It was raining. Again. Cold as well. A frigid 49 degrees Farenheit, which would be 9.44444 degrees Celsius, with added wind chill taken into consideration. It had been raining since before dawn, without break throughout the day, making the weather humid and unpleasant. It would have been sorry weather were it anywhere else, but this was New York, and somehow, the fact that it was the city made the atmosphere even more miserable. Steep puddles, unforgiving traffic, overhangs and gutters sporadically dumping water onto those unfortunate to be passing by, it all cumulated to one cruel, cold reality; no one who went out could possibly stay dry.
There were those who tried, some desperately so, with plastic ponchos, long rubber boots, umbrellas more akin to what one might carry to the beach than one meant for blocking out the rain. But most New Yorkers were accustomed to this weather. From the businessmen who came in with the shoulders of their suits soaked, to the harried and windblown ladies fixing their hair and coats in the entryway, everyone was used to the rain.

That didn't mean Matthias had to like it any more than he had to. Rather, he despised this sort of weather, rainclouds and chills and whatnot. It would always set his teeth on edge, the subconscious anticipation of thunder and lightning. Even if he himself knew that there would be none coming, that this was just the average rainstorm, it still peeved him. He kept one eye on the clock throughout the day, waiting for the hour when his shift would finally be over. He knew that he had to pick up some extra hours if he was going to manage to pay both his electric bill, internet bill, and have money left over for food, but surely those hours could wait for a less dreary day, couldn't they? When at last, four o'clock did come, he finished checking out his last customer, before heading back into the staff lounge to change out of his uniform.

Two of his co-workers, Klaus and Patrick, were already inside, presumably on break. Patrick's round face seemed to perk up as he waved and smiled at Matthias.
"Hey, Matty! Is it four already? You worked straight through break today!" he remarked, seemingly impressed. Matthias only grunted in response, changing his shirt with the one in his duffel bag and hanging up his apron.
"Ah, the weather's getting to you again, ain't it? I don't understand how it makes you so grumpy, didn't you study abroad in England? Ain't it always raining there?" Klaus asked, raising an eyebrow as he sipped his coffee.
"Damp." Matthias replied curtly, fixing his tie. "It is damp in England. There is a difference."
"Not much of one, though."
"True. That is why I left England. And that is also why I'm leaving here. I'm going to go back home, have a nice cup of coffee, lie down in bed and-" he paused as a beeping suddenly came from his belt. Oh, great. He didn't even have to look at it to see who it was, only one person knew that number.
"And head back down to the station." He groaned, resting his forehead on the locker door.

Klaus let out a hearty laugh, while Patrick only blinked in confusion.
"You're going to the station? Was there another case? Oh! Oh! Was it Ghostess?! Is she going to stage another robbery?!" he asked excitedly. Matthias glared at him coolly, giving a snort.
"Of course not. Ghostess only commits her crimes on clear nights, presumably for better media coverage, and for her tricks to work. Her disappearing act only works if the weather doesn't get in the way. She's even delayed her heists because of freak rain showers." he retorted. Klaus chuckled again, practically beaming now.
"So says our resident detective and Ghostess fanatic! With how obsessed you are with her, I'm surprised she hasn't filed a report with the police about you!" he joked, causing Matthias to glare daggers at him.
"Still though... It's been quite a while since the last heist, hasn't it? Three weeks now... I wonder if something happened?" Patrick wondered aloud, catching both of their attention. Matthias was quiet, before shaking his head and a second page beeped out, grabbing his bag and heading for the door.
"She's probably fine! The weather's been shit for a while now, that's probably why. I'm leaving!" he called over his shoulder, opening his umbrella as he stepped out into the back alley.

While his home and work were quite close to each other, within ten blocks, the station was a ways away. He would have to get on the subway to get there. He didn't have the money for a taxi, and it would in all likelihood take more time finding a driver than it would catching the next train. Well, at least it would be out of the rain. He closed his umbrella once he was underground, making it in time for the 4:15 subway. A stroke of luck, to be sure, though one that was filled with constant pings sent to his pager, and thus filled with constant fumbling at his belt, to turn them off. Eventually, his simply gave up, and kept his thumb on the button for the rest of the trip.

Arriving at the subway station, it was a short walk up and out of the tunnels and over to the precinct, a tall and imposing building, old and with an almost classical feeling to it. Entering the lobby and passing several uniformed officers, he showed his security pass and followed the familiar path up to his father's office. The Chief's office. He knocked once on the door before entering, just as another page came through on his belt. Annoyed, he opened the door, unclipping the nuisance of a device from his belt and tossing it on the desk, glaring at his father.
"I got your page! You don't have to keep sending it every five minutes! I just got off work half an hour ago, I can't get here any faster with you pinging me all the time!" he snapped, his expression sour. Chief Charlot, a tall and imposing man, smiled pleasantly at his son, looking slightly sheepish.
"But I can't know if my message got to you or if you're coming. Your pager only receives numbers."
"That's because this one was the only one I could afford! Because someone decided that it would 'build character' for me to be kicked out of the penthouse and my allowance cut off, and my job only pays $9.00 an hour!" he retorted, his voice bitter and annoyed.
"Hmmm, indeed. If only there was a way to use pagers that have words instead of just numbers, so I can know if you're coming." his father mused, oblivious to his son's anger.
"Maybe if you would join the Twenty-First century and get a cellphone, like everybody else, you could find a way. How do you not have a cellphone anyway, you're the Chief of Police in the largest city in America! Shouldn't it be mandatory?" he exclaimed.
"But I don't need a cellphone. I have a pager." Chief Charlot replied, cheery as ever. However, his mood suddenly sobered, his face becoming serious.
"However, that isn't why I've summoned you here." he began, taking something out of his desk and handing it to Matthias.

It was a plastic ziplock bag, containing what looked like, at first glance, to be a business card. However, rather than a name or numbers, there were eloquently printed lines of text. Matthias recognized this font immediately.
"Ghostess" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His voice shaking slightly, he read the card out loud.
"For Solomon's Kingdom
I will seize Tarshish lands
Your evil will be exorcised with a red hand

Ghostess"

He stopped, looking up at his father.
"Is this real?" he asked, confused. Chief Charlot nodded, leaning back in his chair.
"We had forensics compare it with the cards we've received previously. Everything matches, the paper, the ink, the font, hell, they might have even come from the same sheet of paper. Why do you ask?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.
Matthias frowned, reading the message over and over again.
"Something... Something doesn't feel right about it. I mean, Ghostess always sends riddles but... This one just seems different from the ones in the past." he remarked.
"Different how?"
"It just... It lacks that sense of... Mockery, I guess. It doesn't give off the same feel of "You can't catch me, even though I'm tipping you off" kind of emotion." he explained, struggling to convey his words. Charlot gave him a blank look, before taking the card back.
"Sure, son, I'm sure it does. Anyways, we figure that her target is the Solomon R. Guggenheim museum. I've already sent three units over there to investigate. All the major media outlets got this card too, apparently. It's going to be a nightmare, keeping the dirtbag reporters out." he grumbled to himself.

Something still felt off about the card, however, it was on the tip of Matthias's tongue. However, at the mention of dirtbags, it suddenly struck him.
"Wait... She didn't say it. She didn't say what it was she's going to steal!" he exclaimed, sitting up straight. "She hasn't said what she intends to steal. Normally, she'll say something about "I'm coming for your secrets" or something like that, but this, she said she's coming to take Tarshish lands." he pointed out. Charlot recognized the glint in his son's eyes, sighing.
"Yes, get on with it."
"Tarshish is an old Assyrian name for the island of Sardinia. However, other sources point to it being the land of Carthage. Is there anything being showcased at the Solomon from those either of those two places?" he asked, getting excited. Grumbling to himself, his father searched on his computer, looking bored for a moment until he saw something.
"No, there isn't. However, the Morgan Library and Museum is holding a collection of art and artifacts on loan from the Italian government... From the first Punic war?" he asked, looking confused. However, hearing this made Matthias' grin grow even wider.
"The first Punic war was a war between the empires of ancient Rome and Carthage. Carthage lost the first war, and gave up territory to the Romans, the most notable land gain being the island of Sardinia." he explained, eyes bright with revelation.
"Not to mention, the Italians were fairly upset that the collection would be collecting dust in the JP Morgan library, instead of on the worldwide tour like it was planned. If there's anything shady going on with that deal, she's no doubt sniffed it out." He said triumphantly, looking over to his father, only to find he was on the phone.
"... Yes, send over three units to the Morgan Library and Museum, cordon off the area and protect the Punic exhibit, I'll be over there within the hour." he ordered, before putting down the phone, grabbing his coat and hat.
"Let's go, kid, and find out if you're right."

She couldn’t believe that she was actually doing this. Tara shrugged her coat in tighter around her, pulling against every inch of her body against the cold wetness, as she made her way into the hospital. Rain dripped down her back, on her hair, and got into her eyes, blinding her as she made her way into the bright hospital. Cars honked at her for her to get out of the way as she made her way in. She waved in an apology before going inside.

The receptionist, a kindly, elderly woman, waved her through, not even bothering to check to see who she was. She knew who she was. They all did, and they all felt pity for her. Tara sucked in her cheeks as she made her way onto the elevator. She didn’t need anyone’s pity. In fact, she felt pity for any of those who pitied her. They didn’t see the demon scratching at the surface of her stomach. She gently pressed the floor she needed to go to and the elevator began to ascend without anyone else getting on. Flash flickered as the elevator passed them and she leaned carefully against the back of the elevator, her aching feet pulsing from being stood on too long.

The noticeable bulge in her side was worrisome to some of the nurses and doctors as she exited the elevator, but when she opened up her coat and flashed the glimmering gold badge on the inside, they calmed down quite a bit and scurried off. She narrowed her eyes as they hurried off, but she didn’t pursue any course of action. She wasn’t active duty today. At least, she hoped she wasn’t. She could be called into work at any time and unfortunately she would have to take it. Due to the budget cuts at the precinct, they were down a few cops and detectives.

Doctor Killian Addler, a rising star in the New York Area, stood outside the specific door that she was fearful to go into, but wanted to all the same. Clutching a clipboard in his slim, healing hands, he looked up at her as she approached. His handsome face grim, he looked her with sorrowful pale eyes and shook his head. That was all he needed to do to convey the message of what question was on her heart. Biting her lower lip, she brushed passed him, touching his shoulder gently, went into the room and looked at the pale, stiff body on the bed with so many tubes and bandages attached to it. In other cases, the person on the bed would have looked like she was sleeping, and Tara would have known it, because all while they grew up, Tara knew how her sister slept. Long black hair was thrown over the pale, milky white pillow. Porcelain skin was glittering under the pale lights. A lone beeping sound could be heard throughout the room.

No tears entered her eyes as she walked over to replace the old, dried up daisies with the fresh roses she had picked earlier in the week. The vase sat in the back of the bed, teetering slightly on the edge. She gently pushed it back before pulling a chair closer to look at Eliza. Tara brushed the hair out of her elder sister’s face and took a deep breath before pulling off her large, tan trench coat and draping it over the back of a chair. Unbeknownst to anyone else here or anywhere, her sister’s “uniform” was tucked in her laptop case on her hip, just waiting to be used again, which it would be, once the weather cleared up. She had to keep up appearances so no blame for Ghostess would fall on Eliza, though she hated going against what she believed. She needed to keep everyone in the dark, even her own boss and work. She set her laptop case down in the chair next to her and slowly sank into the plushy softness.

Leaning over, she kissed her sister’s forehead. Her skin was cold, almost as if she was a corpse in the bed, but Tara knew better. She tucked the bedsheets around her tighter, right when she got a call on her phone. Sitting back in the chair she pulled up, she pulled it out and said bluntly, “Carson.”

“Hey, Tara. The Chief wants three units down at the Morgan Library and Museum. They think that’s where Ghostess will strike next and they’re trying to figure out what she will take. You down?” the voice, belonging to her beat cop friend Melissa Manni, said. Tara looked over at her sister’s comatose form and sighed, pressing two slim fingers to the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath. The blood red nails flickered in the dim lighting.

“Of course,” she said, standing back up. She had only been here for about two minutes. Work always got in the way of her visits here for some reason, but she knew she could never turn them down, especially when her sister’s persona was involved in some way, shape, or form. “I’ll be down there in a jiff. I’m at the hospital right now.”

There was a heartbeat of silence on the other end of the phone before Melissa asked, “How’s she doing?”

Shrugging her jacket back up onto her shoulders and pulling her laptop bag over the top of her head, Tara began making her way back out, the slim Samsung still pressed to her ear. She stalked down the hallway, tall and confident, but her heart was beating in her throat. She nodded to Doctor Killian again. “Heart’s still beating and she has a steady breathing pattern, so she should still be fine. I just wish it didn’t look as if she were sleeping.”

“Man, that’s rough. I still can’t believe Ghostess shot her. That seems to be the first violent thing that thief has ever done.”

Gritting her teeth as she pressed the button to the elevator, Tara responded rather stiffly, “Yeah, well, we don’t know a lot about Ghostess all the same. Listen, Mel, I need to get going. I’ll talk to you when I get there, a’ight?”

“Alright. Seen you soon.” The phone line went dead and Tara let out a small growl in her throat as she jammed the button for the lobby floor of the hospital. Leaning against the back wall, she began to think about the note left for the Chief, written in the same hand as her sister. She was shocked that the department didn’t already know about the replacement of the Punic artifacts with fakes. The government was replacing the artifacts and reselling the real ones to private collectors for large sums of money to pay off the growing debt to China. It was honestly ridiculous that some people could be so blind. But she needed to keep her mouth shut tonight and hopefully, if the weather was clear tomorrow, it would be an easy steal.

Dodging out of the elevator and trudging through the rain to her unit, she quickly slipped inside, but not before shaking herself off to where she wouldn’t get hypothermia from how cold she actually was. She immediately turned up the heater in her car, warming her hands up, before pulling out of the parking lot and heading down the main street to 3rd so she could get to the museum. She immediately pulled onto the street and was greeted by two cop cars and another undercover unit.

She pulled to a park next to them and slipped on some of the medical gloves she kept in her glove compartment. Leaving her laptop bag in her passenger seat, she quickly got out of her car and hurried over to the museum, flashing her badge to the officer posted outside the door. He dipped his head to her and she walked inside and was immediately greeted by Melissa. The short little blond tossed her hair out of her face and quickly gave the low down on what was going on.

Tara, only half listening since she knew most of the information, scanned the room, eyeing security cameras and any forms of added security. The displays were noticeably protected, but these were not the displays she needed to see. Melissa led her down to the basement. She coughed as dust filled the room and waved her hand in front of her face. This was what she needed to see. The Italian artifacts were not well protected. She would be able to get in here easily and get out just the same.

“… and Detective Charlot and the Chief will be arriving shortly,” Melissa said, ending her spiel, and this made Tara freeze.

“Detective Charlot will be here? Then why call me in?” Tara asked, glaring at Melissa.

“The Chief wanted you specifically. He thought you and Matthias would make a good team! Of course, Matthias is his son… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tara growled, before starting to pretend to examine the artifacts. This was going to be a lot more difficult than she thought, especially if that douchebag of a detective was on the case…

Matthias looked over the map of the museum on his laptop as his father drove them through the busy downtown streets, crosschecking with the blueprints. He was confused, why now? Ghostess never came out during the rain, was there something here he was missing? A different exit that they might not know about? She would always escape from the roof tops though... Maybe she had a new trick she was going to try? Was that why she had contacted all of those reporters? He knew she loved an audience but this was huge. Was her modus operandi changing? Or was this a one time only change? Was there perhaps a copycat? No, the card matched the previous ones they had received, it had to be legitimate. So then what, what was it that made him feel such unease?

He had been so immersed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed his father had been speaking, and quickly tuned in to catch the last parts of the conversation, so that he could at least pretend to be listening.
"...And when we arrive, you're to stay with officer Carson." Matthias suddenly sat up, looking at his father reproachfully.
"What? Officer who now? Why aren't I going with you?" he asked, offended.
"It's too dangerous. I want you partnered with officer Carson for your own protection."
"Protection?! What the hell, I don't need protection, you've never made me partner with an officer before on these cases!" he argued. His father gave him a sharp but stern glare.
"That was before Ghostess shot someone. You're not an officer, Matty, you're a private detective we consult with. You don't even have a gun. I will feel much better knowing that you're with one of my people than out on your own." he said firmly, showing that he was not budging on the issue.

Huffing, Matthias slumped back in his seat, crossing his arms in a pout.
"Fine. I'll consent to being babysat."
"Good. I'd also feel better knowing Carson is with you. This is her first major case, I'd be better at ease knowing she's with someone with more experience." he said, reverting to his more cheery attitude.
"I thought you said I wasn't a cop." Matthias pointed out dryly.
"You're not, but you have been poking your nose in police business since 15. Your mother says had you started a little younger, she would have written a book about it."
"She did write a book about it, dad. The Boys of Bronx, it was a children's best seller."
"Oh yes, she did! It beat out the teleporting treehouse novelas by a landslide! Speaking of your mother, you will be attending dinner on Sunday, won't you?"
"Yes, Yes, I will."

They spent the remainder of the car ride in idle chitchat, until they arrived at the JP Morgan museum. It was 5:00 now, the skies were still grey and cloudy, though the rain had slowed some. Met by two other officers, the father and son were escorted into the building, out of the weather. In his suit and tie, Matthias stood out among the boys in blue, looking more like a misplaced businessman. Looking up, Matthias recognized one of the officers, an older, somewhat pudgy mustachioned man.
"Officer Ramirez? What are you doing here, I thought you were homicide." he asked, surprised to see him. Ramirez grinned, rubbing his head sheepishly.
"Hey, Matty. I was, but I got transferred onto the Ghostess case. They wanted a homicide detective on the case in case the girl who was shot dies." he explained. Matthias waved to his father, following Ramirez through the exhibits, down to the basement.
"So, how've you been, Matty? I haven't seen you since serial murder case with the vampire wannabe. Did you pass the exam?" he asked. Matthias frowned, holding in a glare.
"No, I didn't. Right now, I'm a private detective. I've decided to wait a little while before taking the exam again." he replied calmly.
"Ah, I see! Gotta work hard to put some meat on you, boy! Kick the physical before it kicks you, huh?" the older man roared with laughter, slapping him on the back.

He led him down into the basement, where the Punic artifacts were being stored. A nervous looking museum curator and a few other female officers he didn't recognize were already there. Ignoring them, he went to look at the artifacts, curious about them. He stared for a few moments, before turning to the curator.
"Is this the Italian collection? From the first Punic war?" he asked. The curator nodded, walking over to his side.
"Yes, they are. They are very old and valuable, we are very grateful to the Italian government for allowing us to showcase them here." she replied.
"Hmm... I'm confused, however. If they are to be showcased, why are they down here? Guests aren't allowed below the first floor, are they?" he asked, suspicious. The curator stiffened, before giving him a polite, if somewhat strained smile.
"They are being studied, at the moment. They are of great historical importance."
"I see. But then, wouldn't it be better to have them over at the Cloisters? They do specialize in the study of ancient and medieval European history. Aren't their facilities much better equipped to handle their study?" he asked, before spotting the putty casts.
"And those casts, what are they doing here? Has the Italian government given you permission to replicate them?" he inquired. Beginning to sweat now, the Curator gave a nervous laugh.
"Of course! We are preparing an interactive exhibit for the winter, where guests can experience the history of the Punic wars themselves! Now, if you will excuse me, I have to take a call." she excused herself, hurrying out to the room and upstairs.

Ramirez chuckled, putting a hand on Matthias's shoulder.
"A real lady killer, aren't you, chico? You really had her swooning there!" he said in friendly mockery.
"Perhaps. Although I find it more interesting how she managed to get reception when we're 40 feet underground." he remarked, allowing himself to be led away from the artifacts and over to the female officers.
"Ey, Melissa, Carson, here's Matty- Oops, I mean Detective Charlot. I'll be upstairs, my kid wants a snapshot of Ghostess, and I want her to clean her room. Gotta work hard for that compromise, right?" he said, heartily excusing himself. Matthias was much more reserved, keeping his hands behind his back and nodding to the two women.
"Pleasure." he said, somewhat curtly, not interested in conversation. Just because he had agreed to have someone watch over him, didn't mean he intending on befriending them.

It was quite obvious when Detective Charlot arrived, because he immediately began questioning the curator of the museum. Tara just shook her head and continued to study the items herself. He also arrived with the ever annoying Ramirez, who seemed to not be able to leave this case alone because Eliza is close to death. The curator walked off quickly and Tara just shook her head.

“If you’re going to be a part of this operation, you needn’t scare off one of our leading experts on these artifacts,” Tara said loud enough for Detective Charlot to hear. Tara turned and cocked an eyebrow at Matthias. “So what exactly are you doing here? We have enough detectives at the precinct to work this case on our own… Daddy’s privilege, hmmm?”

“Tara,” Melissa hissed at her, but Tara just shook her head and continued to walk around, searching for weak spots. She eyed the small windows surrounding the basement. They would be just above the ground at this height, which means if she were to get through this way, she would need to wiggle along the ground and slip through. But they could only be unlocked from the inside. Narrowing her eyes, she turned and walked back toward the steps.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Tara said, roughly bumping passed Matthias to get to the stairs, “I have some real detective work to get done.” She stalked back up the stairs and went back out into the open exhibits. Melissa, giving a small smile to the young man as she followed her friend him, hurried up quickly after her and caught up with her.

“Well that was quite rude of you,” Melissa said, grabbing Tara’s coat covered arm and yanking her back to a stop. “You could at least try to be nice to the poor kid.”

Tara jerked her arm out of Melissa’s grasp and snapped, “I don’t give a damn on what you think, Melissa. This is my case. It should be my case. Ghostess is… the reason I became a detective. I wanted to stop people like her and I don’t need any rookies messing it up!”

“May I remind you that Ghostess was a stem off from the work your father did?” Tara stared at Melissa and Melissa then realized she had gone too far. Her slim pink mouth shut quickly and she frantically searched her brain. “Tara, I didn’t mean…”

“Tell the Captain I went home and I’ll be back in the morning,” Tara said blunting, tucking a piece of black hair back behind her ear. “The storm is getting worse and I don’t think anyone wants to be caught in the rain out here.” Melissa tried to reach for her arm, but Tara dodged around it and made her way back outside, holding up an arm to block any rain from running into her eyes. It would just mix with the tears. Tara took a deep, shaky breath before ducking into her car, soaking wet, and driving off down the street.

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the dark steering wheel. She was almost half tempted to flip on her siren so she could get to her apartment faster, but that would be wrong of her. Instead, to pulled steadily to a stop at a stoplight, with no one else around. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, taking a deep breath, and pressed her forehead to the top of her steering wheel. This was just the “best” day so far. She couldn’t believe that she was babysitting a private detective.

The red light stayed for a long time and she blinked open her eyes. What came into view was her laptop bag, with the Ghostess uniform stowed away neatly inside in it. She stared through the front window. It was still raining, fairly hard in fact. But she knew if it was Eliza in this position and she had seen what Tara had seen, she would go for it. Tara swore under her breath and yanked her car into reverse. She did a U turn and sped back down the street.

There was a small diner just off of Third Street, only a few blocks away from the museum. It would take only five minutes to get there and it would take only a few minutes to change… She drove into the diner parking lot and parked in the back, away from the streets to where no one would be able to see the unit. She slipped in through the back door, and then disappeared into the restroom. This wouldn’t take too long.

Locking in one of the stalls, she plopped her laptop bag down and began slipping out of her drenched clothing. She pulled out the black yoga pants and black tight fitting sweatshirt. Tara didn’t understand why Eliza needed to look like a ninja, but she did always have those damn katanas on her back whenever she went out, so it was obviously a look thing. She slipped into the tight clothing, pulling the hood up over her head and slipping the mask up over her face. She pulled her sister’s black boots on before flipping out a makeup mirror and painting a cat eye liner on both of her eyes. It was one of her sister’s signature characteristics. She then pulled on her slim black gloves and tucked the lock picks into her boots.

The door to the bathroom suddenly opened and someone walked in. Tara froze, waiting for the person to leave. It took the person five minutes of possibly staring at the mirror before they walked back out again and Tara quickly threw her wet clothing into her bag and slung in back over her shoulder. Her Glock was still on her waist and she had Eliza’s katanas in her truck for later. She hurried back outside quickly, making sure to stay out of sight from any form of person. She knew there wasn’t security cameras on this diner, which made it an easy mark to change.

Heading to her car again, she opened up the trunk and pulled her sister’s katanas out and slung them onto her back, throwing the laptop bag in the back. She tucked the signature onyx swans into a pocket on her side. She hooked her keys onto a belt loop and hurried down the street. She ducked into the alleyway and found a low enough fire escape to climb up to the rooftops. She climbed up quickly, ducking through the rain. Her boots slipped, and she nearly fell, but she flipped up onto the roof before she could fall.

She began sprinting across the rooftops, jumping from roof to roof. Almost each time she had to drop and roll and then pop back up to sprint again. She managed to get all the way to the apartment building across the way from the museum. She crouched down at the edge and pulled out a binocular. She looked to the street and saw that there was only one car still there. Melissa must’ve left after her. She kneeled down, and pulled the mask up around her mouth. She would need to wait for that last car to leave before she could dodge in.

Matthias remained silent as Detective Carson proceeded to become unusually and increasingly hostile, arguing with her partner before rudely bumping into hims, leaving the room. He shrugged it off, brushing his shoulder and calmly walking halfway up the stairs, pausing in the doorway as they bickered and their footsteps faded. Well, it was uncalled for, but it wasn't like he cared. In fact, it was even better this way. If she hated him so much that she couldn't stand his presence after knowing him for less than a minute, all the more in his favor. This way he wouldn't have to worry about her getting in his way. So she could go on and do her 'real detective work'. Just so long as she didn't get in his way.

Around a half hour after the two women left, he got a call on his cellphone. Flipping it open, he held it up to his ear.
"Matthias speaking."
"Matty, hey! Listen, there was some kinda disturbance over at Solomon, some kinda nut job clashed with our officers. It doesn't look like Ghostess is showing up tonight, the rain must be too much. We're pulling back, but we let the guards know to tell us if anything shows up on the security cams. You need a lift home?" came Ramirez's ever cheery voice over the phone. Matthias thought for a moment, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face.
"No, it's alright. I'll catch a ride with the chief back to the precinct. You go on ahead of me." he assured him, hanging up and dialing a second number. This time, a woman's voice answered.
"Mom? Hi, listen, can you tell call dad at the precinct and tell him Ramirez gave me a lift back? And yes, I'm coming over this weekend. Love you too, bye." With his plan in place, Matthias headed back down to the basement, crossing paths again with the curator again.

"Ah, Detective. The museum is closed now, will you be heading out?" she asked, seeming smug. Matthias gave her a sweet, hollow smile, faking innocence.
"Oh, yes, of course I am. I just forgot my cellphone down in the basement, I'll fetch it and be out of your hair." he lied, waving her off. He took a few more steps, then stopped.
"You know, it's strange. No matter how many times I tried, I couldn't get any reception down there. You must have a much better phone than myself. It must have been very expensive." he said slyly, casting her a knowing look over his shoulder. Her face draining of blood, the curator didn't say a word, hurrying up the stairs as quickly as she could. He smiled to himself, continuing down to the bottom. As he suspected, there was most definitely illegal activity going on down here. If he used the pictures of the molds he had taken, it could probably get a more official investigation. But now, this was his bait. Ghostess would definitely be coming for the artifacts, and the files proving whatever criminal activity was going on down here. All he had to do was wait.