[h3][b][color=limegreen][center]Queezel, Walking towards Candy Lane, Taletown[/center][/color][/b][/h3][center][b]Mentions:[/b] [@Holy Soldier][/center]
Queezel pushed open the second set of double doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk, his glowing yellow eyes darting back and forth. Although the gathering mist made it difficult to see, the shade noticed two or three figures ambling down Wormwood Street. He also spotted the receding figure of Manuel Nunez fleeing towards New York City proper as if all the hounds of Hell were after him. Queezel smirked, his thin, rotting lips pulling back to reveal jagged fangs. Shades rarely felt strong emotion, but they enjoyed the taste of fear just as much as their mistress. At any rate, the relatively empty streets would make it easier for Queezel to find Crier. The shade started loping westward, moving with all the grace of a silverback gorilla, and considered his options. The Boy Who Cried Wolf would probably reach Boogie's Beans within the next five minutes. Still, Terror's word was law, and she tended to be a little impatient when it came to Crier. At least it was a quiet night, and, while it would've been easier to shadow-walk around Taletown, Queezel planned to enjoy it.

Normally, Queezel would try to find Br'er Rabbit or Tweedledee and Tweedledum to see if they knew where Crier was. Since he figured the intrepid detective would arrive at Boogie's Beans shortly, the shade decided to visit a place he'd become unusually fond of over the last few years. The G'Whiz Sweets Shop.

[i]Curious[/i], Queezel thought as he turned north and began scampering along Candy Lane. [i]Why am I drawn to Hansel and Gretel's shop? It's not as if I can enjoy any of their sweets. Curious, indeed.[/i] Some of the older shades, like Queezel and Baelor, occasionally experienced vivid flashes of who they'd been before Terror turned them into undead horrors. Maybe that had something to do with his inexplicable attraction to the G'Whiz Sweets Shop? There had to be some reason behind it, because Hansel and Gretel didn't exactly welcome Tales with mystical talents into their business. There were potent anti-magic wards worked into the store's brickwork, which made it impossible for spells to be cast within the premises. No shade could shadow-walk into the G'Whiz Sweets Shop. Of course, Queezel could still shadow-walk to a location near the building as long as he found a large enough shadow. Inconvenience aside, the elder shade couldn't blame the twins for their caution. No central government had been established in Taletown, which meant break-ins and other violent crimes were rarely addressed. People were forced to turn to Tales like Crier or the Gingerbread Man for help if they couldn't afford arcane protection. Most couldn't even afford to put a roof over their head. As he continued up Candy Lane, Queezel saw several clumps of these poor souls, mostly Tales and a few mortals, huddled together for security and warmth. Some of them looked familiar.

Queezel was about to take a closer look at a horned figure snoring contentedly in the gutter when he heard the sound of screeching tires coming from behind him. Whipping around and hissing, the elder shade saw a rusty, cream-colored Chevy Impala barreling towards him. The headlights were on full blast, and Queezel felt his skin starting to tingle, a telltale sign that the lights were too bright. If he didn't do something within the next few seconds he'd burst into flames. Letting out a hoarse snarl, the shade glanced around and saw a lamppost about five feet away. The long, slender shadow stretching out behind it was the most beautiful thing Queezel had ever seen. Without hesitation, the elder shade lunged at the shadow and vanished into it like a swimmer jumping into a pool. As he fell into the darkness, the shade heard people screaming and the concussive boom of the car smashing into the side of a building. 

Queezel picked himself up and looked around. Endless, liquid darkness enveloped him like an immense blanket. This was the Fugue, the Shadow Between Worlds, or, as Terror called it, the Waiting Room. Whenever the Boogieman or one of her servants shadow-walked, this is where they went before arriving at their destination. This place also served as a refuge of sorts since only a few individuals could access it. Taking comfort in this, Queezel started walking forward, his bare feet sending silvery ripples across the Fugue's glass-like floor. If he'd still been among the living, the near brush with death might've alarmed Queezel, but he honestly wasn't surprised. The men and women of Taletown were teetering on the edge of disaster. Without a leader to give people a sense of purpose and unity, it wouldn't take much to send the entire borough careening into chaos. Sure, the so-called "Council" was doing its best to hold things together, but it wasn't enough. They were expending a great deal of effort but ultimately accomplishing nothing.

Queezel looked up into the impenetrable blackness and said, "I seek passage to the G'Whiz Sweets Shop. Find me a shadow from which I may drop." The rhyme echoed eerily in the Shadow Between Worlds for a few moments before several oddly-shaped portals opened in front of the shade, each one representing a shadow near Hansel and Gretel's shop. A larger shadow, cast by an old newspaper vending machine, caught Queezel's eye and he hurled himself forward. The shadow shuddered for a second then spat Queezel out like a chunk of rotten meat. The elder shade landed on all fours, feeling the familiar touch of mist against his rotting flesh. It wasn't quite as foggy here, and there wasn't an out-of-control car in sight. Excellent. Queezel darted across the street to the sweets shop, noticed how empty it was, and shoved the door open.

[i]Ding! Ding![/i]

Queezel blinked when he saw Hansel standing behind the glass bakery case. There was blood streaming down the Tale's face, and the case itself had a network of spidery cracks running across it. Odd, but not important. Stepping forward, and flinching at the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, Queezel said, "Good evening to you, Master Hansel." Not even Terror knew why her shades were so polite, but she didn't care as long as they obeyed her commands. "Would you be willing to turn down the lights? It's far too bright in here. My mistress was wondering if you or your sister had seen Crier this evening. He's expected at Boogie's Beans and my mistress grows impatient. I know you can find almost anyone when you put your mind to it, and--"

Queezel paused when he heard something hit the floor with a moist splat. The elder shade looked down and saw his pointed, decaying ear lying on the polished tiles. The needlework holding it in place must've come undone. Frowning and picking up his ear, Queezel jammed it back into the side of his bulbous head and waited for Hansel's reply.
[h3][b][color=red][center]Terror, Boogie's Beans, Taletown[/center][/color][/b][/h3][center][b]Mentions:[/b] [@Drag][/center]
"Are you certain, Br'er Rabbit?" 

"That I am, Miss Sinclair. In the Hundred Acres, no less."

Rebecca paused for a moment and glanced at the manila folders scattered across her immaculate cherry wood desk. Of course something like this would happen on a night when Crier was supposed to visit and her attention was elsewhere. Grimacing, Becca leaned back in her plush desk chair and pressed the phone against her cheek as she said, "Very well. Thank you for contacting me. Swing by Boogie's Beans whenever you have a moment so we can discuss your payment."

"My pleasure, Miss Sinclair," Br'er Rabbit said in his almost cartoonish Southern drawl.

Rebecca Sinclair hung up the phone and stood up slowly, her pale green eyes roving the lightless expanse of her office. Despite the darkness, she could see everything, from the antique armoire in the corner to the stacks of filing cabinets lining the walls, with perfect clarity. The ancient Tale smoothed down the front of her long-sleeved white shirt and started to walk around to the other side of the desk when a low, guttural voice whispered in the back of her head. 

<Crier has arrived, mistress. Shall I open the doors?> Baelor, one of her elder shades, asked.

Rebecca let out a quiet sigh and telepathically commanded Baelor to let the detective in. She walked out of her office and entered the dining area of Boogie's Beans, ordering the rest of her shades to keep a close eye on Crier as she sauntered towards the main entrance. Terror could already smell the stink of her visitor's cigarette by the time she reached the table where she'd spoken with Manuel Nunez less than thirty minutes ago. Sitting down and crossing her legs, the Boogieman couldn't help but smile as Crier approached the table. Contrary to popular belief, she liked James quite a bit. They were similar in more ways than the detective would probably ever admit. 

"Miss Sinclair," Crier said as he stepped into the dim lamplight. "I'd like for you and I to have a little talk."

Gesturing towards the unoccupied chair at her table, Boogie said, "We do need to talk, Crier. You're late." Tilting her head to one side and crossing her arms over her chest, she said, "If my contacts are to be believed, you're in the middle of a murder investigation. I know such things are important, but that's no excuse for tardiness." As the detective moved closer, however, Becca's eyes narrowed and she said, "You look like shit, by the way. Can I get you something? Coffee? Food, perhaps?"