The office of the Anomalous Investigations Unit looked much the same as the last time that Daring Do was there. The other desks crammed into the tiny space were abandoned; Trace had briefly explained that the other Agents were busy with other cases outside of Ponyville. Bulletin boards along the walls were covered with photographs, notecards, maps, and copies of reports, connected with spiderwebs of string. Her eyes went to a photograph of a pink unicorn mare with a long red and black mane, smiling broadly at the camera.

Scarlet Letter, Lodge Mistress of Ponyville Chapter, read the index card next to the photograph. Daring’s eyes went up to the paper tacked above the pyramidal display: Golden Sphinx.

The chair across from Daring Do groaned as Trace Evidence leaned back, tapping his pencil against the pad of paper on the table. “You know, we talked to Funny Bone ourselves,” he commented. “Couldn’t get anything useful out of her.”

“Knew she was hiding something, but didn’t have enough to push it,” Red Herring grunted, his forelegs gruffly folded across his chest.

“Bit impressive that you managed to get through to her,” Trace admitted.

Daring smirked from the other side of the desk. “Not just a pretty face, am I?” she grinned.

“We don’t need any more pretty faces around here. Phil has that covered already,” Red stated.

“Rack off,” Phillip commented from next to Daring, though with a small smile.

“So…sorry I messed up your stakeout,” Daring admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “Who was that guy?”

“His name is Clay Vision,” Trace said. “A sculptor that we connected to Revelation distribution. We were hoping that he would lead us to his dealers.”

“So much for that plan,” Red sighed. “Thanks for that. It’s not like that was our only solid lead since the crime scene in the woods didn’t turn up anything useful.” He stood up. “Look, you’re sharp, I’ll give you that. But you’re a civilian, and this is a federal investigation into Revelation. Your tampering potentially cost us a major lead and set back a good month of solid work.”

Daring took a breath. “I said I was sorry,” she said. “Are you gonna arrest me?”

“Not this time,” Trace reassured her, drawing a scowl from his partner. “Look, I know you want payback for that mare. We all get that. But you’re not a detective like Phil. Trying to help will cause us more problems and get you in trouble, or worse.”

He put the pencil back down on the table with a loud clack, the sound carrying a heavy finality. “Thank you for the info. We’ll contact you if we have any more questions.”

Daring glared at the two agents, who simply stared back evenly. With a small sigh, she stood up and headed for the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” Phillip offered, rising and following her.

Daring started to protest, but she caught the meaningful look in his eyes and merely nodded. As they exited, she glanced back and saw Red rolling his eyes and muttering something to Trace.

The door shut behind them and the duo made for the stairs at the end of the hall. “Know you’re not just gonna drop it here,” Phillip muttered once they were far enough away from the door.

The vision of the dead jenny upon the slab flashed once more before Daring’s eyes and her stomach twisted in revulsion and guilt as her heart burned with fury.

“Darlene was a good kid,” Daring scowled. “She had a bright future before her, and it was stolen because of that shit. And she died on my site. This is my responsibility.”

Phillip stared at her for a few beats, then nodded solemnly. “I get that,” he said quietly. “One of the victims, Iron Kettle. He went missing from Dodge Junction two weeks ago. Family contacted me to get him back. Had to call them and tell them that their kid isn’t coming home.” He paused to take a breath, his shoulders stiffening with suppressed fury. “All that’s left is to find who put him on that slab and make them pay,” he continued with a low rumble behind his voice.

“So we’re agreed?” Daring said with a vicious grin, extending a hoof.

He took it without hesitation, a cold hardness in his scowling eyes. “We’re agreed.”

“So what’s our next move?” Daring asked.

“You keep your nose to the ground. Watch for that griffon and anyone else who uses or sells Revelation,” Phillip said. “I’ll spread the word among my contacts and the breezies to keep an eye out for that griffon. Will tell you when I find something.” He took out a business card and passed it to her.

Phillip Finder, Private Detective, read the card. No Adultery Cases. 221 Honeybee Bakery Street 303-1986.

Daring pocketed it, then pulled out a notebook and scribbled down a note. “This is my apartment and phone number,” she said, passing it to Phil. “So you can get in touch with me…for business or pleasure,” she added with a smirk, flicking her tail against Phil’s flank and snickering at the way his ears turned red.

“You’re bloody horrible,” he grumbled, pocketing the note as they ascended the stairs and headed for the exit.

“You need a lift anywhere?” Daring asked, spreading her wings as they exited. “I charge reasonable fees.”

Phillip looked like he might refuse, then, after a moment of silence, sighed in resignation. “All right. Just drop me off at my house. Got lots of hard yakkaAAAAAAHHH!” he cried out as Daring snatched him beneath the forelegs and rocketed up into the air, laughing all the way.

“Bloody slow down!” he protested, watching as the city streets raced by hundreds of feet below his hooves.

“What’s wrong? You wanted to get there fast, right?” Daring replied.

“I didn’t mean like this!” Phillip shouted, jamming his trilby down onto his head to keep it from blowing away.

“Oh, quit fussing. This way you don’t even have to worry about traffic,” Daring said. “Oh, hey, we’re here already.”

She swooped down and began to slowly coast over a narrow street lined with quaint two-story cottages, halting in front of a light blue house. A hanging sign over the door, creaking in the wind, displayed the logo of a magnifying glass and the label Private Detective.

“We know you have a choice in selecting your air travel services and we thank you for choosing Daring Do Flights,” Daring said as she dropped her disgruntled passenger off. “We hope you had a pleasant flight and you’ll fly with us again soon.”

“Not bloody likely,” Phillip grumbled. He dusted his vest off and unrumpled his hat with a sigh. “Thank you, Daring. Be in touch soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” Daring replied with a smile, saluting with a wing before taking off again and heading for home. As she coasted past a cloud, she glanced back and noted that the earth pony below was still standing on his porch, watching her fly away.

It might have just been a faint figment of her hopeful imagination, but she imagined she saw his lip curled up in a small smile.

The afternoon light shone down through the windows of the Golden Oaks library, illuminating the pile of books that the two professors had stacked on the table.

“So how goes your search for Beaten Trail’s book?” Daring asked, tapping her pencil idly against the tabletop of the library.

“Still no luck, I’m afraid,” Caballeron admitted, flipping idly through a book on mythology that he’d clearly read several times before. “Even Coperneighcus’ ravings about heliocentrism are easier to find than information about Thicket.”

“Cabbie, no offense, but are you sure that this Thicket is for real?” Daring suggested.

“You’ve seen those stones, Daring! You’ve seen that language and the carvings! You yourself admitted that you’ve never seen it before!” Caballeron protested. “What more evidence do you need that there is a civilization of deer within the Everfree Forest?”

“Fair enough,” Daring conceded. “But you might be chasing after yet another wild goose with this book. For all you know, Beaten Trail made the whole thing up.”

Caballeron snorted. “And I suppose that you have any better ideas as to how to decode this?” He gestured angrily at the rubbings of the stela from the site.

Daring frowned. “There are experts on languages that we could contact–”

“Do as you will,” Caballeron interrupted with a dismissive wave. “I will continue my search, thank you very much.”

“If you say so,” Daring sighed, with a dry smile. “At least you’re not gonna drag me through the desert this time.”

Caballeron just huffed and stormed off, taking his books with him. Daring just sighed and looked back down at the rubbing of the stela. She rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn.

“Professor?”

Daring turned to see Zecora approaching, the gourds on her staff rattling with every step. A few of the other purveyors of the library gave the zebra odd stares over their books as Zecora sat down next to Daring.

“You look like you’ve come from the junk heap,” Zecora commented, studying Daring’s countenance with a concerned frown. “Tell me, Daring, have you gotten any sleep?”

“Some,” Daring said, noting the bags beneath Zecora’s blue eyes. “But you look like you’ve been having some rough nights, too.”

Zecora rubbed her face, her countenance grim. “The horrible dreams have been relentless,” she said. “And the search for clues seems eventless.” She tapped the rubbing of the stela, her hoof marking the hideous beast with the tri-lobed cyclopean eye. “We must find the ones who destroyed the stones, lest we wind up burying more bones.”

Daring shuddered and looked down at the terrible eye. Come on, you don’t know for sure that anything bad’s gonna happen, the rational part of her brain tried to reassure her.

She closed her eyes and Darlene appeared before her, her dead eyes marred with tri-lobed pupils and blood running from the wound in her chest. The rational voice in her head was instantly silenced.

“Well, I’m working with a detective friend to find them,” Daring said. She briefly explained the events of last night and her alliance with Phillip to search for users of Revelation.

Zecora cocked her left ear slightly, an idea sparking in her eyes. “This powder you call Revelation opens a line of investigation,” she mused. “I could locate places where the drug is ample if you knew where I could find a sample.”

“What are you thinking?” Daring asked.

“This powder I could blend into a tracking potion, which we can use to give us a notion if we are near where more is located, and perhaps learn how it’s made.”

Daring’s ears perked up. “In that case, I think it’s time you met my friend. Come on!”

She grabbed Zecora’s hoof and whisked her out of the library, drawing a startled yelp from the mare. Bursting out the door, she grabbed Zecora beneath the forelegs and rocketed into the air.

“We’ll make a quick stop at my place so I can get changed for the occasion,” Daring said, ignoring Zecora’s shouts of protest. “And then we’re headed to visit Phil!”

“And then we’re walking, lest my heart start balking!” Zecora cried, flailing.

For the second time in as many days, Daring Do, now clad in her cargo vest and pith helmet, deposited her disgruntled passenger in front of the blue house on Honeybee Bakery Drive.

“Hey, I’m cheaper than a cab, at least,” she commented to the scowling zebra. Zecora just grunted as she adjusted her saddlebags, the jars within rattling.

“Now then, let us make introductions with a pony whose talent is deductions,” Zecora said, gripping her staff and striding forward in a display of dignity.

The two mares approached and Daring hit the bell. After a few moments, two locks disengaged and the door opened to reveal Phillip Finder within, looking strangely naked dressed in only a stained gray undershirt. Daring noted the familiar green vest, shoulder holster, and trilby hung up on a coat rack on the wall behind him.

“G’day, Professor,” he nodded to Daring before turning to Zecora, scanning her with his eyes. “You must be Zecora. Police reports mentioned that they talked to you.”

Zecora nodded. “I am indeed Zecora, and I am here to assist,” she said. “I can find these killers if you’ll let me enlist.”

Phillip cocked his head to one side, considering. “We have an idea to help you find stashes of Revelation,” Daring said. “Zecora thinks she can make a tracker potion to help you find them, but we’ll need a sample.”

Phillip frowned at Zecora. “You sure you can do this?”

“I am trained in crafting alchemy and potions; trust that I am not on some crazy notion,” Zecora answered. “I’ve spent much of my life brewing. I am confident in what I am doing.”

Phillip thought for a moment, studying Zecora, then turned to Daring. “You trust her?” he asked.

“I…” Daring glanced at Zecora, who looked back at her in silent beseechment.

How well do you know her? that nagging voice in the back of her head whispered. You know that she’s hiding something. And that she knows more than she’s letting on.

But on the other hoof, she asked herself, she might be my only lead. To find Darlene’s killers. For getting some answers about those stones. About the Ahuizotl. About everything. What option do I have?

“Yes,” she nodded to Phillip. “I’ve seen her potions at work, she’s legit. And she just wants to help.”

Phillip grunted quietly in confirmation and opened the door wide to let them in. Zecora entered first, but not before her cyan eyes fell upon Daring, betraying a glimmer of hurt. Daring followed, feeling like someone had elbowed her in the gut.

They passed into a sitting room, which Daring paused to study. Two battered couches faced each other across from a stained coffee table, which was occupied by an aquamarine ashtray and two carafes, one filled with water and the other with something amber. In one corner was a record player and stacks of records, which appeared to be mainly jazz and blues albums. Against the back wall was a baby grand piano and two stands, one carrying a polished saxophone, the other carrying a didgeridoo decorated with ochre, red, and blue tribal designs.

A bookshelf rested against another wall. Daring’s eyes swept over the titles, noting that most were encyclopedias, reference textbooks, and journals of criminology and forensic science. A collection on jazz composition and a smattering of fiction occupied the bottom row; Daring had to suppress a small smile when she noticed that Phillip owned every volume of the Compass Rose series by AK Yearling. Judging by the wearing on the spines, he had read them frequently.

“Down here,” Phillip said, leading them down a set of stairs into the basement, the undecorated stairs creaking beneath their combined weight.

The basement was plain, the floor bare concrete, the walls undecorated wood, and the lights bare bulbs screwed onto the jambs. Half of the basement appeared to have been turned into a home gym; the floor was covered with mats, weights were scattered about, and a battered heavy bag swung from the ceiling.

The other half of the basement was occupied by a crude but well-stocked laboratory. A long worktable, the surface pockmarked with chemical burns, bore rows of test tubes, beakers, a Bunsen burner, and a microscope. Another shelf was mounted to the wall above the table, this one bearing several reference books on chemistry and alchemy. On the wall nearby was a map of Ponyviile, which was marked with several multicolored pins and sticky notes; the floor beneath was stacked with binders and notes.

Doctor Suunkii was standing at the work table, squinting through the microscope while jotting down notes in an open notebook. Right next to him was a plastic bag filled with a familiar purple powder. Suunkii looked up as the trio entered.

“Professor Do,” he greeted Daring. “Who is your friend?”

“Doctor Suunkii, this is Zecora, a shaman who lives in the Everfree Forest,” Daring introduced her. “Zecora, this is Doctor Suunkii. He’s a professor of chemistry at the University.”

The two zebras nodded to one another. “I presume that you two are here to assist with the investigation into Revelation,” Suunkii commented, giving Daring an even gaze. “Phillip told me of your…escapade last night.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know that the RBI was there,” Daring said.

“Yes. I suppose that’s why it’s called an undercover operation,” Suunkii stated dryly. “What is it you propose?”

“A sample of this Revelation’s decoction will allow me to make a tracking concoction,” Zecora answered, nodding at the purple powder. “If my recipe is correctly made, it will surely provide aid in finding where this drug is stored and some answers will finally be scored.”

Suunkii’s eyebrows raised. “A tracking potion? That is not an easy recipe. Are you certain that you can craft this?”

“I have trained in alchemy for many years,” Zecora smiled proudly. “Stand back and let me allay your fears.”

Suunkii looked to Phillip, who looked at Daring, then nodded. “Very well,” he said, stepping back.

Zecora took up the small sample bag of Revelation, studying the powder within with a frown. “To complete this mission, I’ll need to know its composition,” she said.

“I have an analysis here,” Suunkii said, flipping back through the notebook.

Zecora studied the list with a thoughtful hum, then started grabbing jars and vials from the drawers. She began blending and mixing them, musically chanting as she worked.

“So what’s so tricky about tracking potions?” Daring asked, watching the shaman at her work. “I thought tracking spells weren’t that difficult, and anything you could do with a spell, you can also do with a potion, right?”

“That is a gross simplification,” Doctor Suunkii explained, quietly jotting down notes while he observed Zecora at work. “Potions can mimic spells crafted by unicorns, albeit less efficiently, but no alchemist can do everything a spellcaster can, and some potions can perform things that a spell cannot. What separates a potion from a simple chemical mixture is the user imbibing some of their own magic into the mixture. That requires knowing how to harness and channel your magic, and it runs the risk of your magic interfering with the potion’s intended purpose. Further, it requires deducing what the proper elements are not only to perform the intended effect but receive and hold your magic, which may differ from individual to individual.

“What makes tracking potions difficult is that the materials must not only be conducive to the spell, they must also be of similar composition to the object that you are attempting to track; this follows the central tenet of thaumaturgy, ‘as above, so below,’” Suunkii continued. “Thus, this potion will require ingredients that must not only carry Zecora’s magic but are also similar enough to the Revelation that they will create a suitable channel to any other sources. That is a challenging prospect, certainly not something that an amateur would be capable of.”

Zecora glanced at Suunkii over her shoulder with a smirk as she placed her saddlebag on the table, the contents thumping heavily. “Thankfully, I am no amateur,” she said, grabbing a large bowl and filling it with water from a gourd (a gourd, Daring noticed, was much smaller than the bowl it managed to fill to the brim). “Now watch my hooves blur!”

And her hooves did indeed blur in constant motion as she mixed, boiled, stirred, shook, and decanted. Powders, liquids, small crystals and stones, and other ingredients vanished into the bowl, the water within turning from clear to blue to yellow to green to brown. The other three ponies watched her closely, the room silent save for the clinking of bottles, the splashing of liquids, and Zecora’s continued chanting.

After several minutes of work, the steaming, soupy liquid was a vivid scarlet, smelling faintly of ozone and sea salt. Zecora clasped her hooves over the mixture and intoned what sounded like a prayer; Daring gasped as a faint tingle of energy passed through her wings and Phillip and Suunkii both shifted in surprise, raising their hooves from the ground.

“And now, my fellow sleuths, this is the moment of truth,” Zecora said, taking up a long, thin spoon and walking to the other end of the table, where she’d kept the bag of Revelation far away from her mixture the entire time. She took up a tiny spoonful of the purple powder, carefully carried it back to her mixture, and added it to the red liquid, which instantly turned to a cloudy gray and stopped steaming.

“Hmm…” Zecora then took up the bag of Revelation and held it close to the bowl. As the bag came within two feet of the bowl, the potion began to turn red and bubble slightly. As the drug came closer, the liquid glowed brighter and brighter, bubbling faster and faster as though it were exposed to an open flame.

“Aha!” Zecora beamed.

Daring grinned as well. “Great work, Zecora,” she nodded.

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded. “But it doesn’t seem to have great range.”

“That is a reaction to a small sample,” Suunkii pointed out. “I presume it will have a stronger reaction to larger concentrations of Revelation, correct?”

“Mm-hmm,” Zecora confirmed.

“Then we should give it a fair suck of the sav,” Phillip commented, moving over to the map of Ponyville tacked up to the wall.

Daring and Zecora looked at Phillip, then at each other, and simultaneously shrugged.

“He means to give it a try,” Suunkii translated with a small smile. “A field test, as it were.”

“Been mapping users of Revelation around Ponyville,” Phillip explained the map. “Police reports, info from my homeless and breezy informants. Trying to find the distribution centers. One informant says that some users meet up in Sawmill Projects, near the railroad bridge. Good a place to start as any.”

He took up the bowl and decanted the enchanted concoction into three vials, which he stoppered securely. He passed one each to Daring and Zecora.

“See you came prepared,” Phillip said with an approving nod to Daring, his eyes going to the holster at her side and the stockwhip at her hip. He then turned to Zecora. “You need a gun or something?”

“To trouble I am no stranger, I am prepared for any danger,” Zecora said, pulling a sheathed athame out of her saddlebag and securing it to her foreleg, then tying her vial of tracker potion to the top of her staff, beneath the gourds. She gave Phillip a determined look; Phillip studied her for a moment, then nodded with a quiet grunt.

“I would like to perform some other experiments with Revelation,” Doctor Suunkii said. “I believe that I am getting closer to finding a possible cure.”

“Ripper. We should be back within an hour or so,” Phillip said, heading back up the stairs with the two mares on his heels.

He paused only long enough to swing on his vest, secure the holster to his body, check to make sure that all the chambers of the revolver were loaded, and place his trilby onto his head. Daring opened the door for them, spreading her wings.

Zecora looked at her, then at Phillip, who was heading for the Scout parked in his driveway. “For this hike, I’ll ride the bike,” she said.

Daring stuck her tongue out at Zecora, who rolled her eyes good-humoredly as she awkwardly straddled the motorcycle, fumbling her staff for a few moments before giving up and sliding it into one of the saddlebags. Phillip gave her a spare helmet and kicked the engine to life with a roar, the headlight penetrating the darkness. He guided the vehicle onto the street and headed west, with Zecora gripping his waist nervously and Daring flying overhead.

A lone whistle sounded across the oak-populated fields west of Ponyville, marking the passage of a locomotive over the bridge spanning the Autumn Run River, the chuffing engine returning to the trainyard for the night. Daring Do followed the motorcycle as Phillip drove over the granite Autumn Run Street bridge, the glow of the bridge’s lamps reflecting off the churning black waters below.

Phillip turned northwest and headed for a pool of darkness on the flat fields with small lights trapped within, their dim lights marking the fading paint and filthy windows of cheap houses. A century ago, the Sawmill Projects began life as the homes of the mill workers; after the mill’s closure in 1928, the houses were revitalized into low-income housing.

As they passed through the streets into the project proper, Daring and Phillip both found themselves instinctively slowing. The streetlamps that weren’t broken cast everything into an unnatural orange haze that seemed to both illuminate and conceal, covering the natural light of the stars and restricting vision to barely more than a block. There were no signs of anypony on the streets, no late-night walkers or children squeezing out a few more minutes of play before being called in for bed. An eerie silence, too, was held over the streets, broken only by the grumbling of the motorcycle engine and the fading chuffing of the locomotive.

Daring Do found herself thinking of the tense, heavy silence of the forest when a predator was nearby. It felt like the houses themselves were standing as still as possible, breath held, praying for the maleficent gaze that had fallen upon them to pass on.

“Something’s really wrong here,” Daring said to Phillip, finding that she had to force herself to speak at a normal volume instead of whispering. Phillip nodded in response, his gray eyes passing slowly back and forth, peering into every shadow. Zecora was whispering a prayer, a shudder running down her spine.

Phillip stopped the bike next to a streetlamp and he and Zecora dismounted. Daring stood watch while Phillip put the helmets back into the saddlebags and pulled out a chain and padlock, which he used to secure the back wheel to the street lamp. “So what’s the plan?” she asked.

“Start near the bridge and spread out from there. Zecora and I will stay together,” Phillip said, pulling out the vial of the inert tracking potion. “Daring, fly overhead and we’ll see if we can triangulate a location.”

“Understood,” Daring nodded.

“Amadioha, chekwanu anyi nche,” Zecora prayed, her eyes turned up towards the sky. She took up her staff and followed Phillip as they proceeded down the weed-strewn, cracked sidewalk. Daring Do flew ahead of them, dangling the potion from a string, feeling like she had to physically push herself through the thick silence.

The road split into two up ahead. Phillip gestured for Daring to take the right road while he and Zecora took the left. Daring flew down the street, keeping one eye on her potion and one eye on the houses on either side of her. The litter on the overgrown lawns and cracked street rustled in the wind, accompanying the faint babbling of the Autumn Run river down the slope beyond the houses; somewhere, a dog howled, a lonely, haunting sound. Something moved out of the corner of Daring’s eye; an indistinct face appeared behind a curtain for a moment, then vanished once more.

Suddenly, the potion began to glow a faint scarlet and Daring felt it tug against her hoof, like a washer near a magnet. With a gasp of excitement, she began to follow the lead like a dog on a leash over the rooftops. The glow grew brighter and brighter as she approached her destination.

Finally she reached the end of a cul-de-sac, barely more than a stone’s throw away from the railroad. The potion was glowing like a dying star. Daring turned one way and the glow dimmed, so she turned the other way.

In the distance, she spotted Phillip and Zecora hustling up the street. Daring stuck a hoof in her mouth and whistled sharpy, waving the glowing potion over her head. Phillip and Zecora hurried up towards him; their own potions glowing brighter and brighter as they approached each other.

They met in front of a dilapidated house on the cul-de-sac, breathing hard as they studied their target. Illuminated by the red glow of the tracking potions, the derelict house tilted like something out of a carnival funhouse, as though it was trying to lean in every direction at once. The walls groaned beneath the weight of a sagging roof, shingles rattling in the wind as they desperately clung to the frame. The two houses on either side were both markedly pristine as though declaring their lack of association with their neighbor; they even seemed to be standing a distance away from it in nervousness.

“Could use some paint,” Daring Do commented.

Phillip walked in a slow circle around the house, his eyes sweeping over the edifice itself and the ground around it. At the very back, he crouched down to study a series of overlapping tracks leading from the back door towards the bridge.

“Lots of tracks,” he mumbled. “Can’t get any decent prints from it…but there’s at least one griffon. And they might’ve been carrying something. Right paw impression is a bit deeper than the left,” he explained, pointing to a couple of faint paw prints, barely distinguishable from the rest of the overlapping hoofprints. “Right. Let’s get in there.”

As they neared the door, Zecora held up a hoof to stop them, then pulled a jar from her saddlebag. With a flourish and a whisper, she tossed some blue powder into the air and let out a sharp puff of air. The powder flew forward like a swarm of glittering insects, darting under the gap of the door.

“What’s that?” Phillip asked.

Zecora just held up a hoof, carefully watching the house. When nothing happened, she lowered her hoof. “The detecting powder would reveal any ponies that lay concealed. Were there anyone within those halls, we’d see them by the glow through the walls.”

Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Bloody useful that. Might have to ask you for the recipe.”

And with that, he approached the door and tried the handle. The door, which was barely hanging onto the frame, groaned loudly in protest as it was opened. Daring and Phillip both switched on flashlights and led the way in.

The undecorated hallway was slick with mildew; the sitting room was only populated by a stained, rat-chewed mattress, a rotten couch, and piles of cigarettes and discarded needles. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls. The stairs leading upstairs were broken and holed, the banister reduced to ruins. With every step, the floors groaned like a dying old stallion.

Zecora grimaced and held her nose. “Oh, sulfurous hell! What’s that smell?!”

“Piss and shit,” Daring replied flatly. “I’d have thought you’d smell worse–”

“No.” Phillip narrowed his eyes, sniffing as he slowly stepped forward. “There’s something else.”

Daring sniffed again, trying to push away the foul odor of fecal matter and rot. For a few seconds, she detected nothing else…then she smelled it. A dull, coppery miasma blended with another scent that she might have once identified as rotten meat once upon a time.

She knew better now. There was no scent in the world like death.

Zecora must have detected it as well, because her eyes narrowed and she gripped her staff even tighter.

They pursued the smell down the hallway to an open threshold, the doorway long removed. The beams of their flashlights illuminated a set of rotting stairs headed into the basement.

“Of course. Only good things happen in basements,” Daring mumbled.

Phillip drew his pistol, securing the strap tightly to his foreleg, and led the way down the steps. Every step squeaked and crackled beneath their weight, straining to hold their weight. The beam of the flashlight briefly caught an enormous black rat before it vanished with a started squeal. The scent of blood and rot grew stronger with every step, accompanied by the buzzing of flies.

Then Phillip’s flashlight caught a brown hoof. Daring gasped as they entered the basement and she took in the scene before them.

Six more corpses were splayed across the stone floor, their coats matted in the filth that only comes from lives of poverty. Five were arranged in a circle around the sixth, the blood that had run from their bodies staining the dirt-caked stone floor in a tight circumference. The sixth, a pale blue-white unicorn with red highlights running through his black mane, lay on his back with his forelegs crossed over his chest. Bloodstained knives rested in the hooves of the five corpses in the circle; candles were littered among the grisly scene, long extinguished, their wax having melted with the blood.

Phillip checked the pulses of each of the victims, only to shake his head after he reached the last one. “Gone,” he confirmed.

Daring Do’s nausea doubled as Zecora bowed her head, whispering a prayer for the souls of these victims. Again. And again. How often am I going to walk in on more corpses?

Phillip bent over the nearest corpse, a weatherbeaten bearded stallion, and crouched down to study the victim; Daring followed numbly, morbid curiosity compelling her hooves to move. “Lividity is just barely setting in,” he said, gently tugging a limb. “Rigor hasn’t set in. Died less than a couple hours ago.” His gaze swept over the corpses; in the backlight of his torch, Daring saw his stony expression, cold eyes like those of a statue, mouth thin with repressed emotion.

“Multiple cuts…but no defensive wounds,” he said, bending to peel back another body’s eyelid. The empty eye socket stared back up at them and Daring had to swallow back bile.

“Faust. They bled themselves out,” she almost whispered. Her eyes went from the empty eye sockets to the victim’s nostrils, her stomach curdling when she noticed the distinctive traces of purple powder.

“Over here, to my surprise, it seems we have found our prize,” Zecora called from the corner. Daring looked over to see the zebra opening up a duffle bag that had been sitting nearby. She pulled out a large brick of vibrant purple powder.

“Guess we found the Revelation,” Daring commented.

Phillip started slowly examining the floor around the bags, holding his flashlight at a sharp angle. “Tracks…looks like a griffon,” he said, pointing out some faint scuff marks and scratches on the floor, barely visible among the ancient dust and detritus. “Can tell they’re recent because they’re on top of the scuff marks from the bags. Likely same one from outside.” He took out a tape measure and measured the marks. “Just under four foot…g’day. Looks like they’re missing a toe on the left claw.” He pointed out some irregular scratches on the floor.

Daring went back to the corpses arranged in a circle. She found herself studying the unicorn lying in the center of the circle; something was scratching at the back of her mind, warning her that something wasn’t right.

It took her a few moments to realize that the unicorn’s body was bloodied, but unmarred by any injuries. “Where are his wounds?”

In answer, the unicorn’s eyes snapped open, shining in the darkness.

The tri-lobed pupils focused upon her.

Author's Note

Boo!

I'm still not entirely sure what Lovecraft meant by "tri-lobed pupil," but it's always been interesting to me to see what artists have made of it. Look up artwork of the Haunter of the Dark and you'll get some examples.

Also, "chekwanu anyi nche" is Igbo for "Watch over us."