Previously on Ivory Tower:
Delilah came to with Arnold Rothstein leaning over her, shouting at her to stay awake and holding her hand. She smiled weakly up at him, and he answered with a smile of relief.
Police would later report finding eight individuals on the roof of the office building next to the Opera House. None had any explanation for how they had gotten there, though most of them swore that they had been inside of the Opera House at the time of the fire.
Ivory Tower
Epilogue: And What Happened After
The dawning of September 7th painted the sky a beautiful crimson, with flashes of golden cloud and blue sky reinforcing the breathtaking view. J. Edgar Hoover, stepping out of his limousine, paused for a moment to appreciate the beautiful sight. The triumphant smirk never left his face as he turned toward the dilapidated brick building on his right and marched up to the sagging door. Glancing up, he saw that above the door, where once hung the flaking, black-painted wooden letters, intricately-wrought brass now spelled out "Bureau of Investigation: Paranormal Crime Division" in broad, bold letters.
His smile fading, he had just raised a hand to knock when an old Model-T pulled up behind his limo. Turning, he watched Robert Eire stumble out of the driver's seat and walk unsteadily toward the door.
"I guess you really can show up late to your own funeral. And drunk, as well? Tut-tut, Mr. Eire." Hoover said mockingly.
"I'm not drunk, you half-wit," Eire replied irritably. "I've just been driving for twenty-four hours."
Hoover drew himself up. "Half-wit?" he hissed. "I was considering giving you an extension, purely for my amusement, but I'm afraid you've gone and upset me, Mr. Eire."
"I don't need your damn extension." Eire fired back. "I just got back from a meeting with the President. I wanted to deliver our latest report personally." He held up a folder. "I left a copy on your desk at the Department of Justice."
"Give me that!" Hoover snatched the folder from Eire's unresisting grip and began flipping through the file within. "Foreign criminals, German political parties, a cult planning on setting fire to the Metropolitan Opera House…" he flipped to the last page. "The only things you left out were the leprechauns and the unicorns."
"If you'd actually read the files I sent you, you would know that we dealt with those two last year."
Face rapidly reddening, Hoover began shouting. "I asked you for a viable case, you senile old fool! Not a fantasy novel! I'll have your ass for this, you skirt-wearing son of a –ah, achoo!" He sneezed loudly. Hearing a meow, he looked down at the small gray kitten winding between his legs.
"I –achoo- hate cats!" he pulled back his leg and kicked out at the tiny cat. The moment it impacted, there was a sickening snap, and Hoover began hopping up and down, clutching his foot. The small kitten, completely unperturbed, glanced up at him and opened its mouth.
A thunderous roar ringing in his ears, the Director of the FBI staggered over to his car and clambered into the back, screaming at his driver. Eire bent over to pick up the kitten, using the purring creature's paw to wave goodbye. "Good job, Jinxie." He turned and walked into his Department, muttering, "It's not a skirt, it's a kilt, you nancy-boy."
In a sterile white room, a short man sat and fiddled with his black bowler hat. Across the room, stretched out on a narrow bed, a young woman slumbered peacefully. Suddenly, she awoke, glancing around with a frightened expression.
The man with the bowler hat stood up and stepped toward her, hands raised placatingly. "It's alright, sis. You're safe."
Eyes wide, the young woman stuttered out, "I-i-is he g-gone?"
"Faustus is gone, Sara. We're finally safe." The two collapsed on the bed together, hugging one another and weeping.
"Mr. O'Connell, kindly stay in bed. I don't want you hurting yourself."
"I'm fine, Delilah. Look, I've completely reco – whoa."
"As I said, Mr. O'Connell." Delilah helped the bandaged wizard back into her bed.
Flynn cleared his throat. "I appreciate you opening your home to me, Delilah. I didn't expect Faustus to bother sending minions to ransack my home. Hopefully I can return tonight and set up my wards again." He sighed and muttered, "Spiteful son of a…"he paused, looking up at her. "…woman of negotiable affection," he finished.
Delilah shrugged, rolling her eyes. "It was my pleasure, Mr. O'Connell." She paused. "There was one thing I wanted to ask you about. A wizard matter." Flynn motioned her to continue. "When I locked eyes with Mr. Faustus, I saw…things. Scenes from his life, I think."
The wizard's eyes widened. Finding his voice, he stuttered out, "You…you soulgazed one of Kemmler's apprentices?"
"Soulgaze?" Delilah asked, tilting her head to the side quizzically.
Flynn drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "When you make eye contact with a wizard, or most other practitioners, you get a glimpse of their soul, their self. Sometimes, they're images. Sometimes, they're more impressions or feelings. For someone as warped as Hugo Faustus…I can't begin to imagine what you saw."
The lovely redhead went absolutely still for a moment before suddenly sitting on the edge of the bed. "It was disconcerting, to say the least." She brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "This, soulgazing? Is it only the initiator who sees a soul?"
The investigator shook his head firmly. "No, the other person sees your soul at the same time you see theirs." He stared resolutely down at his hands until a firm grip on his chin pulled his gaze upward.
"Truly?" Delilah breathed, seeking and capturing his gaze.
The two stared, entranced by the scenes behind each other's eyes, until Flynn violently pulled back. Blinking, he looked back at Delilah in a new light. "Victorian? As a White Court?"
"It wasn't a fun period for most of The Family. I happen to have enjoyed it." She shrugged elegantly. "Now, what about that man in the straitjacket? Who was he?" she asked intently.
Flynn flinched. "I don't want to talk about it." Delilah nodded in understanding, and the two began to speak on more pleasant topics.
On another side of town, on a nearly-empty street surrounded by abandoned warehouses, an old, disheveled man slumped against a wall. Breathing heavily, he pushed open a nearby door and stumbled inside and toward a small square of metal at the center of the warehouse. Concentrating for a moment, he sketched a quick symbol in the air, and the square of metal began slowly, but silently, sliding to the side. He dropped into the darkness beyond, and landed with a loud 'clink' followed by a contented sigh. The metal square began sliding back into place as a single candle lit, illuminating a silk tapestry covered in the image of a vast, snow-capped mountain.
"Would you be proud of me, obaa-sama?"
One week later, Arnold Rothstein called his three champions together in his office. Delilah arrived first, followed shortly by Flynn and Kenta, who were chatting amicably as they walked in together.
Rothstein cleared his throat. "I very much appreciate what all of you have done for me," he began, "and I have taken the liberty of putting together some gifts for you." He reached beneath his desk and pulled out a beautifully-adorned curved blade. Taking great care not to touch the blade, he passed the blade over to the mercenary.
"Kenta, I found this in an antique store owned by a good friend of mine. He told me it was the blade of a great military leader of centuries ago, Yoshikazu Ashikaga." He pronounced the foreign name carefully.
Kenta's eyes widened, and a small, grim smile worked its way onto his lips. "Yoshikazu-chan, hm?" He examined the blade, passing over the length of the blade, skin barely a centimeter above the metal. The smirk widened. "He ordered me to commit seppuku on his nineteenth birthday." Seeing everyone's confused stares, he elaborated. "He was very drunk. He ordered me to commit suicide over an imagined dishonor."
Rothstein blinked. "And you refused."
"No. I complied." Everyone stared, but he seemed to have run out of words.
Flynn shook himself. Looking to Rothstein, he quipped, "And I thought my grandfather was a funny old man."
Everyone laughed, including the funny old man. Rothstein then turned to Flynn. "I have no gift for you, Flynn. I'm sorry, I just didn't know what you'd want."
The detective leaned back with a beatific smile. "There is no need, Mr. Rothstein. You've already given me a great gift. Paranormal Division thanks you for your assistance."
"Always happy to help an old friend," the mobster said, grinning.
Finally, he turned to Delilah. "And finally, Delilah, I have one final gift."
Delilah waved a hand, saying, "I do not need anything, Mr. Rothstein. I am happy to simply run the Ivory Tower for you."
Rothstein nodded. "I had a feeling you'd say that. Which is why I have decided to give you what you really want.
The Ivory Tower is yours."
A/N
And there we have it. It's been a fun ride, and I'm happy to say that the saga continues. We'll get to that soon, so for now please read over this tale and let me know how to improve.
So we're done for now, except for one thing…
Omake
Explanation of Magic: Episode 1
Flynn O'Connell
Flynn was raised in a society slowly being dragged into the modern world. His parents held onto the old ways, which influenced his magical education.
His rituals are vaguely druidic, calling on the spirits of those past as well as the elemental spirits themselves to aid him. He must make a sacrifice for each ritual, usually a general sacrifice of blood or a specific request for a specific spirit. So long as he doesn't call upon them often, they will usually answer the call and respond to his sacrifice. The language he uses for his rituals is an older form of Gaelic.
His evocations, on the other hand, come from the Hermetic tradition. His mentor, an English wizard of the White Council, taught him Latin as well as the basics of evocation. He specializes in working fire, earth, force, and spirit. The language he uses for his fire and earth evocations is Latin, though he uses Gaelic for most of his spirit and force evocations.
Flynn prefers preparation to power, though he truly is quite powerful. He refuses to become a Warden due to a poor encounter with them during his youth. His signature attack is the Quicksand Cage he used to trap the ghoul guarding the boiler room.