ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴʟʏ ꜰɪʀᴇ ~ ᴛᴍɪ

Chapter 2 - Old Ghosts Rising

Downworlders' hangouts were not much preferred by Shadowhunters. The place was considered for demon-blooded monsters and only the fools would wander off there.

Allison adored these places.

She had read about Hunter's Moon on the list which had all the Downworld hotspots in New York. Werewolves hogged this place, especially the New York pack. Luke Garroway's name had been in the Alpha's name. What Jocelyn Fray had to do with a werewolf intrigued her. There must be some conspiracy going on. She reminded herself to check on the Frays' house later.

As soon as she set foot through the door, all heads spun towards her.

Allison moved forward in a casual manner, like strolling into a garden. A garden filled with cadaverous werewolves. She could stand against twenty werewolves, for a minimum of two minutes before they ripped her into shreds. It won't happen though, the Accords between the Clave and the Downworld would prevent it. Investigators were given the liberty to slip away from some rules.

The wolves were aware of the fact.

Investigators were an important part of the Council as well. They were the elite squad of shadowhunters, each trained in the harshest way to deal with the harshest situations. The training, hence, was challenging. Men were dominant in this specific field. With the whole equality ideology reaching Nephilim as well, women too started to appear. Right now, Allison herself and Lauren Bellefleur were a Junior and Senior Investigator respectively. She did look up to Lauren, she was one of the fourth women to become a Senior.

None of the werewolves seemed to recognize her. There were a few warlocks and an ifrit, she guessed. While most Nephilim considered the Downworlders lesser, Allison was curious about their various divisions and workings. Brought up wholly in Alicante, she was excited to visit those places. Her first experience was unforgettable—a rave in Copenhagen. Memorable experience if you consider a half-naked phouka trying to do yoga. That was a nightmare that led to a lot of sleepless nights.

The floor and countertops were covered with...sawdust? Allison hoped it was sawdust. The wooden bar was marked with decades of rings left by damp glasses and claw scratches. There was a bartender, serving a glass of gold-colored drink to a werewolf.

She hooked her foot into the leg of a stool and dragged it back deliberately slow, watching the other werewolves. The one near her growled.

She raised an eyebrow in a mocking manner, returning a charming smile.

The bartender stood in front of her and asked in a monotonous voice. "What would you like to drink?"

"No formal introduction? Let me start then," She smiled easily. "Allison Graymark."

Shocked murmur filled her ears, the same look they gave when she entered but with a hint of recognition and confusion.

"Graymark, huh?" The bartender said. "I take it you're not from around here."

"Idris," She slid her badge onto the table. "Home of the murderous Investigators."

The bartender stilled. "Investigator?" His eyes darted around, making sure nothing illegal was in the open. If caught, Allison had enough privilege to arrest him. An arrest is not even required when she can just kill him on sight and walk away. "You're the Inquisitor's granddaughter, aren't you?"

Her eyes narrowed, and her cool amusement faded in an instant. "Usage of mirthroot in bars where mundanes could walk in is illegal, right?"

Fear entered his face, as he gave up hiding the jar of the said drug behind him. Even the werewolves in the back slipped away from the doors.