When looking for Derek, Vincent had taken the Zeta Squad to Halifax, Canada, to meet Fallon. Therefore, Renekom and his team started their search at the same hotel. Much to their dismay, however, Fallon was not there. They were told that he had left for the UK two days earlier.
"What now, sir?" Obadiah asked. "His network is so wide, if he wants, he can evade us for days."
A few lines appeared on the Seear's forehead. "He can't evade us forever."
Michael Brown stepped ahead and said, "That's why I told you to keep a few of those Zeta Squaders on this case as well, Renekom. They could've been useful here."
Renekom shook his head. "Let them chase ghosts. Like I said earlier, either they find something in the black markets or they give me a reason to shut them down for good."
A few looks went around but everyone knew, just as well as Renekom, that Hugo Baylis and his squad were their best chance at infiltrating the black markets effectively. Only Hugo could find information from the depths of those pits of arcane shadows.
Upon the Seear's orders then, the Mystics did a quick scan of the entire area. They shot Ki traces which stretched far and wide and encapsulated the entire hotel and its neighbouring casino, but no trace could be found. Fallon was not there nor was the White Bolt.
So, the group quickly moved on. Their next stop – Liverpool, England.
In Liverpool, it was just fifteen minutes past midnight when they arrived. The city was calm. The River Mersey lay still, save for the slow sway of moored yachts and the distant churn of an unseen cargo ship. The docks glistened with moisture. Slick stone and cobblestone paths reflected the sparse orange glow of sodium lamps as fog rolled low. The air smelled of sea salt and diesel, faintly mixed with cologne and smoke from late-night wanderers. It was quiet – perhaps too quiet.
Between two repurposed warehouses stood an ultra-exclusive boutique hotel named the Orpheum. The hotel overlooked the river with its upper floors shimmering faintly at night – a Ki ward disguised as lighting.
Just like all other establishments owned by Fallon, the Orpheum served as a neutral ground for all arcanists. Cultists, Rogues, agents of the Eye or the Order, or even independent wizards or witches – Fallon ensured protection and anonymity for all who entered. No distinctions were ever made; once inside, everyone was given protection. Runes and enchantments were set in place to ward the entire structure, masking Ki presence and even demonic energy signatures at all times.
The interior of the hotel was posh, perfumed, and slightly too symmetrical. The hallways were carpeted with gold-threaded constellations while the walls whispered faintly with hidden enchantments. The soundproof and warded private suites were often rented for weeklong negotiations or much shorter arcane frivolities.
However, the main attraction for many was the Astral Club. Partially covered with a glass dome, this rooftop bar always played soft live music and remained open until 3 in the morning. The bar counter was circular, centred beneath a large astrolabe-style chandelier, and served all merrily.
The crowd at the Astral Club that night was just as mixed: Cult envoys, arcane traders, retired mercenaries, and a few oblivious plebeians. Fallon himself was sitting in a corner booth with friends, half-shadowed, champagne glass in hand, overlooking the party below.
He smiled, closed his eyes, and whispered, "And the cavalry's finally arrived…"
Moments later, the music began to trail off as the laughter quieted down. A single empty glass rolled off a table and shattered. A few guests gasped, but no one said a word.
The crowd parted as nine figures in beige cloaks emerged, led by a tenth draped in maroon. The Seear and his contingent had arrived – teleporting in directly from Canada.
Standing at the bar counter, the Seear called, "I can sense you, trickster! No use in hiding."
Fallon chuckled and called, "Then why didn't you come over here directly, I wonder?" He slowly stood up. "Or maybe, your senses are not as sharp as the Seekers' after all."
He snapped his fingers. His attendees all stood up and left. Another snap and the music came back on. The rich man then walked to the edge of the raised platform and grabbed the railing with both hands. "People!" he called. "His holiness, the Seear of the Eye walks among us peasants! Rejoice! For the rest of the night, all drinks are on me! CHA-CHA-CHA!"
A loud cheer erupted. Fallon grinned and walked back to his corner booth beneath the golden chandelier. Through the rowdier crowd, Renekom and his companions forced their way to him.
Fallon was lounging in a deep-blue three-piece suit that looked tailored to arrogance itself – silk tie loosened just enough to suggest the comfort of a man who owned the room.
"I won't ask you to sit down." The rich man brought both legs atop the round table. "And you don't drink either."
Renekom and Michael sat on either side of him. The others surrounded the area.
"Do you know why we're here?" the Seear asked.
He nodded and then took a sip of his drink. As he placed the glass down between him and Renekom, he answered saying, "You're here looking for Vincent."
Michael looked at Renekom who further asked, "Then tell us where he is."
"Wow." He giggled. "The entire might of the Eye is unable to track him and somehow I should know where he is… that's rich."
"He came to you." The Seear leaned closer. "Don't play games with me. I can shut your whole operation down for aiding and abetting a fugitive of the arcane world!"
"What does my license say, Seear?"
"It doesn't matter what your license says!"
Fallon picked up his glass of champagne once again and looked at Renekom. "Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?" Very faintly, he whispered, "Cha…"
The leader of the Eye smacked the glass from his hand; it hit the floor and shattered.
Renekom's index finger lingered inches from Fallon's face. "Don't mock me, rich boy!" he said, grinding his teeth. "You do not want to make enemies with me."
Finally, the smile on the entrepreneur's face vanished. "Let me just understand this… You barged in here unannounced with your entire boy band, you scared my customers, you broke my favourite champagne glass, and you think these antics are somehow going to intimidate me – did I miss anything?"
He paused. Renekom moved his hand away.
"Oh, and you wanna know where Vincent is!" Fallon eventually said. "My establishments see all manner of arcanists come in and go. Some think they are full of themselves while some just come in, take care of business, and leave."
He paused again. This time, he dropped his head and said, "Need I remind you all of the supplies and donations you've received from me and my associates just in this past year?"
Renekom's posture was suddenly not as stiff. His eyes wandered away as his breath quickened. His aides, all close advisors, shifted uneasily.
Fallon slowly raised his head and looked at the Seear, smiling. "Look at you acting all grown up," he quietly said. "With the Outsiders gone, you've got no strength, and you know that…"
Renekom shook his head and stood up. "You will not use that name in my presence!"
"Why? You chicken?"
As Fallon giggled away, the Eye contingent kept standing there helplessly.
"Get out o' here, morons," the rich man said, waving his arm. "You didn't even pay me for the latest transfer from the Caucasus. And Dorothy's been asking about those girls too. Oh, and you're also buying my people's services for spying – even on your own operatives! And you think what… you own me or something? If I pull the funding, Renekom, you won't even have the money to feed the people of Ayn. And if I go public with your lusts and corruptions, buddy…" He shook his head. "Just don't ever disrespect my establishments like this again."
He looked to his right and snapped his fingers. A young lady approached. He then looked at Renekom. "Vincent came to me as any good customer does. He pays well, doesn't disturb anyone and leaves quietly as well. The way I see it, you need to learn a thing or two from him."
The host shook his head once more, then addressed the young woman. "Please see off our guests – and be careful. I hear their hands linger." Showing his claws and smirking, he added, "They like a grabby, grabby…"
Frustrated yet powerless, the Martial Artists backed off in silence. Fallon kept staring as they vanished in a flash of light. His nonchalant expression quickly hardened; his gaze narrowed, fists clenched, and his head dropped. A long sigh escaped him, a frown settling on his face.
One of his close associates walked over with a new champagne glass. "What was that about, sir?" he asked. "I don't remember Renekom ever paying a visit like this before."
"He's never been this powerless." Fallon quickly grabbed the glass and took a sip. "This storm needs to end him."
"Sir?"
"He's a weak man. If he loses, he needs to be killed in the process. Otherwise, he'll send the whole world into a frenzy."
"You really think so?"
"Hmm. He'll destroy the world before he sees it fall out of his control."