The club looked completely inconspicuous; it was a classic picture of a Muggle party, as far as Clarisse knew. She would have never thought that this place served another purpose, especially not the one it apparently did. Why would the Seers even want to spend their time in such a club? It was loud, crowded and filled with people so drunk, that they could barely stand. Was it because of the fact that they could simply be themselves here, without the fear that someone is going to actually believe in their abilities?

Clarisse didn't have to understand the Seers' reasons to do her job. Maybe she lacked the social skills necessary to befriend those people dancing in the middle of the club, but she surely possessed the ability to blend in. She walked up to the bar and smiled at the bartender, who was fixing a drink for another customer. She waited patiently for him to finish and then said:

"What can you recommend?" Riss gestured to the many alcohol bottles behind the man and tilted her head to the side. The bartender smiled at her and leaned over the counter, closing the distance between them.

"Depends on what you're looking for," he answered and put his weight on his elbows, eyeing her curiously.

"I like my drinks strong and neat."

He laughed at her response and grabbed a bottle of whisky. He poured it into a glass and pushed it in her direction. Clarisse took a sip of the liquid and smiled, when it burned her throat.

"Good," she said and put the glass on the counter, knowing that she couldn't exactly get drunk on the job. Blending into a crowd of people having fun was one thing, but, unfortunately, she still needed to keep her senses sharp. "That's a cool place," Riss mentioned and gestured to the club behind her, while the bartender shrugged.

"I guess. Nothing really special about it, though."

"Is that true?" she asked and raised her eyebrows with amusement. "My friend told me that she's met a clairvoyant here once. A real one." Clarisse rolled her eyes, making the man chuckle.

"Yeah, we get a lot of real ones here," he laughed and shook his head. "If you're asking me, they're a bunch of lunatics, but they don't cause any troubles. Usually."

"Usually?"

"Well... The future is not always pleasant, right?" He grinned at her and Clarisse couldn't stop herself from giggling. What was in that whiskey? "When they foresee someone's death, or whatever, people tend to freak out. We've never had much problems, though."

Clarisse fell silent for a moment, thinking about her next question. She had to be careful. Raising suspicions wasn't something she wanted to do achieve, but the bartender seemed relaxed and chill. It probably wouldn't hurt to prod him a little bit.

"Are those prophecies..." she started and then frowned, grabbing her glass and swirling the liquid inside. "You know. Do they ever come true?"

The man stopped smiling and frowned, looking at Clarisse intently. He didn't look alarmed; if anything, his face showed signs of surprise and wonder, so the woman decided to stick around and wait for his response.

"I don't believe in those bollocks," he answered slowly and then bit his lip. He clearly wanted to say something else, but couldn't find the right words. Clarisse smiled and shrugged.

"Me neither. Or that's what I've been telling myself all this time."

"But you're here," he said and she scowled.

"Yeah. I'm here. That clearly means something, huh?"

He fell silent for a moment and then looked around, clearly making sure that there were no customers waiting to be served. Apparently, Clarisse chose the perfect moment to come up to him, because everyone seemed to be engrossed in the thrill of the party, rather than in search for new drinks.

"Most of those mentalists are... well, mental. But there are some, who look at you and you get the feeling that they really see. I mean, everything. It's like they are glancing into your very soul, you know?"

Oh, she did. Clarisse held a strong conviction that it was one of the first things that all the Seers learned. Her mother possessed a great ability to make her daughter unable to lie, or even attempt to lie. All it took, was that piercing stare.

"There were few girls..." the bartender said and hesitated for a moment. Apparently, he still wasn't sure if admitting to believe in those things was a good thing to do. She smiled reassuringly and he chose to continue. "I'm a bartender. People talk to me, whether I want it, or not. Those girls were unusually quiet, and when they finally spoke, the things they've said..."

"What things?" Clarisse picked up instantly, trying not to shift with excitement. Judging by the look on his face, she succeeded.

"That's the interesting part. Most of those clairvoyants tend to be dramatic. They drop some bombshells on you, like: 'Your deceased mother is very proud of you', 'You're going to find your other half soon', or something similarly ridiculous. But those girls talked about the small things. Things that no one could have known. One of them once told me that I should buy some coffee, because I'm running out. Next morning I woke up, only to find out that I have no coffee. The other told me not to plan anything on Monday, because I'm going to get a significant phone call. My sister got into a car accident and had to be taken to a hospital that day," he said and frowned. "I mean, how do you explain that?"

Clarisse didn't have the right answer for him. Unless someone broke into his apartment to steal the coffee, and purposefully harmed his sister, there was no answer, other than the obvious. Those girls could really see into the future.

"Are those girls here?" she asked, giving her voice a hopeful tone. Clarisse didn't want to make him feel questioned, so she had to make him believe that she actually wanted to see her own future.

"No. I've only seen them once," he said and then a shadow crossed his face. "Well, not once. Twice, both of them. The first time was here, the second was in the papers. Apparently, some psycho killed them."

Her heart jumped at the bartender's grim words, and she hoped that her excitement couldn't be seen. It was safe to assume that their theory was right and that the killer really picked his victims here. Hell, he could even be here, in this very moment.

"That's... Terrible," she muttered and took another sip of her drink, hoping that Finley wouldn't report her to Deschamps.

"It's scary, that's what it is. I don't know why would anyone want to kill those girls. Sure, they were a bit weird, but that's not a reason to take away their lives," the bartender said and sighed. "Someone probably decided that their predictions aren't normal, that they are freaks. The world has progressed so much, and yet still there are people, who would love to start another witch hunt."

Clarisse almost smiled at his words, knowing that the man couldn't have been more right. Just as the Wizards had their own prejudices, Muggles acted exactly the same. Wizards didn't understand the technology; they believed it to be a necessary substitute for Magic. Clarisse couldn't picture life without being a witch, but even she had to admit that Muggles had developed so many amazing things, that the Wizards, even with their power, wouldn't stand a chance against them.

The Muggles, on the other hand, had dreamt of Magic, and feared it at the same time. They wrote fantasy books, created multiple worlds, where all their dreams came true, but at the same time, they were closed off to the possibility of magical people living among them. Weird meant bad. If someone didn't fit into their expectations of a perfect being, they were cast out of the society.

Clarisse really appreciated the irony in all that. Magic, or no Magic, all of them were human. They had different things that scared them, but in the end, they were just the same.

"People can be cruel," she said, pushing aside her thoughts and focusing on the reality. "I don't think that evil can ever be banished from the world. Even with all our knowledge, we're still stupid. I mean, look at me," Clarisse laughed humourlessly and shook her head. "I'm claiming to be a reasonable realist, and yet I've ventured here to find the answers to the questions that cannot be answered."

The bartender clearly wanted to say something, but a customer approached the bar, demanding his attention. He only sighed and offered her a gentle smile.

"I hope you'll find those answers anyway."

Yeah. She hoped so too.


Mingling with people was easier than she expected. One thing that was common for all the drunk people, was their openness. She partially understood why the Seers chose to attend these parties. It was a place of joy and fun. Even if they were aware of some of the bad things that were about to occur in other people's lives, here those things seemed as far away as possible.

The questions she asked were similar. Was it true that the clairvoyants came here? Could she really meet them? Were they for real? Clarisse hoped that some of the customers would be able to point her in the direction of a man, who happened to come here a lot for quite some time now, but, unfortunately, no one seemed to remember such a person. It was incredibly irritating, but the Auror knew that blaming drunk people for poor observational skills was completely pointless.

Her initial excitement faded away with every second. She started to think that the murderer was even more careful than one could presume. The confirmation that the victims really were here certainly offered some hope, but it still didn't bring her any closer to actually catching the killer. The basic questions of every investigation were still unanswered. What did the culprit look like? Did he have any special characteristics? How old was he? Where did he come from?

Everything was still a mystery, and Clarisse started to grow really tired. The crowd, no matter how joyous and energetic, sucked out her willingness to put on a smile and pretend to fit into the group. She had a feeling that she was going to come up empty-handed, yet again, and it wasn't a positive thought.

She was about to look around to find Finley, when a shiver crawled up her spine, and she froze on the spot. Clarisse knew better than to believe in every hunchshe experienced, but that feeling... That feeling couldn't be ignored. She felt as though someone was watching her, with force of a dozen stares. Clarisse turned around and searched the crowd frantically, trying to find the source of her anxiousness.

Everything seemed perfectly in order. No one paid attention to her figure, just as no one was doing anything suspicious. Yet, she didn't stop searching, knowing that she simply couldn't be wrong.

"Is everything alright?" The girl Clarisse was talking to yelled in her ear, noticing the sudden change of tension in the Auror's body. There was no concern in her voice, just curiosity, and Riss decided against focusing her attention on the girl.

"Yes. I just thought I've seen someone I know."

"Oooh!" the girl exclaimed and shifted excitedly, judging by the rustling of the sequins on her dress. "Is he a guy?"

"Mm, I don't know," she answered absentmindedly and frowned. She had to find that person somehow. What if it was the killer?

"You don't know?" the girl asked again, clearly baffled. "How can you not know?"

"Sorry, I have to go." With that, Clarisse walked into the crowd, her heart thumping loudly inside her chest.

She didn't even know why she picked that direction, but something told her that it was a good one, nonetheless. She was about to leave the dance floor, when someone grabbed her hand, forcing her out of a trance and scaring her to death. Clarisse inhaled sharply, when she spotted Aedan's familiar face. It was clear that he wasn't the one watching her, but at least he meant her no harm.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. Apparently, he did watch her closely, because he wouldn't be angry at her for leaving a potential witness behind otherwise.

"I thought that someone was watching me. I want to find out who," she answered and forced her wrist out of his grip.

She was about to walk away, when a silhouette of a man caught her eye. Suddenly, Clarisse felt as though she forgot how to breathe. The time stopped for a moment, and her vision blurred out everything, but the figure standing near the bar, talking to a young girl. Finley shook her arm, trying to wake her up, but she couldn't find it in her to even acknowledge his presence.

Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing, but Kylian Bouchard, her long lost father, standing next to the bar. Alive.