Needless to say, Fillmore didn't sleep much that night.

He rubbed his tired eyes, adjusted his glasses, and took a long sip of his hot coffee. It did little to wake him up, although it helped ward off the autumn chill from outside as he stalked through the hallways of X High towards HQ. He stifled a yawn as he nodded at Janitor Jerry, carefully avoiding where he'd recently mopped. The man mumbled this gratitude, yawning himself.

'Dawg, are these pranks sucking the life outta everybody?' he thought, eyeing the pair of teenagers slumped against their lockers in quiet chatter. He sighed, looking at his watch. Just past 7:30. The hallways were typically more crowded by now, but he shrugged it off. The quieter, the better.

He couldn't shake the weird… "incident" from last night. Any logical explanation eluded him, no matter how he rationalized it. He never sleepwalked, sleep talked, or really anything while sleeping, except dream.

But, that definitely was not a dream. He took another sip of his coffee. This was typically where he'd ask for a second opinion - his partner's opinion. She was the smarter, more rational one between them. Surely, she'd come up with a plausible explanation.

He scoffed. Who was he kidding? He sounded crazy. Bottles of toothpaste writing vague messages on his mirror? Lost time? Even with her love for the morbid and all-around weird, there was no way she'd take him seriously. Besides, he didn't know any Solomons. Never arrested any, fought any, or met any. Not that he remembered, anyhow.

'You know who'd remember? Ingrid.' He groaned. 'And the merry-go-round continues.' He shook the dilemma out of his head as he approached HQ. He swung the door open, heading straight for his desk before noticing Ingrid had beat him there. He froze on the spot, eyebrow raised.

"Morning," she greeted, not looking up from her computer.

"Good morning," he replied slowly. It was early to be working even by her standards. He stepped closer, taking in his surroundings. The HQ was otherwise empty; Vallejo hadn't even arrived yet, but the coffee pot by the sink across the room was already almost empty. "Need a refill?" he asked.

She lifted her mug, eyes still glued to the screen. "Just got one, thanks."

His eyebrows furrowed. "How long have you been here?"

Finally, she looked away from her screen, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted. "Um…" she trailed off, eyeing the clock on the wall far behind him. She grimaced. "...too long."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I think the empty coffee pot gave you away." She smiled bashfully, running a hand through her raven locks and pushing a bit over her left ear. He dropped his backpack down by his desk and plopped down in his chair. "What's got you working too early and too hard?"

Ingrid sighed. She'd never gotten a call back from… him. Something didn't feel right. They hadn't left things badly, but he was never the kind of guy to ignore a cry for help, no matter how arrogant he acted. And not showing up to school for almost a week? Something was wrong.

So, she spent the night digging. She'd gone back weeks, rifling through his grades, any extracurriculars or write-ups he'd gotten, anything that could give her a clue about what he was up to, if anything. But, no one seemed to know where he went.

It's like he disappeared.

"Just working on the case," she said. It wasn't a complete lie, but guilt still swept through her. She told Fillmore everything.

He leaned back in his chair and brought his cup to his lips. "Did your hunch not pan out?" he asked, taking a sip.

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. "Not yet."

Silence fell between the two partners for about two whole minutes. Ingrid was entranced by her computer, while Fillmore swished the coffee around in his to-go mug. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. 'Don't do it, man,' he told himself. He looked over at her from the corner of his eye, watching her read through something. 'Come on, it's Ingrid. Just bring up the name. If she doesn't know, then you can drop it.'

"Hey, Ingrid," he started. 'This was going to be so weird to ask…' he thought to himself.

"What's up?" Ingrid asked, reaching for her mug and taking a sip from her coffee.

"This sounds like an odd question, but you wouldn't happen to know anyone by the name of 'Solomon', would you?" he asked.

Ingrid, upon hearing that question, almost choked on her coffee. She started having a coughing fit and mentally scolded herself for losing her composure.

"Dawg, you okay?" he asked, leaning forward in concern.

She nodded, although her eyes watered. Clearing her throat, she waved him off. "Yeah, just went down the wrong way," she lied, wiping her mouth on her napkin.

He raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Her heart raced. How had he found out about Solomon? She'd never mentioned him before. How did he know him? "Why are you asking?" she deflected, wiping up the spilt coffee from her desktop.

Noting the odd behavior and the tone of Ingrid's voice, Fillmore decided to explain as best he could without sounding like he was crazy. "Well last night, I received an… anonymous message from someone," he half-truthed. "Just, 'Find Solomon'."

Ingrid's stomach flipped. "Anonymous, how?"

Fillmore shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "How does anyone get anonymous tips?"

She crossed her arms. "That's not answering my question."

"That's not answering mine, either."

A staredown ensued. The clocked ticked ominously from across the room as Ingrid contemplated her next step. Fillmore didn't need to tell her "how" he got the anonymous message. She didn't believe in coincidences, not in their line of work. This guy was as paranoid as they came - he wouldn't use... "conventional" forms of communication like phones to get back to her.

Not if he was in danger.

But, why contact Fillmore? Why not contact her directly? She gulped. That didn't spell well for her, either. She searched Fillmore's dark, wondering eyes, and sighed. If, even as paranoid as he was, he reached out to her partner instead of her, he must trust him.

Good enough for her.

Ingrid spun her chair to face him, double checking their surroundings to make sure they were alone. Fillmore watched, curiously, as she rubbed her eyes. 'Are you really doing this, Ingrid?' she asked herself. "Before I tell you this…" she muttered, making Fillmore lean closer. She looked back up at him. "I need you to do me a favor."

Without hesitation, he nodded. "Name it."

She gulped her heart back down her throat, willing it to slow down. "I need you to believe in the impossible." Fillmore's eyes widened slightly, so she quickly continued before he could interrupt. "I know it's going to sound strange, but there are more things in the world that can't be explained through traditional means." Fillmore's mouth formed a small 'o', but she couldn't tell if it was from shock, confusion, or worry. So, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Please, just... before I tell you this story, before you write me off as 'crazy', just try to keep an open mind." She bit her bottom lip, begging him with her eyes. "Promise?" she whispered.

Fillmore's mind spun. He's never seen her act that way before. Ingrid was the most self-assured person that he knew. She never expressed worry that he'd judge her.

If she only knew what he saw last night.

He smiled and placed his other hand over hers. "I promise."

Ingrid let out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she leaned back in her chair and figured out how best to recount her story.

"It all started about three years ago. We had just graduated from X Middle and Summer break was just starting…"


"To celebrate my graduation, Ariella decided to take me to a small music venue in town where some local bands were playing. Mostly just some cover bands playing punk rock songs from before our time; Ramones, Sex Pistols, etc."

The music blared loudly in the somewhat cramped venue. Ingrid sat off in a far corner, sipping on a soda as she tried to enjoy the music as best she could. While punk wasn't exactly her genre, she did admit that it had a good energy to it, albeit a somewhat angry kind. She empathized with the mood.

The venue was in full swing as teens and young adults alike were rocking out to the high speed sounds of rock and roll. Thrashing about and pushing each other around to yet another angry song. Ingrid crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the pit in the middle of the floor, watching with anthropological-wonder. 'How trusting they all must be, all complete strangers throwing each other around like that.' She chuckled, reminded of a fight she and Fillmore broke up in the lunchroom a few weeks prior. The similarities were remarkable. Frenzies of fists and kicks, although this particular fight lacked malice. 'Interesting,' she mused.

"I know what you're thinking," someone shouted from her left. She snapped her head towards the intruding voice, eyeing him suspiciously. She didn't like being snuck up on but the smug glint in his daring, dark eyes caught her attention. "You were dragged here by a friend of yours because you hate places like this, but then a mysterious-" he wiggled his eyebrows, "-and handsome stranger walks up to you and you're now thinking: 'Correction: I love places like this'," he finished with a smirk.

She scoffed. 'How bold.' Suppressing a smile - he was cute, after all - she shook her head. "Correction," she shouted back, "I like places like this."

His smile widened. "So, what is it you hate?"

"Guys like you who think they know everything," Ingrid replied back with a small smirk as the song ended and they could talk normally while the next band set up.

At this, the boy couldn't help but chuckle. "Ah, I never claimed to know everything. I just have a knack for reading people," he said as he held out a hand in front of him, showing both sides to it, before a card appeared in between his fingers. He did so twice more in quick succession, making another pair of similar-looking cards to appear in his hand.

At quick glance, Ingrid recognized the design of the cards as that of a Tarot Deck. An old form of divination that, frankly, she saw as nothing more than a parlor trick.

The cards he held from left to right were The Chariot, The High Priestess, and The Tower, all in the upright position.

She didn't know much of tarot, so she couldn't help but simply raise an eyebrow in confusion at his reading.

"Ah, not too up to date on the art of Tarot, are you?" The boy guessed with a sly smirk as he set the cards down in order and began his explanation.

"The left card represents the past, while the arcana represents control, willpower, and determination. From this I can gather that you're a very strong-willed person who may have gotten into her fair share of trouble back in the day," he surmised. Beside herself, she smirked. He had no clue how correct he was. But, he acknowledged her silent confirmation with a wink before he continued. "The right card represents the future, with the arcana representing sudden change, upheaval, and chaos," He said, "Meaning you're in for a sudden shock in the near future."

She couldn't help but smirk at the bit of divination that he exhibited, as well as his admittedly charismatic attitude.

"And let me guess," she said, "the center represents the present?"

"Right you are. High Priestess represents intuition, sacred knowledge, and the subconscious mind. Meaning you're as smart as they come, I'm guessing?"

"Smartest kid in school, according to my old principal," Ingrid answered.

He smiled at her, a mischievous glint in his eye as he tapped the card and leaned closer to her. She leaned in, curious. "See these two pillars?" he asked. She looked down at the card. Seeing the High Priestess standing between two pillars, Ingrid nodded. "These two pillars represent the entrance to the Temple of Solomon." He held out his hand with a million-dollar grin. "Hi, I'm Michael Solomon. Guess we were meant to find each other."

Ingrid laughed heartily, making his grin widen. "That's a nice trick," she said. "I bet it impresses most girls."

"You're not most girls, though." His expression sombered. "Are you?"

She looked between him, the cards, and his outstretched hand. While tarot may be nothing more than a parlor trick in her eyes, she had to admit: his observations were fairly accurate. "No, I'm not," she answered, taking his hand. "I'm Ingrid Third."


-Present Day-

"And that was my first encounter with him," Ingrid said.

Fillmore couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Ingrid's story. So far, it seemed normal enough. Some weirdo walks up to her and starts flirting with her by doing a small magic trick. He didn't see how this was at all odd.

"So what happened next?" He asked, taking a drink of coffee as she continued her story.


-Flashback-

"About an hour later, the night was winding down as the bands finished for the evening. Ariella and I left the venue and the boy known as Michael far behind us... as far as I knew, at least."

It was a short walk home from the town proper to the Third family home. It wasn't the first time Ingrid had been out late in town. Memories of cases involving going out late and sometimes undercover came to mind as they walked the streets. Though something felt off at that moment. A chill shot down her spine and the air grew cold, even though it was the start of Summer.

Suddenly, she began to smell something rank in the air. Like rotten eggs or some other foul odor. She soon recognized the scent from her time in Physical Science class: sulfur.

Just before she could pinpoint the source of the smell, she was pulled into a nearby alley by a strong arm that grabbed her by the collar of her sweater. The assailant threw her against the wall of the alley, her vision blurring for a moment when her head hit the brick.

"INGRID!" Ariella cried out as she tried to hit the attacker, only to be backhanded into a pile of nearby trash and debris.

"A-Ariella!" Ingrid choked out as the hooded attacker held her aloft by the throat. She couldn't make out their face, only that whoever - or whatever - this was had very large and very sharp teeth. If she wasn't trying her best to not pass out from suffocation at the moment, she would be rendered speechless.

However, just before whatever this thing was could do anything…

"Oy!" A voice shouted out from the mouth of the alleyway.

Turning its attention toward the source, they were met with a face being illuminated by a cigarette lighter.

"That's no way to treat a lady," He said sternly. Turning her head as best she could while in the attacker's grip, she found her rescuer to be none other than Michael, the boy from the venue.

"Ssssolomon!" The attacker hissed out as he dropped Ingrid, who was now gasping for breath, and charged at the young man in the nice suit.

Casually slipping a cigarette into his mouth, Michael lit it before aiming the business end of the lighter toward the oncoming threat. The next thing Ingrid saw was the flame bursting forth like a flamethrower and setting the attacker ablaze. It let out an inhuman screech as it flailed wildly within the inferno.

Flipping the lighter closed, Michael clapped his hands together and began to chant in some language that Ingrid couldn't understand as his hands glowed with a radiant energy like that of the sun itself.

"Per júdicem vivórum et mortuórum! Sed enim mundi Creator! Qui habet potestatem mittere in infernum! Ut abire ex regno protinus!" After finishing the chant, Michael spoke in English once more.

"When you get back to Hell, tell your friends to think twice before trying to come over themselves! Now piss off!" He yelled and thrust his hands forward. An articulate circle formed in the air, forming also at the feet of the attacker who, with a final scream of anguish, was consumed in fire and disappeared completely, without a trace.

A deafening silence overtook the alleyway as Michael stood there a moment, took a drag of his cigarette, and exhaled. Ingrid was absolutely paralyzed at what she had just witnessed. Not helped by Michael slowly approaching her as she began to stutter for the first time in her life.

"Th-th-tha-tha-" She tried to get out before Michael finished the word for her.

"That," He said.

"That w-w-w-w-," Ingrid continued to stutter.

"Was not human. I know," He finished for her as she started to regain her composure.

"W-what was that?" She asked.

"It's best if you don't know," Michael said solemnly as he stepped closer to her.

"Stay back!" Ingrid said, scrambling backwards in a panic as he reached for her.

"Ingrid, I need you to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I say…"

"W-what's that?"

He touched the tip of his finger to her forehead. "Forget."

Suddenly, Ingrid woke up, panting and doused in a cold sweat. She looked about her surroundings and found that she was in her bedroom. She shook her head and ran a hand through her damp hair.

'What a strange dream...' she thought to herself.


Major apologies for taking so long with this chapter. As you can see, it's a lengthy bit of work. Hope you all enjoyed! Remember to fave, follow, and review!

Edit: For those of you wondering, the spell that Michael recites translates to "By the Judge of the Living and the Dead! By that who has the power to cast into Hell! Leave this kingdom immediately!"