Fancy was not a word often used to describe Belleville. It was quite the opposite, in fact. Only someone with the soul of a poet, capable of finding beauty in the most unexpected places, could find any hint of riches in this neighborhood.

  The architecture was a hodgepodge of old and new, with modern metallic structures jostling for space among traditional Parisian buildings. It was as if the city planners had randomly thrown them all together, without a single thought or care for beauty.

  The closest thing to a botanical garden was the mysterious plant growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, showing a resilience that the residents admired. And yet, there was a certain charm to be found in this place.

  The streets were alive with the bustle of commerce, and the sounds of haggling and bartering filled the air. Stalls lined the sidewalks, offering all sorts of goods - from simple human essentials (like bread and fruit or again clothes if you could find them) to exotic and fascinating Zylari products (like alien spices, curious gadgets, or even unusual fashion accessories).

  While most of the residents of Belleville were humans, a few Zylari faces could still be spotted in the crowds. Perhaps they too were drawn by the affordable living options the district offered. The apartments were cozy enough, if by ‘cozy’ we mean a few strides from wall to wall and a place for everything, as long as you do not own much.

  It was in one of these unassuming apartments that Julie and Rose, after quitting their positions at the Nerivana estate, found themselves starting a new chapter of their lives.

  “Hey, have you seen my CommLink?” Julie asked, searching through their meager belongings.

  “Did you check your pockets?” Rose said.

  And there it was - a sleek and compact device, no larger than the palm of her hand. It was a marvel of Zylari technology, a human smartphone taken to the next level - used for everything from making payments to making intergalactic calls or checking the latest news from the furthest reaches of the galaxy.

  Should your pockets be deep enough, you could have one that virtually runs your life. Julie’s was the economy class, a modest electronic companion at best.

  “Thanks, Rose,” Julie said. “Assistant detective. Oh, my goodness. I still get butterflies just saying it!”

  “Did you tell your parents yet?”

  “Ugh, no. You know they’d freak out. They’d say something like ‘Julie, this is too dangerous for a human girl’ or ‘This isn’t a job for someone like you’.”

  “It does sound risky,” Rose said. “I know it’s exciting, but have you thought about ALL the things that could go wrong? Because I have! I made a list! And I promised your parents I’d keep you safe, which, by the way, is kind of hard to do when you’re potentially dealing with actual criminals! And lying to them about still working for the Nerivanas? That’s giving me serious anxiety.”

  “Here’s the thing - they’re going to overreact. And then I’ll spend weeks convincing them I don’t need to move back home. So I’m not saying lie, just… maybe don’t bring it up?”

  “Alright, I owe you one anyway, so… I’ll keep quiet. But you need to watch yourself out there.”

  “Rose, it’s detective work,” Julie said. “More about brains than brawn. I’ve got this handled. You should be putting all that energy into your own job search.”

  There was a pause. Rose’s eyes lowered, her brow knitting ever so slightly, betraying the quiet storm of doubt that brewed beneath the surface.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. “But then I start thinking about the Nerivanas and I’m like, ‘Did we mess up? Should we have stayed?’ And now my brain won’t stop obsessing over it.”

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Julie said. “The Nerivanas showed their true colors, and we stood our ground. That’s it! And come on. With your skills? You’re going to land somewhere amazing.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right.”

  After that, the two sat down for breakfast. A quick bite of bread and jam, a slurp of cocoa, and Julie was off.

  “See you later,” she said, already halfway out the door.

  She hurried down the stairs, hailed a transport pod (which set her back a few credits), and zipped through the city to Kitturian’s office.

  §

  Compared to Belleville, Kitturian’s neighborhood was a definite step up. The buildings reached six stories higher than they needed to, each floor marked by limestone bands and deep-set windows. The brickwork changed color as it rose - reddish at the base, cream near the top. You could tell these were prosperous streets - not a wrapper in sight, and the breeze carried hints of well-tended rose beds.

  The transport pod slowed to a stop in front of Kitturian’s buildings. It was a modest yet impressive structure, with a traditional brick exterior and large, arched windows.

  “Here we are,” Julie said to herself.

  She stepped out of the pod and strolled towards the entrance, where the security screen hummed a faint, almost polite, greeting.

  “Mr. Kitturian is expecting me,” she said.

  There was a brief moment of scanning, and then the smooth voice of Kitturian himself echoed through the screen.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Hi, Mr. Kitturian,” Julie said. “It’s me, Julie. Your brand-new assistant, ready to jump in and give it my all.”

  “Julie…new assistant… No, doesn’t sound familiar. Probably a mistake.”

  “What?! But—”

  “Calm down. It’s only a joke. Come in.”

  With a quick beep, the sliding doors parted, granting Julie access to the lobby. She hopped onto one of the elevators and was soon whisked away to Kitturian’s office on the top floor.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  The office itself was spacious and well-furnished, with high ceilings and large windows offering a stunning view of the city. A leather couch sat against one wall, while a sturdy oak desk occupied the other. The room was cluttered with all sorts of gadgets and gizmos, giving it a slightly eccentric yet sophisticated feel.

  On one wall, a large interactive display screen blinked and buzzed, while on the shelf next to it stood a collection of real, physical books. Kitturian sat comfortably behind the desk, reading a book. He looked up as Julie entered the room.

  “You’re a minute and a half early,” he said. “Impressive.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kitturian.”

  “Drop the ‘Mr.’—just Kitturian. By the way, are you a fan of books?”

  “Uh?”

  “Books, words, stories humans wrote. You’ve come across them, I assume?”

  “Um, yes… I mean, I’ve read some. Digital copies mostly. Actual books are kind of rare. And expensive.”

  “Too bad,” Kitturian said. “Zylaris don’t appreciate the value of something you can touch. The weight, the texture, even the smell. They’re all key to truly grasping a thing. Right, Julie?”

  Julie struggled to grasp the meaning of his words, her interest waning by the syllable. She had spent sixteen years wondering what she was meant to do, and now that she had found it, waiting another minute seemed unreasonable. All she longed for was to dive headfirst into the sleuthing that awaited.

  “I never really thought about it that way,” she said.

  “I could lend you a book or two. But now, less talk, more action. Ready to get started?”

  The sound of those words thrilled Julie, tickling her ears as if they were the first notes of a long-awaited melody.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “Excellent,” Kitturian said. “Start by attacking the clutter in here. It’s obscuring my line of thought.”

  “Uh? Wha—”

  “A scattered room is a scattered brain. Cleaning tools are over there. Let’s see some order.”

  Julie stood agape. The shimmering bubble of her enthusiasm had been pricked quite rudely by the sharp end of reality, and it burst, leaving behind nothing but a feeling of disappointment. She had expected adventure and intrigue, not…chores. Nevertheless, she knew better than to argue.

  “Okay. I’ll, um, get to work,” she said.

  And so she set to work. She vacuumed the floor with a robotic helper, dusted every surface, scrubbed every stubborn stain, and organized every trinket and gadget in the room. She even went as far as to rearrange the books on the shelf, grouping them by size and color for a more pleasing look.

  She was a human tornado, leaving nothing untouched in her path. With a final wipe down of the windows, she stood back to admire her handiwork.

  “Done,” she said. “So, what now?”

  “Coffee,” Kitturian said. “Make it strong, black, no sugar.”

  “I don’t mean to be pushy, but I was kind of hoping we’d get to the actual investigating part of being an investigator. Any chance that’s happening soon?”

  “You were hired to assist. That includes everything from taking care of my workspace to my caffeine intake. Detective work includes the mundane. Now, the coffee, if you’d be so kind.”

  But before Julie could even take a step, the display screen buzzed to life with the news of an incoming call.

  “Call accepted,” Kitturian said. “Let’s find out who this is.”

  The display screen lit up with the caller’s face—a Zylari man with a well-fed look of success. He had the kind of face that photographs well from only one angle - broad at the top with a heavy brow, then narrowing sharply to a delicate mouth and chin that seemed to belong to someone else entirely.

  “Detective Kitturian. How good of you to answer,” he said. “I’ve been hearing quite a bit about your reputation.”

  “Reputation? Always a fun topic,” Kitturian said. “Go on. What’s the verdict?”

  “Good, very good!” the man said. “My name is Vyzar. Talent agent. And before you say anything - yes, that star you’re thinking of? My client. The other one too. All of them. I only work with the best.”

  “Talent agent, you say?” Kitturian said. “Flattering, but I’ll stick to my current line of work. Entertainment isn’t my scene.”

  “Oh please, I’m not here to put you on stage. I need your detective skills for my clients. Much more interesting.”

  “Go on,” Kitturian said.

  “Well, this is about my star client, Glissandria,” Vyzar said. “Obviously, you know who she is. The most brilliant performer alive, without question.”

  That name set off an invisible party in the halls of Julie’s mind, with imaginary alarms clanging and confetti cannons firing in every direction. To say she was a fan would not do justice to her admiration for the famous and fabulous Glissandria. She was positively giddy at the mere mention of her name.

  “I’m her biggest fan,” she exclaimed. “The way she takes our music and weaves it together with Zylari music. It’s like she’s creating this whole new beautiful sound that nobody’s ever heard before. She is—”

  “Yes, yes, she’s revolutionizing music. Everyone knows this,” Vyzar said. “Now listen - she has a concert coming up. A massive charity event, sold out, promoting peace between zylaris and humans.”

  “A noble cause,” Kitturian said.

  “Exactly,” Julie chimed in. “I love how she’s always been there fighting for everyone to be treated equally. She’s like a real-life superhero.”

  “Indeed,” Vyzar said. “Unfortunately, something TROUBLING has been happening - threats against my Glissandria, with her magnificent concert approaching. They began targeting Glissandria personally. But now? They threaten violence against her entire concert. Her audience.”

  The threats against Glissandria had been all over the news. Julie remembered them well—horrid business.

  “The threats,” Kitturian said. “Do they have any substance, or are they just desperate attempts at intimidation?”

  “That’s exactly what we need YOU to determine,” Vyzar said. “Meanwhile, they threaten my star AND her concert - and Glissandria? Simply won’t cancel. Impossible girl. You see my situation.”

  “Isn’t the concert next week?” Julie asked.

  “Well, until a few days ago, the threats targeted only Glissandria. Now they threaten the entire concert.”

  “Huh. So it wasn’t a big deal when it was only Glissandria?” Julie asked.

  “HAH? What are you… naturally it was! But we’re wasting time with these questions.”

  “Right,” Kitturian said. “So far, none of this explains why I’m needed.”

  “Well, the whole situation had us frozen,” Vyzar said. “What could we do? Then we discovered YOU. The detective who actually delivers results.”

  “Let me guess,” Kitturian said. “The earlier threats made the headlines, but these latest ones are a guarded secret?”

  “YES! Imagine - headlines about threats, tickets refunded, chaos! Unacceptable! You must solve this before the public catches even a whisper.”

  “You want me to track down whoever is behind this and stop them.” Kitturian said.

  “Exactly!” Vyzar said. “Your reputation for solving these impossible cases. This is why I’m here.”

  Kitturian applied his mind, chin propped by hand, eyes narrowing, as if to decide whether the issue at hand was worthy of his attention.

  Julie sensed his hesitation. She viewed the possibility of missing out on this opportunity in the same way a dog might view the sudden disappearance of its dinner—with utter disbelief and a hint of personal betrayal.

  “We have to help,” she said. “Glissandria’s music is all about bringing people together. No way we’re letting someone mess that up. Unless… you’re not sure we can do it.”

  For a split second, Kitturian’s gaze sharpened, the faintest crack in his practiced composure betraying the sting of the comment.

  “I wasn’t unsure. I was deciding,” he said. “And now we’re taking the case. The show-business crowd isn’t my usual scene, but I suppose I can lower my standards just this once.”

  “Excellent,” Vyzar said. “You’ll find us at Celestia Auditorium - rehearsals for the show. And please, do not dawdle. Time is slipping away.”