trio’s eyes focused at the white mist.

The silhouette coughed. The three ponies replied with gunfire.

The gunner grunted, then bellowed. A muzzle flashed from somewhere in the smoke and Daring and Phillip ducked back into cover.

Phillip yanked his boomerang out of his vest. Narrowed eyes hazarded a glance around the dumpster before Phillip hurled the boomerang upward. A whoosh, then a wooden thwack – judging by the gunner’s squawk, he wasn’t taking Phillip’s toy too kindly.

Stunned but not stopped, the griffon charged headway into the alley. Phillip met him halfway, swinging the rifle like a club. The buttstock caved into the griffon’s knee, his howl bouncing around the alley walls.

Daring wasn’t going to miss this. She leaped over the dumpster and barreled into the griffon’s chest. The griffon’s gun flew out of his talons but the stiff sensation of padding shot up the nerves of Daring’s hooves. She rolled out of the way of a swiping talon just in time.

The streetlights outside the alley beamed on the griffon. Padded armor and metal guards covered his body, arms, and knees. Phil’s lucky shot made his mark though. The griffon hobbled on his unprotected shin, then glared up at Daring with a fire in his eyes.

Phillip charged out of the alley, snapped his club to attention, and ducked under another slash. A second strike at the griffon’s other leg sent a sickening crack permeating through the night air. Phillip grinned.

The final blow came from above. Daring bashed her kusarifundo, bashing against the griffon’s skull. He wobbled slightly, then crashed to the ground with a grunt.

Frost Glide holstered her pistol and hobbled out of the alleyway, radio in one hoof. “Great work, you two,” she said. She switched on the radio. “Skyberry to Hot Sauce, get police to—” She paused and looked around the street. “— Cherry Meadows Avenue. I’m hit and we got a bogie… and one of our weapons, over.”

Daring landed next to Frost as Phillip kept a hoof on the griffon and examined the fallen griffon’s gun.

The metal of the BAR glittered in the streetlight’s glow. A suppressor tipped its elongated barrel. A scope sat upon the body, the lens cracked in the scuffle. Daring grimaced at the thought of more.

Author's Note

The villain makes her first move! And what's this: romance?

A huge thank you to Seriff Pilcrow who has been helping me revise these fight scenes for maximum effect. As a fluff writer, it's not exactly my area of expertise.

Stay tuned next week for the next chapter of Frost and Fire!