I can clearly recount the first time that I stepped into the Rêver Bar. That musky stench stays on your clothes and skin long after you’ve left, heavy with a toxic mixture of cheap alcohol and foreign spices despite the bar’s Western-themed architecture. The atmosphere was dense, the music pulsing through your body and mixing with the torrent of words that washed around you. When you stepped, the floorboards groaned quietly at the new weight that was added to it.The bar looked like it could seat about seventy-five people comfortably on its stained birch chairs. Many of them were occupied by tall men in large throngs, slurring at each other in a language I could not even begin to put my finger on. It was almost lyrical, but harsh. They were odd enough; I’d heard about this bar in passing comments here and there but I could not expect this. Imagine a man with thick black tights rolled onto their face. Eye sockets with no eyes, a gaping mouth and dark one-toned skin that had no stray marks or imperfections. As I observed them gambling about drunkenly, the old bartender spotted me through the throng. He had deep set raven eyes and bushy grey eyebrows which were furrowed with concern, adding to the many wrinkles that marked his face. Sliding past the customers he approached me, gripping my extended hand in both of his sweaty ones, leaning in and screaming his name into my ear, which I could still not hear. I remembered Neil Enderson from the email of correspondence. This man was obviously my client. He led me past the other customers, sidestepping expertly, to an antique mahogany bar table. There, a sullen bair maid  was dragging a ragged dishtowel over the surface across from three customers.

They were all strange characters, stranger than the others, and suspicious for certain. I kept my eye on them even as I sat down on the fake leathered stool. I never really like the way they squeaked underneath of your every movement, but it would do. I was aching from the late night case yesterday and reveled in the rest. Hopefully this would be done soon. I rolled my shoulders and leaned onto the countertop with a heavy sigh. The barmaid, a young lass that seemed just about in her twenties, flatly asked me what I wanted. She was still beautiful with her full glistening blond hair and wide aquamarine eyes, but the work here seemed to have weathered her down. I ordered a shot of whiskey which she handed me promptly and forcefully. Thanking her politely, I nursed in it my hands. Of course, I was on the job but you could say my job could use some buzz. After taking a grateful sip, I returned my focus onto the people seated nearby. The neighbor to catch my eye the most was the one who looked the most of place: a girl, looking about  twelve at the most. Her legs dangled beneath where she perched, ending with her small, shoeless feet. She pulled a strand of black hair from her face to better reach forward and take a gulp from the glass in front of her which she held with both hands. The glass seemed to engulf her face. I scribbled into my notebook furiously. Once I was done investigating, I would have to report this.

Seated beside her was a young bespectacled man, about twenty-five or so.  He had turned around lazily to look at me when I entered, the bartender at my side, and gave a brief nod of recognition. His mouth seemed eternally frozen in a displeased scowl on his cold grey face. His glasses glinted in the dull light of the tavern. There was a glass of wine before it, which I assumed was his. I didn’t know they would sell such exquisite alcohols here. It was a dump of a place, and I could tell why this place would at one point in time need someone like me to come by.

Another girl, looking about the age of the other was the only one to give me a proper greeting--or at least the closest thing to one. She’d stood when I arrived and given me a pleasant smile, but offered no words. I had tipped my hat  to her as the bartender pulled up a stool for me at the opposite end of the bar. Of course, this had been so that I would have both the barmaid and the bartender standing within earshot and the three customers  to my right. The girl had copper hair and golden eyes that shimmered. She and the one piece dress she wore were both pale, her coral lips and cheeks giving them some life and color. She and the other young one girl seemed to be friends, as the other girl would whisper into the other’s ears and both would giggle.

It was best to get this over with quickly. I had a bed at home with my name on it. I started off with a forced cough, which was how I began most of these meetings. After all, from what little I had gotten from the email, these were all of the people that had been involved. “Firstly, I’d like your names.” I gestured towards the farthest, the silent girl. “You can go first.”

She looked at me with wide eyes and shook her wavy hair in front of her face, gripping her hands  in her lap. She chewed her lip. Her friend piped up. “Her name’s Papillon. She’s kind of shy.” I nodded. This might be a long night.

“And you?” I asked the girl. She grinned widely, brushing her short midnight hair from her angular face.

“I’m Jikan.” That was an unusual name. I looked up at the man with glasses.

“You?”

“I am known as Claris.”

“And I’m Genevieve of Lilliath,” offered the barmaid. “You’ve probably heard of me.” She seemed hopeful. I shook my head.

“I’m sorry I haven’t.” I said. She scowled.

“It’s people like you…” she muttered under her breath.

“I already know you,” I dismissed the bartender. “I want to start off by saying that anything you say to me is okay. It doesn’t matter how crazy it sounds, it doesn’t matter how many fingers you point. Clearly, if you’re coming to a private detective like me, it means the police can’t  help you with this.” I laid my notebook and pen onto the table and gave them a strained smile.  

The barmaid grinned cynically. “I can think of a thousand things you wouldn’t believe. Do you know how many princesses are waiting in towers for someone to save them? This world isn’t a place of fairy-tales.”

“Yes, I’m quite aware. However, this murder is no tall tale. Let’s try to focus on it and what we could do to resolve this.”

Jikan shook her head. “Oh, it’s perfectly fine. Actually, we meant to ask you a few questions, detective.” She smiled innocently at me. This was unusual. We’d be going off point some, but anything to get them to talk. I nodded stiffly.

Claris pushed up his glasses with a long, elegant finger. “We want to establish how the killer could have done it before we offer up any information. So, tell us, how do you think someone could have been murdered here in this bar with no conviction?”

“I’m sorry, I know little of the case  you’re talking about. I was supposed to hear what happened from you all.” I remembered the email, as it was so short. Murder, Revere Bar. Consult Neil Enderson.

“Just guess,” offered the bartender with a look a father might give his son.

“I told you I don’t know.” It sounded bad even before it had left my mouth, but hanging that thought out into the open was humiliating.

“Well, there were a lot of teeth marks,” Jikan spoke, looking into the depths of her glass with an intent, far off look. She chewed on her lower lip. She didn’t blink. “It was here that it happened. Blood everywhere. You know when you see that stuff. You just do. And so many chunks missing. So much blood missing.” I put my hand on her arm.

“It’s okay, we’ll find the killer,” I assured her. She looked up at me with cocked eyebrows and a small smile.

“I’m sure. But I think there are other things to look for, too.”

“Well, what other things can you remember?” I asked while writing down what I’d just heard.

“He was nice,” said Genevieve. “A tad pompous. He seemed real tired and stressed, a studious sort, quizzical but clueless. Carried a little notebook. Didn’t know what he was getting himself into fully.” She walked past me into the depths of the bar with a tray tucked under her arm.

“Had you all met him before?” I bit the tip of the pen.

“We were acquainted,” said Claris. He took a dainty pull of his wine.

“What were your relations with him?”

“None of us knew him before. But we got to know him a bit better. He’d been getting pretty famous in the papers, you know. On The Mourning Times and stuff,” said Jikan. That was interesting, as I myself had just been interviewed by that local paper.

“I guess it’s best to find out who does know, then,” I sighed. “Who were his friends?”

“We don’t know.” The others concurred with Jikan.

“What about his name, then?”

“I’m afraid we do not know,” said Claris. What do they mean?

“Tell us, detective,” whispered Jikan, staring into me. “Who was murdered?”

I looked at the bartender for answers with no dice. What is going on?

“You mean to tell me that you don’t know who was murdered? Where is his body? Where is the evidence? What is going on?”

Having come back with a platter full of empty glasses, Genevieve answered. “Not here. Not yet, at least. Aren’t you supposed to be answering our questions not asking them, detective?” It stabbed at my pride. I frowned at her and turned to Papillon.

“You haven’t spoken. What do you have to say?” She simply looked at me and scrunched up her face, smiling apologetically. “Come on, now,” I urged. She opened her mouth and a set of black and golden wings unfurled from her lips. It beat it’s wings and crawled onto her face. It was a monarch butterfly. She closed her lips again and blushed. I didn’t know how to respond. It was going to be a very, very long night indeed.

“So, to answer,” I said. “I’m assuming that the man murdered here was...eaten, and it was someone that was on the road to becoming famous, probably smart, so, so a journalist?” It might have been the most awkward sentence that I’d uttered, but here it seemed perfectly normal.

“You’d be close,” nodded Neil at me happily.

“A...detective? I’m assuming?”

“No, no.” said Jikan, taking a large sip from her glass. “You aren’t assuming anymore, you’d be right.”

“We don’t know how exactly it’s going to happen, but it did.” Neil placed his hands on my shoulder. “It’ll be alright.” What?

“Erm, what do you mean by that?” I looked around desperately at everyone but Papillon just shook her head at me sadly.

“I’m out of time, Genevieve,” said Jikan. The barmaid took the cup and filled it to the brim with thick honey colored ambrosia.

“I didn’t leave the castle to become a maid,” she growled. “Well, I guess, but it’s not like I want to.”

“This isn’t time,” pouted Jikan.

“We’re out,” snapped Genevieve.

Claris chuckled. “Bartender, we are getting awfully hungry. May we please dine soon?”

“Yes. Yes of course Donovan,” muttered the bartender. “I’m awfully sorry detective, it seems you didn’t figure it out in time.”

“My stomach’s been empty for four hundred years, please do hurry,” said Claris. They all looked at me.

“I’m awfully sorry.”

I forgot who said it, but I remembered nothing except the stench, and the feeling of their teeth on my skin.