Science is the art of catching up with the Universe to control it.
Magic, is the art of commanding the Universe without clearly understanding it.
It is a strange game, with not one clear road. One takes the path of the mind, simple, logical, hoping to follow a set road. The other one takes the path of the spirit, intuitive, draws a map and then makes the road happen. Neither one is better than the other, they are both a waste of time. God made the Universe to be lived in, and we lie to ourselves believing we can control it. That is why we deserve the hell we get.
Those were the thoughts that ruminated in the mind of Sebastian Mortis as he drove his car to his house. Most Detectives would be a down on their luck man, barely scarping by, expecting for a new job to come knocking while barley keeping creditors and landlords at bay. Though Mortis was a man down on his luck for sure, he was far from poor, that was because in his line of work, with the level and experience he had accumulated, not to mention a sizeable grab from his own family's investment portfolio, made the Detective a man of not small prosperity. His house was was a three floor old Gothic Revival Mansion suited to look like a great castle, with two imposing towers crowning opposite corners of the majestic house; a sight to behold for people, and a spot that attracted tourist and tax-men alike, although less of the former than the latter. The old manor house was once part of an old peach plantation, though most of the trees had been traded for lots for other large houses to take hold, this particular house was the crown jewel in the area. What caught the eyes of many onlookers was that the estate was covered in signs and symbols drawn from many cultures: Nordic Runes, Gargoyles covered in Latin text, lamps with twisted and strange figures designed all over it. Most people would chuck it to an owners eccentricity, but Mortis called it survival. This was the legacy of Mortis's family, or at least the parts of it Mortis was still willing to acknowledge as such, for this ancient manor was once one of the few places Mortis's found solace in his youth, filled with as many bad memories as there were good ones. He could have sold the house long ago, or rent it to some rich poser for quite a lot, but in his very own pragmatic mind he knew that for a man in his line of work, dealing what he had to deal on the regular, this place was a fortress from which there were few others of its like. Such unique place was this house, of such power and strength than when Mortis's father made himself owner of the house by blood and might he did not liquidate the asset, turning it into a safe house for himself. There was also the patrimony left in the house, too valuable to waste or give away, so it was preserved against all odds. And now it belonged to Mortis, who too earned by right of blood and might, and now acted as his castle and sanctuary, a place where he was nigh impervious to any attack, and kept safe things that should no longer roam the world.
Two gargoyles guarded the main iron gate, which lead through an elegant driving road to the old manor house, each step small lights glowed every faintly only for those who truly had senses for what was outside the physical realm, they enveloped road and house in protective barrier that could withstand the worst of the worst.
Mortis parked his Ford Mustang on a side garage that stood out from the main house, a newer addition created by Mortis to make sure he could keep his main ride safe and sound thanks in part to a series of additions by the owner. The Detective entered through a door that connected the garage to an old pantry, now part of the main kitchen, where Mortis took a bowl with the name Cicero inscribed, and dumped the big piece of pork pie. Obediently Cicero sat down and waited until the Detective run through the classic orders.
"Sit! Paw. Lay down. Roll Over," and finally the coveted "Eat" Cicero pounced on the meal as Mortis went to the big fridge, pulled a large jar of Ice Tea, and went to continue his work. The Detective took to the tower nearest the entrance of the palatial estate, but first eh stopped at a large closet beautifully built into the nearby entrance wall at the entrance of the house; once a place for family and guest to store jackets, coats, canes, and umbrellas, now the exquisitely carved door depicting a pastoral scene of peach trees in bloom lead to a small room with trench coats, bags, and various weapons bladed, piercing, and blunt. The room seemed of easy access, but the truth was there was a specific way to get inside, any other was would render the knob inaccessible to any intruder, which was the first of many traps Mortis had installed in the closet. Mortis left his coat inside the closet, as he did a pair of semi-automatic pistols, a set of knuckle dusters, and a large Colt Anaconda, all of them in specific storage spaces with their own runic inscriptions to act as wards. Mortis only kept a beautiful sword on his belt, a single handed blade with a large handle to be wielded with two hands if necessary, a tool of beauty, and his prefer method of self defence inside his own property.
Lightened by his pit-stop Mortis continued his way to the tower area, there he come upon a large door that barren entrance to nearly one third of the residence in question; a heavily decorated door displaying the scenes of critters of the forest as a huntsman came to the scene. Despite its appearance of a common slide door the door itself would not budge to no man that could not solve its riddle, as a few motions from Mortis's hand turn the hunter into prey for a large hidden wolf, thus solving the puzzle and granting the Detective access to the room in question. The sealed room was a librarian's dream, a collection of tomes dominated four floors of the house, from basement to third floor it was all books except for the point furthest from the main entrance, there, partially isolated by a set of stairs was the master desk of this impressive library and research space, once dedicated to research forgotten lore and knowledge, now with added drawing boards, maps of Nashville and surrounding areas, and a computer. It's aim was to find what was loose in the dark of the night, and destroy it.
Mortis put the tea pitcher on the stained desk, a beautiful piece of pine built through craftsmanship that had seen one too many meals and drinks smear its elegant surface. Mortis took then to the map, and with the help of his notebook, pictures and pins, he began working on his latest case.