Previously on Ivory Tower:

"This way," he shouted, sprinting toward a nearby alley. Kenta followed without pause, leading Delilah to do the same.

'Why am I following them?' she thought. 'Isn't this what minions are for?'

Kenta raced past Flynn into the mouth of the alley. Delilah watched his obsidian eyes widen as he walked into a wall of flying lead.

Ivory Tower

Chapter 3: Of Ghouls and Men

Kenta's body fell backward as the rattling of Chicago Typewriters filled the air. Flynn ducked behind pile of nearby trashcans while Delilah crouched just outside of the alley. Bullets ricocheted off of the steel trashcans and smacked into concrete and brick, occasionally punching through one side and rattling around. By the time the guns fell silent, the first three cans were thoroughly Swiss-cheesed and Flynn, crouching behind the fourth, was thanking his lucky stars individually and by name.

The investigator took a peek from behind his cover and prepared to move. He saw the four gray-coated figures slapping new drums onto their guns, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. As he moved to leap out of the alley to better cover, however, his foot caught on something and he stumbled, sprawling.

In a panic, he turned and threw up his hand toward his foes, as if to plead for his life. He heard a rumble of low chuckles from the gunmen. Time slowed down as Flynn O'Connell watched them pull back the trigger, four soulless black barrels all pointed at his prone figure. And then… nothing.

Delilah had watched in horror as the handsome investigator had fallen out onto the sidewalk. Moving to help him would only have made her a target, however, and evening gowns were not made for quick rescues. Still, she had just gathered the will to rush out and grab him when a series of sharp 'ping's intruded upon her senses. She watched as Kenta, whom she had thought quite dead, stood and brushed off his tattered coat, causing many flattened pieces of lead to fall to the concrete.

Cocking her head in confusion, she watched him glance down the alleyway before making 16 quick gestures in the air. Lines of blue fire followed his hands, forming a strange figure in the air before vanishing.

Delilah's eyes narrowed.

Flynn looked up to a series of small explosions. Down the alley, all four figures were grasping at bloody hands. Pieces of smoking metal lay scattered around the alley, though none of them were close to him.

Not one to frown upon good fortune, Flynn stood quickly. He grabbed his cane and twisted the top, pulling a long, thin blade from its wooden sheath. Rolling his shoulders, he charged down the alley at the assailants.

Behind him, Kenta began marching toward the enemy, both hands near his belt on his left side.

Delilah stepped cautiously into the alley, glancing around for any further attackers. Seeing none, she settled back to keep an eye on the fight. 'Now this is what minions are for.'

Flynn lunged smoothly toward his first target. He felt his blade pierce flesh and keep going, emerging from his opponent's back. He pulled on his blade, already looking to his next target, but felt something resisting him. The young man looked toward his blade just in time to see a clawed hand release it and swing at his jaw.

Kenta ducked underneath the flying detective, marching steadily onward. Three of his enemies shed their overcoats and revealed their hunched-over forms. Gray skinned and covered in stubbly hair, they stretched out gangly arms tipped with vicious claws and roared at his approach.

Kenta moved fluidly, drawing a curved blade from empty air and striking in the same motion. His blade sang as it cleaved forward. The nearest monster dodged too late, howling as it clutched the bloody stump where its arm used to be.

Two of the monsters struck simultaneously, one high and one low. The short Japanese man turned his charge into a quick forward roll, ducking beneath both blows. Through it all, his sword never stopped moving.

One of them roared again and charged at him from the side. He stepped around the monster and kept moving, blade flashing.

He moved through the enemy, ending his dance a short distance beyond them. As he swiped his blade through the air one last time, stripping it of dark blood, two of the creatures fell to pieces behind him.

One of the creatures, cane-sword still jutting from its chest, roared defiantly and tried to turn. A sharp pain in its chest stopped it, and it looked down to find the sword gone. When it looked up again, it stared into the grim face of Flynn O'Connell. Steel flashed, and the thing knew no more.

The final monster, still clutching its bloody stump, glanced feverishly around the alley. On its right, Kenta was just turning around, bringing his sword into a ready position. On its left, a dour-looking Flynn was just pulling his sword out of a corpse's face. Seeing only one easy escape, the creature leapt at one of the alley's walls and began climbing. Its remaining claw dug into the brick and mortar, leaving long gouges and deep holes.

As both Kenta and Flynn rushed to stop it, something round and metal came flying out of nowhere and smashed the creature in the back. It fell twenty feet, landing between the men with a bone-shattering crunch. Astounded, both men turned to stare at Delilah, who stood at the mouth of the alley next to a now-lidless trashcan.

Delilah simply pointed at the creature, which was clawing its way down the alley toward the far end. As they watched, it pulled itself up with some of the piping bolted to the wall and began stumbling away from them, gradually picking up speed.

Flynn cursed and tried to follow, but rocked on his feet as his vision blurred. 'That love-tap on the jaw may have been a wee bit much,' he thought blearily, stumbling.

Kenta merely grunted before stabbing the sword into his own gut. Without flinching, he quickly began sketching out a symbol in the air. Green fire briefly flashed 13 connected lines before, with a horrifying screech, two of the alley's pipes bent out into the path of the creature. They flattened as they met, forming an impossibly-thin blade in the middle of the alley.

Unable to check its progress, the top half of the creature flew several feet beyond where its bottom half had fallen over. Screaming in some unknown tongue, the thing grasped at its entrails, trying to hold everything in. A shadow blocked out the lamplight, and it looked up to see the small warrior bending over it with a curved knife.

As the blade descended toward its throat, the bifurcated creature mustered its remaining energy to yell, "Best wishes in Hell from Frankie Yale!" As the knife slashed through its windpipe, the creature opened its hand and let something roll out.

Suddenly, the alley was a scene from Dante's Inferno. Light, fire, and thunderous noise caused Flynn and Delilah to drop to the ground. Flynn ducked just in time for a burning figure to fly back, out of the alley and across the street.

Sirens sounding all around them, Flynn and Delilah raced out of the alley and over to Kenta. Flynn reached down and pulled the tattered mercenary to his feet. Looking around groggily, the Japanese man followed as Delilah led the way to the Ivory Tower's back entrance. The three of them entered swiftly and slammed the door shut behind them, throwing two deadbolts and several locks before falling into the chairs in Delilah's nearby office.

"This is disturbing news. I had thought myself the only businessman in New York who employed people from your world." Delilah had called Arnold Rothstein, who had arrived soon after with Meyer Lansky and Charles Luciano.

The three mobsters huddled in Delilah's office along with Flynn and Kenta. Flynn looked to be slightly discomfited sharing a room with three of the biggest names in New York Crime. Delilah distracted him by pulling him off to the side where they spoke at length in hushed tones.

"These things had fangs and claws, you say?" Lansky queried, getting vehement nodding from the two of the three parties involved in the scuffle. "And they were incredibly strong and fast?" Delilah and Flynn nodded again, Flynn gesturing toward the massive bruise on his lower jawline.

"So it's likely that these…monsters…are the cause of our warehouse woes?" Luciano asked intently, a small smile forming as he caught his own alliteration.

Kenta stepped forward, drawing every eye in the room to him. "Hai," he rumbled.

"And you're sure it said 'Frankie Yale' before it died, Kenta?" Rothstein asked, rubbing his chin. The Jewish mob-boss looked as though he had been roused from a sound sleep by Delilah's call. He rubbed his eyes before refocusing on Kenta's face.

"Hai" said the aged Japanese man again, nodding sharply to punctuate his statement. Luciano and Delilah stared at him, waiting for more, but both Lansky and Rothstein knew better.

Rothstein sighed heavily. "I'll have to assume that we're at war now. And it's going to be blo-"

"Your pardon, Mr. Rothstein, but it may not have come to that just yet." Luciano, Lansky, and Rothstein all turned to stare at Delilah incredulously.

"He just tried to attack my speakeasy with supernatural…bozos packing explosives. He could have blown this place sky-high if the three of you hadn't scared them off and then run them down. And we just established that those…things are the source of the disruption of this town's booze business." Rothstein's voice never wavered or changed pitch, but his tone set Flynn's hair standing on end and caused Kenta to shift in his corner.

Delilah didn't even blink. "Yes, Mr. Rothstein, that is true. But I've been comparing notes with Mr. O'Connell, here, and we seem to have come across some discrepancies."

The statuesque redhead stood and began pacing. "First, there is the matter of that raid earlier tonight. Inspector Duhan is a well-known and respected member of the police force, a man who would never take a bribe…from anyone but Mr. Yale and his boys. The next police raid is scheduled for a week from now, and Mr. Luciano" she paused and nodded to the playboy, "owns all of the police assigned to that raid. Who, then, pointed us out for the impromptu raid tonight?"

Rothstein's face twisted in concentration as he began to consider this. Lansky, however, had a question.

"So he called in the raid on the Tower. How does that make him less likely to send in his supernatural punks in case Duhan failed? That would make the most-" Lansky cut himself off as a thought occurred to him.

As one, he and Rothstein looked at each other. The same thought passed through their heads as they turned to face Delilah.

"That does not sound much like Mr. Yale, does it?" The two men grimaced and shook their heads. Yale was very intelligent, true, but not much of a schemer. Planning like that just wasn't the mobster's style. The Italian capo used his power more like a lead pipe than anything else: heavy-handed and unsubtle described him perfectly.

Flynn spoke up. "We have yet to really connect Yale to the creatures at all, aside from the testimony of the one Kenta killed. I don't think you gentlemen want to start a war on such flimsy evidence."

The three mobsters looked startled, then thoughtful. Kenta stepped back out of his corner.

"I have met these…things before. They are mercenaries, cannon-fodder in the larger conflicts between supernaturals," the old mercenary said, voice flat and emotionless. "They will work for anyone who promises them payment and blood."

Delilah nodded, and then took a deep breath. "It is more likely that someone within Mr. Yale's organization is trying to shift the blame while still removing a rival. Sparking a gang-war when most of the capos are already aligned against Mr. Rothstein could open up more of the market for a particularly greedy higher-up."

Luciano's eyes lit up before narrowing viciously. "Vito." When everyone turned to look at him, he explained further. "Vito Moreno is a little rag who's supposed to work for Frankie Yale. But Vito only works for Vito these days: rumors say that he's been stealing from his boss for months. Yale still trusts him, though, so nobody's said anything to the chief about it. If you're right about somebody shifting the blame, sweetcakes, then this has Vito's greasy little fingerprints all over it."

Rothstein closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his gaze was firm and his face set. "Mr. O'Connell," he began, turning toward the towering young man "I would like to thank you for your assistance tonight. You helped my dear Delilah and my friend Kenta even though you had nothing to gain and everything to lose. While I would not dream of attaching value to their well being, you may ask anything of me. If it is in my power to do so, I shall grant your request." He settled back to watch as Flynn began thinking furiously.

The conversation between J. Edgar Hoover and Bob Eire flashed through his mind. Almost immediately, Flynn had a brilliant, foolproof plan. He hoped.

"Mr. Rothstein, I would simply ask to be included in this undertaking. My Department is in sore need of a…victory, of sorts. I would like to make this an 'official' investigation, in which I will make sure not to mention any of your names save for as concerned citizens. That is my only request."

Rothstein looked startled, then did the one thing Flynn least expected: he grinned. "I've heard about Bob's troubles with the new Kid. I'd be happy to help an old friend out of a tight spot. Welcome to the team, Mr. O'Connell." Flynn's face lit up like Christmas morning, joy undimmed by thoughts of things to come.

Arnold Rothstein turned to face Kenta and Delilah. "The three of you will go have a 'word' with Vito Moreno. Get whatever information you can out of him, and find out if he's the one sending those gray baboons after the shipments and my club. Good luck to all of you, and don't get caught."

Arnold Rothstein, The Brain of New York, stood and nodded to everyone in the room. Meyer Lansky followed just behind, pausing to nod to Delilah on the way out. Luciano reached out and took Delilah's hand, kissed it gently, and then sauntered out to enjoy New York's nightlife.

Delilah sighed heavily before gracefully folding back into the seat behind her desk. She turned tired eyes toward the two men seated before her, every inch the exhausted young beauty.

"I sincerely hope that you are correct, Mr. O'Connell, that Mr. Yale is not involved with those ghouls. Because if he is, New York just turned into a shooting gallery, and the three of us are going to be some of the first targets."

The tall investigator stretched his legs and toyed with his cane, mind racing from possibility to possibility. He raised his own gaze to focus just below Delilah's ivory neck before replying, "The evidence, what precious little of it there is, would tend to point in that direction. At this moment, I am more concerned with how a beautiful young businesswoman such as yourself would know what, exactly, ghouls are. It's not exactly common knowledge, Miss James."

The Ivory Tower's red-headed operator smiled wanly. "Mr. O'Connell, I am well aware that no one in the group is what they appear to be. Kenta," here she pointed at the wrinkled figure seated before her desk, "took around 200 .45 bullets to the torso and brushed it off…literally. He then used magic to detonate four Thompsons and manipulate plumbing into a deadly weapon."

She pointed next at Flynn. "And don't think I didn't notice your own actions, Mr. O'Connell. I had the opportunity to see the small pile of bullets and gun-parts located directly in front of where you fell. A shield of some sort, Wizard?" she smiled triumphantly.

Across the desk, Flynn slumped further into his chair, eyes closed. After a moment, he opened them again and stared with some intensity straight between Delilah's eyes. "Did you ever think to just ask, lass?" His voice had fallen into a harsher accent, and he straightened his shoulders, seeming to expand and fill the room with his presence.

Delilah seemed to shrink back a bit, less sure of herself. Kenta merely snorted.

"Will you at least try to keep the peace, little phage? Or you, man of the Council?" The other two occupants of the office turned to glare at him. The old mercenary simply shrugged. "I am old. Not blind, nor stupid. The three of us now know some of each others' capabilities. This is good, if we are to fight together for Mr. Rothstein."

Behind her desk, Delilah took a moment to center herself before nodding. "True enough, Kenta. Do we have a truce, gentlemen?" She looked from one man to the other, waiting until each had given his affirmation before going on. "Very well. We can meet tomorrow, here, and then pay Mr. Moreno a visit." She stood. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen. I bid you goodnight."

Kenta and Flynn stood and bid their goodnights before exiting. Delilah reached for a cigarette. 'I have gone to great lengths to stay outside of my Family's politics,' she thought, lighting up. 'Yet here I am, getting sucked into mortal issues just as dangerous. Well, maybe.' She chuckled darkly before walking back out into her club.

Kenta and Flynn departed the Ivory Tower wordlessly. They walked for some distance together in silence before Flynn began to turn down the street toward his home. He stopped and looked back at the aged mercenary standing on the street corner in a burnt and tattered suit. Closing his eyes for a moment, the investigator asked, "Do you have a place to stay, Kenta?"

His only answer was a brief chuckle and a short, "Hai." Opening his eyes again, Flynn was tempted to ask about Kenta's magical education and background. The sight of the old man walking briskly away into the darkness shot that particular thought in the foot, though.

Yawning, Flynn crossed the street to his apartment building, descending the stairs to his basement dwelling. As he approached his door, he noticed that a single tattered sheet of white paper had been pinned to the heavy oak. It was a telegram from someone in Missouri.

Pulling it down, he read:

Answer your damn phone!

Jackson's been trying to call you.

You're going to have company soon.

-E. McCoy

St. Louis, US-MO

Quickly, Flynn unlocked his door. Muttering, he waved his hand to lower the wards around his home before stepping through and raising them again. His long strides brought him swiftly to his phone. As he picked up the receiver, he reached out and grabbed a nearby sheaf of papers and began leafing through.

"Hello, operator? I need to make an international call, please. Yes, I'll hold." He waited as he was transferred to the international operator. "Hello? Ah, yes, thank you. Edinburgh, Scotland, please. No, they'll pick up the bill. Thank you very much."

Tapping his foot restlessly, Flynn could only wait impatiently as his call was transferred overseas. When he finally heard a voice on the other end of the line, he jumped. "Hello? Yes, could you transfer my call to…" he paused, flipping through the sheaf of papers, then rattling off the numbers written on a paper headed by that day's date.

"Yes, yes, thank you very much. Good day." Flynn paused again while the phone rang. A sleepy-sounding male voice finally answered. "Might I ask who is calling?" the voice asked, partially obscured by sleep and a thick brogue. A quick grin flashed across the investigator's face as he imagined Bob Eire on the other side of the line.

"This is Wizard O'Connell. I was told Wizard Jackson had been trying to reach me?" Flynn did his best not to sound agitated.

"Ah, Wizard O'Connell. If you'll give me half a moment, I'll fetch Jackson for you." The phone was set down, and Flynn heard the scuffing of feet on stone. Not long after, the phone was picked up and a new voice came through, with a Welsh accent this time. "Flynn?"

Flynn let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Edmund. I got a note from McCoy saying you had been trying to call me? What did you need?"

"First of all, you need to update your address in our records." Flynn winced. "We've been trying to contact you for weeks, boy. Our phone calls never seemed to go through, and you never responded to our telegrams."

On the American side of the conversation, Flynn frowned. "What do you mean, never went through? Not all of your calls could have come when I was at work? And I never got any telegrams from the Council!"

From the other side of the Atlantic came a snappy retort, "If you gave the Council a real schedule of when you're at work, we'd know for sure." Edmund Jackson sighed. "Look, this is pointless. To make a long story short, the Council had to get a telegram to the closest member we could, who turned out to be Wizard McCoy. Everything had to wait until he could get the message up in his mountains before he could send it to you. It would have been easier if any of the Council Members nearby bothered to register their locations with us…but ever since the Great War, security has been very lax. No one bothers to check in any more…"

Flynn cut his old mentor off. "Focus, Edmund. Why were you and the Council trying to contact me?"

"Aye, to the meat of the matter. It would seem that rumors of Kemmler's demise were heavily exaggerated. He's active again, and several of his disciples have disappeared. The Council had heard rumors that at least one of them was headed for New York, and we sent a Warden to investigate. You remember Elizabeth Nin, don't you?"

It took a supreme act of self-control, but Flynn managed not to drop his phone. "Yes, Edmund, I remember her. We were raised together, if you'll recall."

"Yes, but it's been a century and change, boy. Forgive an old man his foibles. Anyway, Warden Nin was put on a three-week trip by boat to New York. That was…four weeks ago. We received word from her by telephone when her boat had just arrived last week, but the call was lost before she could tell us anything else."

Flynn began to tremble.

Edmund's voice took on a tinge of sorrow and compassion. "If you haven't seen her, Flynn, then we don't know what happened to her."

Still shaking, Flynn slowly sunk to the floor of his apartment, his eyes fixed on a nearby news article. The headline "Investigation Continues into Dockside Murders" dominated his thoughts as he dropped the receiver back onto its cradle.

A/N

Okay, a few notes on Ivory Tower. I'm still trying for the weekly-update schedule, though my health seems to be fighting me every step of the way. My next update should be Friday as I attempt to catch up to the game itself.

Not that it's any excuse, but it ain't easy turning a game into a story. Originally, Flynn and Delilah got along famously and everybody knew what exactly they were. Kenta remained a mystery until Chains of Duty, but everybody had their guesses. Now that I'm novelizing the game, I realize just how eager to start the game we really were. I'm trying to make a group composed of several proud, powerful individuals both reasonable and fun: plus, we kind of hated each other for a while there.

"You seem trustworthy. Would you care to join us on our noble quest?" Rogar the Barbarian

"Yes, yes I would." Ambrose Magellan, sorry

And for those of you who keep asking me when the next chapter comes out: keep up the good work. I actually appreciate it when you guys display an interest in the story. So, the more reviews and messages I get, the more likely I am to write, and write quickly. I'm not asking for a bribe, just telling you like it is. This story won't get any better unless I know what you, the reader, enjoy/despise about what I, the author, write.

Remember, bets are still open on what, exactly, Kenta and Delilah are.