Night's Omen

 
The red and blue of the police lights were a blur to Leon as he rushed past police and up the steps of his home. The door was knocked off the hinges, and the white carpet that he'd just replaced the foyer with was stained with blood. In the front room, Bambi sat, slouched over in a chair with the goat at her side like some sort of comfort animal. Her chin was on her fist, blonde spirals every which way and shielding the damage done to her face from him. She was speaking to a plainclothes detective, a woman smaller than Bambi in height but someone who seemed to command the room all the same.

"What the fuck happened?" he breathed, another detective blocking him from getting any further into his home. "This is my house," he snapped, hand moving to his forehead in sheer shock at the scene. Broken glass, more blood - he couldn't tell if those were bullet holes or burn marks in the couch. Everywhere he stepped, he felt crunching - Christ, did he own this much glassware? "What the fuck happened?" he said again.

"Listen, Mr. Raines, I need you to calm down a sec, okay? I know that's a tall order, but just humor me. Here, sit down right here, because obviously I need to ask you some questions, but I promise I will tell you as much as I know after. Mr. Raines - hey, Leon!" the detective said, snapping his fingers in the man's face once to break the daze he saw setting in. "Your girlfriend's fine. She's a little banged up, but she's fine, okay? You can talk to her in a minute. Right now, the most important thing is to get information from you as quickly as possible," he said. He spoke smoothly, but quickly, trying to impress upon him that the fresher the info was, the better things would be for everyone.

"Witches?" Laurel repeated, unable to hide the flatness in her voice as she glanced up at the blonde in the chair. "I'm assuming that's not a euphamism for bitches." When Bambi rolled her eyes, Laurel pursed her lips for a moment, and then sighed. "Listen, if you want us to figure out who did this, I need you to tell me everything, Bambi," she said, dropping the skeptical expression. Her voice softened considerably, something that Bambi didn't expect given the detective's previously clinical demeanor. "These are strange times we're in right now. And, for what it's worth, I've had my fair share." She paused. "Plus, I'm willing to bet money that your boyfrend is over there just repeatedly saying they wanted his watch collection or something."

Bambi snorted. This lady was smart, she'd give her that. That was almost verbatim what they'd said when they had a break-in previously. "You know," Bambi said, looking down at the goat and giving him a scrub with her fingertips. "We were going to go to the fair this weekend? Yeah. I feel like he won't be in the mood now, though," she muttered.

"Yeah?" Laurel asked. "My kids hate the fair. Weird, I know. I used to go when I was younger, with my friends." She smiled fondly. "Yeah, we'd get our cards charted by the fortune teller. It was a while ago, though."

Bambi was quiet for a minute, and then spoke. "I don't know what they're looking for. He doesn't, either. Listen, I can't tell you much more. But, I can tell you, they're dangerous. Half the glass in the kitchen is broken now - and some of it, if you'll notice, is in my face currently. I warded this house, and I know that you have no basis for measurement here, but I am strong." She paused. "But they were stronger. And it was only two of them."

Laurel considered this for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay," she said. "It's not much, but I'll work with it." She looked over her shoulder, then motioned for Simon to cut the questions short. It was a relief for Leon, who was walking back through his entire day, as Simon did the one thing he was incredibly good at - waste someone's time. She stood up, stepping back so Leon could take her place and actually comfort his girlfriend. "We'll be in touch," she said.

"Wait," Bambi said. When Laurel turned back around, Bambi gave her a thoughtful look. "What did your cards say? When you had them read, I mean." She ignored Leon as he tried to hush her; the man was currently beside himself with frustration - and fear, obviously.

"Oh, uh - hm," Laurel said, not having expected that question. "Nothing good, I remember that," she said. She laughed, but it was a short and bitter sound. "Listen, my advice? Pack a bag and have the big man out front who's foaming at the mouth to get in the house take you guys to a hotel for the night." She glanced at the goat. "One that's got a flexible pet deposit. I'll call you when we know more, okay?" From out front, they all heard Edward informing the uniform at the door that he was going to go inside, and if they wanted to stop him that would be between them and God.

"Just fucking let him in, alright?" Laurel snapped, approaching the door. She grabbed Simon and side-stepped as the man blew past them and towards the couple at the chair, then shook her head and let go of her partner's collar. "Come on, let's go," she said. "We burned the whole day at the hospital and we still need to go back and meet Rivers. I'd call Cam and tell him I'm going to be late, but seeing as to how it's already almost eleven thirty, I'm pretty sure he's aware I won't be home for dinner and handled it himself."

"I hope so," Simon quipped, following her through the yard. "It's either that or he's just sitting in the dark at the table, terribly confused." He chuckled to himself at the visual.

It was an unusually dull night in the Excelsior Hotel, and Clio, for one, was thankful for it. She'd spoken to Sal briefly, and then decided to go have a drink at the bar in order to distract herself from the obvious problems at hand. They were in the middle of some of the darkest times she had seen. As many lives as she had lived, she had never once experienced the death of an immortal creature quite like that of a Phoenix. Despite the resurrection, the damage had been done. The amount of power unleashed had created something like a magical sinkhole; the explosion of energy went out, and then rushed back inward. She knew, better than anyone, the days to come would be worse.

And yet, she felt little on the inside in regards to it all. Maybe it was because she'd seen it all before in some form or fashion - she didn't know. She'd long since stopped wondering the why of her feelings as time crept by, but she supposed desensitization was the best she could hope for in this endless cycle. Lucifer had refused to be of any help, unsurprisingly, and now he was riding around in the body of someone who her father had once called a friend, which made everything even stranger. She rolled her eyes and tipped back the glass in her hand, the ice clicking against her teeth. Better not to reflect on that mess for a while. She was still reeling from the revelation.

"Mind some company?"

Eli's voice broke her from her momentary thoughts, and she gestured to the seat across from her with the ice-filled glass. He sat, and his arrival was soon followed by a waiter with fresh drinks for them both. Eli took a sip of his own, and they remained in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before he spoke.

"How's things?" he asked. He meant, of course, how was the state of affairs at the hotel, and were there any clientele within that he should be aware of.

"Things are under control," Clio said, and she meant it. "Wards are safe, ghosts at bay as usual, and aside from the errant encounter with someone thinking that we're running some sort of magical brothel, there's no change to the daily state of affairs." When she saw he raised his eyebrows at her remark about magical brothel, she chuckled. "Hm, poor choice of words. There's this idea going around that we're like the Cantina from Star Wars. The new Concierge has it under control, though," she added.

"Yeah, I saw him when I came in - Clio, you know that's a Fae, right?" he asked, still somewhat surprised that Sal hired a Fae so close to Clio, whose disdain for them was centuries-old and rarely hidden.

"Unfortunately. A Brownie, to be more precise."

"Brownie?" he parroted. He made a face. "Aren't those supposed to be like, little round fat house fairies?"

"Well, he's neither little nor round, but he's absolutely a house fairy, if you think about it," she said, tipping her glass at him with a grim smile. "And anyways, he's unaligned. Or, rather, he is aligned, but it's to Sal. I don't know how he does it," she marveled. "He's like Cleopatra and all of these creatures are various men throwing themselves at him."

Eli snorted. "If you could never, ever refer to the man we consider our father as that again, it would still be too soon." He made a sour face and then kicked his drink back, already his other hand up to signal for more.

"I don't think you came just to check in," Clio said, the accusation more like a statement of fact than anything else. She sat up a little. "You could have called for that. So what's the deal, brother dear?" she teased.

He set his jaw as he regarded her, but he wasn't mad about being called out. On the contrary, if anyone could read him, it would be the people he considered his family. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, realizing he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say. He shut it, and then just said, "Hm," and put his chin in his hand, trying to find the words. Finally, he settled on, "House is empty. Thought I could use the company."

"Ah," Clio said, at once understanding the reason for his stoicism. "You know, she was never going to stay, Eli. You know that," she said, gently reminding him that the Reaper was not meant to stay corporeal forever. "There's no point in being sad about it."

"I'm not sad," he said defensively, holding his hand up. "I'm just - I feel like, I got used to having someone around, and now I'm in that transition period back to getting used to being alone."

"But you don't want to get used to being alone," she said. It wasn't a question - she knew the feeling well enough that she didn't feel like forcing him to articulate it. "I get it, Eli. But nobody is forcing you to be alone," she reminded him. "That's your choice."

He sat back in his chair, the look on his face plainly saying that he didn't agree. "I mean, typically it's a dead husband or a dead... death that's getting in the way, but sure, I get what you mean."

"No, those are both your fault," Clio said matter-of-factly. Sure, Sal might not come straight at Eli like that, but Clio had zero issue hitting him sideways with the facts. "You knew Harvey was alive, because you'd have seen if he wasn't, and you know it. And Claudia, I mean - come on," she said, scoffing. "You knew that was bound to fail."

"I didn't come here to be attacked, Clio - and, speaking of, you don't get to throw stones from that big-ass glass castle you're in, either. Hm? The goddamn boogeyman?"

She wasn't the least bit fazed by his response. "Yeah, my cycle that repeats, and will repeat, until I can get out of the cycle. This time, he's a boogeyman. The time before, a farmer. Sometimes he doesn't even have the ability to walk, but you know what? I made my choice, and I live with it, and I don't get all mopey when it's over, I just - "

"You kill yourself and start it again, yeah, I know. I don't have that morbid option," he interjected.

She made a face. "I just cope, and I know it'll come back around. Don't be a child, I haven't killed myself in at least a few hundred years," she countered. "And besides, you're just deflecting. If you'd stop being such a grouch, maybe you'd see that there's some blonde slip of a thing out there for you somewhere," she said with a shrug.

He nearly spit his drink out at that. "Excuse me, it'll be a cold day in hell before I try to talk to a blonde slip of anything, ever again," he said coldly. Claudia was a fresh wound, but Heather was the more painful, by far. Unfortunately, Clio was right on both accounts - he knew, somewhere very far inside of himself, that if Harvey had really been dead, he'd have seen him. He found it hard to believe the spirit of the man wouldn't have gone to check on his family at least once, and knowing what he knew of Harvey before - and now - the truth was, there wasn't a chance in hell he wouldn't have. Claudia... that was just a bad idea all around, but it was a rebound, and it ended up going on for far too long.

"How about a brunette, then?" she said.

"Clio, can I just - be mopey and enjoy a drink with my bratty sister?" he demanded, starting to get irritated. But she wasn't looking at him, she was looking past him. He wasn't willing to turn around and there be nothing there, but he was still curious all the same. "Not a blonde, not a brunette, not a redhead. Why?"

He finally did give in and turn his head, though, when she lifted her chin and indicated that he needed to. He could see someone talking to the Concierge, but he couldn't readily identify anything about them - medium height, female (or maybe just a very slim man in a very lovely dark green coat and dress, it could be possible). She, presumably, had mousey brown hair that held a slight wave, and it was moving as she shook her head. He looked back at Clio, both hands up.

"Okay, so?" he said. "Congratulations, you made me look at a random stranger."

"Okay, Eli. You win. I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back. Then we can commiserate together and drink and not talk about how tragic our love lives are," she said, a twinge of humour in her voice. She was serious about dropping the subject, at least, if the firm clasp on his arm as she left was any indication.

He sat there a while longer, finally feeling the curiosity build back up. When he looked again, there was nobody there, and the Concierge was talking to Clio. So much for going to the bathroom. She'd gone over there to meddle, he was sure of it. "God damnit, Clio," he hissed. He stood up, still focused on his "sibling" and trying to find exactly the right words to use to make her feel bad, knowing in the end they wouldn't work anyways, and as he made his way towards her. Before he got there, however, he ran - physically - into the woman in the green coat.

"Shit," he said, trying to side-step. "Sorry, wasn't paying attention - "

"No, it's my fault, this place is so dim - "

He was aware that they had an audience, but he was still kind of stunned that he'd actually almost plowed right into the person Clio had him spying on that he didn't know what to say. Finally, he offered a sheepish smile. "Yeah, the lighting is always like this. If you're going to the bar, there's a step right when you get in. It's sunken a little. Real ankle breaker if you're not careful," he said. He had no idea why he was telling her this, but he felt the impulse not to be an asshole for once in his life.

"Sure, I'll remember that," she said, nodding. "Thanks. Have a good night," she said, flashing him an appreciative smile.

He stood there for a second, then looked back at Clio, who stared at him smugly, her arms folded. She looked satisfied, somehow, and said something to the Concierge that he didn't hear, but he was positive he'd attempt to argue. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, holding his arms out at her when he was sure that the woman was out of earshot.

Clio grinned. "That, brother dear, was just a well-timed coincidence, as much as I'd love to pretend I have divine ability. Don't worry, I won't harass you anymore. Now, I really do need to go to the bathroom." She turned and walked towards the bathroom area, and left Eli standing in the lobby with the Concierge.

"What the fuck," he whispered, running his hand through his hair.

"I'm sure I don't know, Master Eli," the Concierge said dryly, before spinning on his heel and walking away.

Lately, the turbulence of all of the supernatural happenings had really become hard to ignore. So many momentous events back to back and in such quick succession predicted that only more bad was coming, and anyone with a supernatural atom in their body could feel it. Laurel wasn't supernatural in any shape or form; being married to a demon (who had given up their demon status in a "fulfilled contract" end only to be met with loopholes) and having a child that had demonic blood didn't grant her any special ability. Nor did having a partner who was immune to the effects of vampirism, nor did her close proximity to anything else magical. And yet, somehow, she could feel it. It caused a great ache in her bones, something that made her feel tired and aged - or, more tired and aged, since she wasn't precisely a spring filly anymore, and her joints had sustained several traumas over the years of police work. But this was different. Heavier. It hung like a wet fog.

In response to the onslaught of additional stressors, compounded by things like Brandon wanting to see his father more and thus forcing Laurel to interact with Britton more, as well as Cameron's sudden aloofness when she asked about his day (since he knew more than he let on about the supernatural and naively believed Laurel didn't - something engineered on her part by playing stupid and holding her hand very close to her chest for too long to come clean now), she was beginning to realize that a personal breaking point was at hand, and she had choices to make. The first choice had been to up her gym time, which had only worked for a while before Brandon declared that he was absolutely not babysitting Maddy anymore because, as he so eloquently put it, "I'm not her fucking parent". That had earned him some time without his electronics to consider why it had been a poorly worded argument, but he wasn't wrong. If tomorrow Britton suddenly took custody forever, he wouldn't be an option. So she'd had to rearrange her schedule again, which only added more stress.

"I thought you quit smoking?" Simon asked, having clocked her leaning on her car and sucking down a cigarette as though her life depended on it. He approached casually, a cup of coffee in his hand, and a half-smile on his face. He looked tired.

"I did," she said, and raised her eyebrows at him as she pointedly took another drag.

"Okay," he said with a nod. "I'm going to assume that means as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you don't smoke."

"That's the plan," she admitted. "Eventually, maybe things will die down and I can actually let go of the few vices I'm holding onto." She flicked at the cherry with her fingers, separating the cigarette from its source of heat,then flicked the cottony end into the wind.

Simon took a sip of his coffee, snorting at her hopeful statement that life would return to normal. "I doubt it, sister," he said. "Whole reason I'm out here is because I got a call just now saying they want us to come look at some 'strange and unusual' graffiti."

"Since when do we do beat cop shit?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"Since it's written in blood," he replied smoothly. "Come on, I'll drive."

"God damnit," she said, but it was the dark expression on her face that really sold it. She looked tired, too, the same way Simon did. "Does this shit never end?"

"Oh, it gets better," he said, walking and talking. She followed along, short form having no issue catching up and keeping in step with her much taller partner. "We've seen it all, right? Vampires, shapeshifters, angels, you name it. Hell, we've even seen strange magic that best I can tell is older than the dirt we're standing on. But you know what we haven't seen? A good old witch."

Laurel frowned. "Yes we have," she countered.

"Not Macht witches, I mean - like, Baba Yaga, Snow White's Mother, Evil Queen With a Mirror witch," he said, waving the hand that didn't have the coffee cup in it as he spoke.

"Okay, sure, but it makes sense that they'd exist, right? I mean, let's be real Simon, suspension of disbelief here was out the window years ago. I'd willingly accept Santa Claus was real at this point." She waited for him to unlock the passenger side door as the arrived at the car, then opened it and got inside, continuing her train of thought. "So, okay, witches? Do you think that or do we already know that?"

Simon set his cup in the holder and started the car, then looked at her, pausing for effect. "They have a witness who swears it was straight up Suspiria-level shit." He grinned. "Can you believe that? We should have made supernatural Bingo cards."

Laurel grimaced at that. "I bet I'd win," she muttered to herself.

Simon was quiet for a second as they drove, and then looked over at her. "Things not so great with the demon spawn?" he asked.

With his phrasing, Laurel couldn't help but laugh. Simon was the only one who knew her well enough to say that and it not be meant as an insult, but rather, as the actual truth. Irony as she is cast. "Teenagers are all demon spawn, I'm convinced," she admitted. "But, honestly, I'm happier at the idea of dealing with 'real witches' than I am at going home and having to try and make it through another tense dinner." She looked out the window as she spoke, then glanced over at Simon. "Is it criminal if I just vanish into the ether?"

"Yes, unless you pay child support. But, and this is just a hunch, I think Cameron would be heavily opposed to that," he informed her, reaching over to offer her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "And he's not the only one." While Simon meant himself, of course, at being one of the people who would not be happy if she just disappeared, he meant Britton too, who despite being told repeatedly to leave her alone, still inquired as to her well-being and was on occasion answered by Theroux when he could see the dude was really hurting. Love was complicated in all its forms.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "Don't worry, if I ever go missing, I'm sure it will be because I made the wrong magical creature mad at the right time."

"You and me both," he agreed.

When they arrived on scene, they immediately began trying to piece together what had happened. As best as anyone could tell, it had been some sort of ritual and it had clearly gone wrong. The uniforms on scene weren't sure what to make of it, and so Simon and Laurel, due to their familiarity with the unusual, and part of the precinct's new unspoken mission to help mitigate magical problems, had been put to task trying to puzzle the mystery together.

"You said there was a witness?" Simon asked to one man who stood by the door, trying to go through crime scene notes.

"Yeah, she's over there," he replied, pointing with his notepad. "I wouldn't expect too much out of her, though."

"Why?" Simon asked, glancing over his shoulder at where the cop pointed.

"Because she's literally covered in human shit," he said glibly. "She's some vagrant that was taking residence up in the alley behind this building. Talking some wild nonsense. But," he added," she's the only person in the immediate area who came forward claiming to have seen anything."

"If only I'd put fecalpheliac on my bingo card," Simon muttered. "Alright, let's go interview our shit-smeared witness," he said with a groan.

It had been months, easily, if not longer - Fae time ran strangely, and they didn't keep track like mortals did - since Deja had been visiting Taranis in the underworld. She had been enjoying her time there, and him, and she thought that she knew all there was to know. She was young, still, and so naive. She would learn this much later in her life, but by then, the damage would already be done. She sat by a pool of water, quietly relaxing, as Taranis had said he would be right back. She was getting drowsy, and laid back against the soft moss that surrounded the unnaturally dark water, sighing. Her amber eyes focused on the view above her, the soft glow of the natural fauna of the underworld illuminating the area. It bathed her in a strange sort of eerie green moonlight. Other places were more lit up, of course, with faelights and torches and whatnot, but this was the area where Taranis thought she would like the most - and he had been right. Her eyes were heavy, and she knew that if she didn't get up right then, she would fall asleep.

With a sigh, Deja climbed to her feet, brushing off the backside of her dress. She knew the immediate area of where she was, but there were tunnels and other elements of the realm she had either not been taken to yet or was told she wouldn't like (and Taranis didn't tell her why, either, because he didn't want to scare her away), and so she was working with only her limited knowledge to wander. She decided she'd go back to the Keep, to see if Taranis had gone there. It seemed that since he was the ruler of the land, it would be the smartest place to check.

Nobody knew that Deja had been coming here. Taranis had been explicit in his need for privacy, and she had agreed, because she understood. Fae feared what they didn't understand. Deja had always thought that whoever ruled the underworld was monstrous - it had taken a while before he'd even told her who he really was, but he assured her that he had only been waiting so that he could be sure he wouldn't scare her off. And he had - mostly. She had never known malevolence or harmful secrets, and so she had no reason to suspect that he was attempting to lull her into a sense of security. She had noticed, though, that he'd been wanting her to stay longer as of late - and the longer she stayed, the stranger she began to feel. Because she had nobody to tell this to, and nobody outside of him to whom she could inquire as to why, she said nothing on the matter, finding it best to figure it out on her own. Perhaps if she ignored it, it would go away.

She walked through the Keep, bare feet silent against the black floor. It was black - the blackest she'd ever seen. Even the faelights that lined the massive hall didn't reflect against it. Like everything else in this place, shadow prevailed, and was everywhere all the time. She had, upon occasion, even seen creatures made of shadow. Taranis never seemed to see them, and she began to wonder if perhaps the strange feeling she had and the shadows were related. She had finally brought it up to him, and - well, that was the conversation that had happened shortly before he'd told her he would be right back. When she said she felt strange, she couldn't quite articulate what strange meant. He'd asked her to try, and she'd just said, like she was attempting to form a thought but couldn't. It was like something always at the corner of her vision. Something shadowy. The longer she stayed, the more prevalent it became, though she wasn't really relating the two. Taranis, of course, had made the connection instantly, which was why he'd left her.

While she'd been sitting and daydreaming, he'd gone straight to his abode to consult with his advisor. And what he was hearing was troublesome, indeed.

"My Lord," the thing began - because it was a thing - "You are playing with your food, and it's beginning to grow self-aware," it warned.

"I'm not playing with my food," he snapped, voice petulant. "I have no intention of devouring her." He paused, thoughtful. "I did think the madness would take hold much more abruptly than it has, though," he mused. His grey-green eyes were bright, and he focused on the figure. "Why is it taking so long for her mind to rot?"

"I was getting to that," the advisor said darkly. "It's you. You're slowing it. It's your will - this entire realm is your will. So if you want her to stay, the best thing is to stop trying to slow down the natural order of the Underworld, and let it take her. This is your nature, Lord. This is why we advised not venturing too long to the Upworld. It corrupts," it hissed. "And typically, you don't become attached to a place you intend to conquer."

Taranis made a face. "Don't presume to tell me to what I've become attached, old man," he warned.

"Apologies, my Lord, but the fact still does not change. And anyways, after you take Upworld, everything there will be plunged into darkness - into madness. So even if you let her free, it wouldn't be for long." The advisor shifted in the chair, as if thoughtful. "There are other realms, Lord. More amazing. More delectable. Other creatures." It paused. "But I think we have another problem yet at hand."

Taranis tuned to where it had gestured with a greyed, clawed hand, and saw Deja standing in the doorway, looking absolutely stunned. "Deja," he said, unable to hide his surprise. "I'm sorry, I got caught up - just wait out in the hall, I'll be right behind."

"You knew?" Her voice trembled. She looked - heartbroken? "I told you about what I was feeling, and you made me feel like I was - crazy," she said, shaking her head. "And my home - you're going to take my home, too?"

Taranis walked away from the table, a hand behind him with the palm up at the figure to stay where it was. Not yet, let me try and salvage this, he thought. "Deja, you misunderstood - " he said, smiling. He approached her, hold his hands up, but she backed up immediately, and he could tell that she had been standing there long enough to glean more than he would have liked.

"Don't TOUCH me," she hissed, recoiling. "I want to know the truth!"

He dropped the act immediately, and was very suddenly in her space.

"Oh, love, you really don't," he said, and the expression on his face seemed to reflect his statement.

It was like everything about him.. changed, suddenly. She couldn't describe it. That charm that he'd always dazed her with was sucked out of the room along with all the air (she felt, because she couldn't breathe), and he stood before her, a monster. He looked the same, but the glamour he'd used, that curious, shy and mysterious personality - it was gone. She could feel the death and darkness rolling off of him in waves.

"Taranis?" She felt her eyes pool with tears. "But - I - no - NO!" She saw the shadows - the things she'd told herself she was imagining - unfurl from the ground at his feet, like loyal pets. They began to circle her, and she knew, KNEW that she could hear them now. Chittering.

"Don't cry, love," he said, his brows knitted as his face held up a mask of angst. "I promise, it will be over soon. You will know no pain, and no fear. You will come to love the darkness here - and me. I know it." His expression changed again, and he nodded to the shadows that were surrounding her, now forming massive figures. "Put her in the tower. Then forget about her for a while. She'll come around."

He ignored her screams as she was dragged away, looking back to the thing in the robes with a bright expression on his face. "All of this excitement has me invigorated. Let's destroy a realm, shall we?"

  The web-weaver had foretold their mother of his presence. That old crone, content to live in her home in the forest, who came calling only a few times a year to speak to who she was "called" to speak to, that spider-fae, She-Who-Consorts-With-The-Host-of-Dead, and any other number of names whispered by her or about her - she had told them, warned them, that he would come. That he would split open the ground beneath their bare feet and out would pour the darkness and he would claim (or, reclaim, she said - the story had changed a few times as it was retold every so often among the girls in their rooms at night) the "daughter of the earth" for his own. The story had circulated around their home and hearth and hung over them in the dark as they lay in bed whispering for as long as they could both remember. Their mother simply rolled her eyes as the girls grew, and fear gave way to laughter, with one teasing the other mercilessly about some underground dwelling beast destined to swallow her whole. It had turned into so much of a joke that, as they grew, it faded into a silly story, and faded further into something like a thought at the back of one's head that, on occasion, one would be reminded of when the wind blew just right or the sun fell a certain way behind the horizon.

Since the passage of time for Fae was so unlike the human world, it was hard to say at what point the fortune/prediction/story had completely gone from their memories, but it was enough time that Deja had grown from the size of a child-sprite into the body of a young woman. There, she would stay, for a time far longer than what she had already lived. She had no concept of eternity, or time, or anything else for that matter - they lived far away from the royal city, and that meant far from the war, the bloodshed, the politics, and the stress that the powers vying for control over Seelie and Unseelie courts had. She knew nothing of conflict, or pain, or fear, save what her own imagination could give her - and Deja was imaginative. But unfortunately, she was also naive, and her family waived off that silly web-fae and her worrisome words, not bothering to examine anything she said, or for that matter, interpret it.

"She's old, Arawn," their mother would say to their father, and she'd place a hand over his own, patting it.

"Yes, Arpazia, she's old - and that means she knows of things we do not," he'd insist.

Deja was never privy to any more of the argument than that, as she and Iloquil would both be ushered off to play. But that, again, was a long time past, and she had no strong memory of it. Pity - because that fae was old, and she did know things they did not. And so, she lay out in the field of sunflowers, eyes closed as she bathed in the warmth of the sun, and thought nothing of a dark man, a dark place, or a dark fate.

She sighed, the sweet scents of the earth around her filling her with delight. She wouldn't need to open her eyes to paint the picture she knew she was in - as far as the eyes could see, fields of flowers, some taller than she. A breeze pushed them, making them all wave in unison. There was one lone tree at the edge of the field, in full bloom and with a bounty of ripe, red fruit. Clouds danced overhead, birds sang, and if she pressed her palms against the ground, she could feel the swell of the earth as it breathed beneath her. Suddenly, she saw something that should not be in the portrait of her mind's eye. It was dark, like a stain. She opened her eyes abruptly, immediately bringing her hands up to shield them from the sudden exposure to the sunlight, and sat up. She looked left, then right, then left again. She seemed to be truly alone in the field, but she didn't feel that way. Why?

From behind the tree, he watched her. He'd never seen anything quite like her before - she was like, if someone had taken the sun, and poured it into feminine form. Even her eyes reminded him of its glow, the amber quite unlike anything his home had to offer. Most creatures in the underworld had eyes that were black, lacking depth and warmth. His own were green, pale and sickly. Like him, really - honestly, he thought it fitting that they both reflect their environments so completely; he, with his dark hair, pale skin, and lunar sort of look about him, stood in stark contrast to this ardent creature, blending in to the field around her. He wondered, should he try to talk to her? What would he say? In truth, he'd happened upon her by mistake, but here he was, and he couldn't help but think perhaps this was an opportunity to learn more about the above-world. After all, he seldom ventured there.

"Hello," came the friendly voice behind him. He whipped around, nearly leaping back in shock at how close she'd gotten to him. Did this place truly dull his senses so much? The look on his face must've said everything, because she stayed where she was, holding her hands up, trying to appear non-threatening. Gods, how could she even imagine she was?  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said.

Taranis noticed that she spoke the common language, and he was almost more surprised over that than anything else. She looked like the fae he'd seen in the Seelie courts, but her dialect was clearly not reflective of nobility. "No, he stammered. He took a moment to compose himself, and then smiled at her, straightening out more. "No, of course not. I just didn't expect anyone," he covered. He'd almost told her he didn't expect her to notice him, but that would have sounded awful, and he knew it right before it had escaped his mouth.

"Oh," she said, brows perking. "I can go, if you'd like to be alone with the tree," she said, gesturing back to the grass behind her.

"No, that's not necessary," he said, holding a hand up for her to stay where she was. He stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, smiling slightly. "It's just that your eyes - I've never seen anything quite like them before. Extraordinary," he murmured. "May I?" He was asking permission to step closer to her, and Deja nodded, hands behind her back in a manner that suggested a shyness he did not anticipate from how she'd sneaked up on him previously.

"I've never seen eyes like yours, if it helps," she offered, studying his as he studied hers. "I've seen green eyes, before," she clarified, realizing she'd made herself sound uneducated. "What I mean is, I've never seen them so clear. Like someone plucked gems from a crown and gave them to you to wear instead." She laughed at herself.

"I don't think anyone's ever said anything like that to me before," he said, and there was a thoughtfulness to his voice that Deja did not understand. Ruling the underworld was lonely; his creatures brought comfort, but they were barely corporeal at times, and the beasts wanted only to slumber in the pit lest they be awakened to feed on whatever had earned his enmity. Sometimes he graced the courts with his presence, and sometimes he walked with them to other planes where things were topsy-turvy enough to occupy his boredom. But in all of those suspended years in a timeless world, he'd never carried on a conversation such as this, and so, there had never been an opportunity for what she'd said to be said. At once, he realized that perhaps he had grown lonely. Perhaps it was time for him to find a companion.

"I'm Deja," she said, offering him a slight bow. He looked like a noble; he was dressed like one, at the very least. Or what she thought one might dress like - she'd never seen one. She'd only heard they were fancy, and well-groomed, and their beauty was ethereal and eternal. Royal fae thought way too highly of themselves. "Are you going somewhere in particular? You're not from here, of course," she added.

"Taranis," he replied. "I've never been here before, you're right," he said, nodding. "I don't really know what I'm doing. I just - saw a field of flowers, and thought it was worth stopping to look," he said. It was half-true. Deja didn't need to know that she had been the only flower he'd been keen to observing.

"Well," she said, grinning. "If you like flowers, I've got several more places that are even more beautiful than this. Do you mind water terribly?"

"Are you offering to show me around?" he asked. He was a little taken aback by her forwardness - he was so used to being feared and obeyed, and here she was, this radiant slip of a thing, offering him her hand and the world by proxy.

"Yes, of course," she replied, her brows raising again. "Will you come and see?"

He stared at her for a moment, then held out his hand to take hers. "I would love to," he admitted.

The relationships that the guarded families had with their familiars was, and would always be, a complicated one. For some, like Virgil and Nissa, they only united quite late on the path of life, and had much to learn in the way of catching up to the magic that bound them. For others, like the Belmont twins and Raj, he had been present for the entire time that they had been alive, and he would continue to be where they were, when they were, for as long as they were. The complication was that, despite having raised them alongside their family (or, what was left of it), he wasn't one of them, and there were times where tempers would flare and things would be said that couldn't be unsaid. Raj was used to it. For Virgil, he was dealing with two siblings who shot daggers at eachother with their words; at least for Raj, it was only Libby, and it was really only when he spotlighted her pragmatism for cruelty. In stark contrast, Laz had always been the bleeding heart type, and on occasion, it was his downfall. This was one such occasion.

Much like the conflict between Evan and Severin that had begun on a debate about what was an acceptable loss and ended with a knife and a swift kick off of a rooftop, so Raj and Libby now saw themselves at odds - but not with eachother; with Laszlo. This had never happened before, and honestly, though he had faith in the man's strength, if he were a betting man, he would bet on Libby in a fight.

"Get out of the way, Laz," Raj commanded, his voice clear against the downpour. They were all outside, with Laz standing in front of he and Libby. It was impossibly dark, and they were all illuminated in a ghostly fashion by a flare that Libby had lit and thrown aside to mark the point they needed to be standing at when the building went up. It was pouring rain, and though Raj tried his best to ignore it, the cold droplets felt like pellets smacking his face.

"I can't let you do this," Laz said, shaking his head. He had to shout over the rumbling thunder to make himself heard. "Libby??" he called, trying to appeal to his sister. "Please, I know you know this is wrong," he said.

"No, Laszlo, what's wrong is that you are standing in front of me blocking my way rather than preparing to breach at my side," she said, her jaw set. She was so much more composed than her brother was; one had to wonder if the gods had given him all the feeling and her none.

"They're kids, Lib!" he yelled, raising his arms. Had everyone lost their fucking mind? "Raj! Raj, come on, you know - you know this is wrong, that we can't just - we can't DO this!" he shouted, stepping forward and trying to reason with the dog. Raj saw Libby out of the corner of his eye, and the way she looked at him was as good as an unspoken command - as soon as Laz was within grabbing distance, Raj grappled the lesser Belmont twin, taking him down to the ground in an inelegant move. They landed with Raj on top of him, pushing Laz face down into the water and mud and pebbles that had composed the joke of a road that lead to the old church.

"Just hold him while I handle this," Libby commanded. Her eyes lingered on her brother's thrashing (barely) form for a moment. She looked like she wanted to say something, but then, she always did. She nodded to Raj again, and then turned and began walking toward the dilapidated building. There were holes in it, but it still offered some shelter to whatever was inside - better than what the three of them were working with, at any rate.

Laz struggled beneath Raj; he had about two inches on the dog, but it didn't matter. Raj's entire life had been dedicated to protecting them, and what he was doing right now was protecting this idiot boy from himself. Laz didn't have a chance in hell of getting out from under the death grip Raj had him in, and he knew it. He yelled into the ground in frustration, but received a knee for his action.

"They're not children, Laz, do you understand me? And even if - even IF - they were, they are dangerous. And right now, you are signaling to them all that we are here, and your sister is going - stop STRUGGLING - that your sister is going into that building alone. Is that what you want? Do you want them to know she's coming?" he demanded.

"They are!" he insisted.

"Ah, this fucking magic," Raj growled. "Maybe if I hit you hard enough, you'll understand. I pray your sister breaks this bullshit enchantment when she destroys them, because I cannot handle you and the supreme guilt that you will try to inflict upon us for doing what we are made to do." He drove an elbow into Laz for good measure, ignoring the muffled cry as Laz buried his face into the dirt.

Libby stood at the steps of the church, and from inside, she heard soft singing. She looked over her shoulder at Raj, and their eyes met. He nodded. He understood. If she didn't come back out of that building, he would have to finish it. The Black Dogs were not and had never been susceptible to any sort of enchantments or other magics - not fae, not creature. Clearly, the twins were not afforded that luxury, with Laszlo already having been bewitched by the creatures - because that's what they were, not children. Normally it would never have bothered him to see the twins hesitate to harm a child, but in this instance, in this one very specific situation, Raj was the first to vote that they kill the little bastards.

There was a loud crack, and for a moment, Raj thought that the church had been hit by lightning. But - no, it was magic being loosed. He heard yelling from inside, recognized Libby's voice, and realized that she must've succeeded. It was a doozy of a spell; certainly when she came out of those doors, she'd be worse for wear. All at once, the light stopped, and everything was still. Laz had stopped freaking out beneath him, and he let up on his grip just enough to test the man's reaction. Laz not immediately jumping up and running into the building was a good sign, and so experimentally, Raj drew his knee from the man's spine, giving him more range of motion.

Libby must've come back out by then, and she looked like she'd spent whatever was left of her vigor on the spell she'd recited inside to flush those little shits back to wherever they'd come from, because she just held up her hand as her brother attempted to get up and apologize. "Raj, you drive. I'm going to pass out as soon as my ass hits that seat," she informed him, fatigue - and something else - in her voice. He observed bruises on her arms in the shape of small hands and grimaced.

"Get in the car," Raj said, jerking his head to Laszlo. His voice was tired, but for a different reason.

He walked to the road flare and grabbed it, throwing it directly into the church, before turning towards the car. "It'll burn eventually," he muttered. He nearly shat himself, running straight into Libby, who hadn't gotten in the car and had instead circled back to see the job to its end. "Christ on a fucking cross, Libertine!" he breathed. "It'll burn, don't worry. Get in the car."

"No, I want to see it finished" Libby said. "Those fucking hellspawn give me the creeps, and I don't want them coming back. They almost got me," she admitted, and Raj recognized finally what he'd seen on her face when she'd come out. Fear. She whispered something, a strange dancing motion made my her fingers into her palm. This time, lightning actually did strike the building. She looked at Raj. "That should do it. Now I'm really spent," she informed him. "Let's go."

"Are you good?" he asked, but he dutifully followed her to the car, where he opened the door for her automatically. She looked at it, then at him, and shook her head at his nature to be polite, even when they were literally fighting the denizens of some other realm.

"Right as rain," she said.

"You look like a right cunt, mate," Remi said, turning his head to the side to spit a massive glob of phlegm into the bushes.

"It said 'costume required', ya fuckin' idiot," Kimber shot back. The pair of siblings stood outside of Kyle's home, where the small pack of wolves had gathered to pre-game before the yearly Halloween party that the guilds threw. They were still waiting on everyone else to finish getting ready, which had earned some razzing from the both of them. Remi in particular had called them all women, with exception of Kimber, who had been long since ready.

"And what in God's green fuck are you supposed to be then, eh?" her brother challenged, sliding the top of the ice chest he'd brought outside with him shut. Wouldn't want the beers to get warm just yet.

"A princess," she said, her eyes squinting in irritation at the fact that he couldn't tell. She held her hand up, pointing with one finger to the small tiara nested in her hair.

"What's all that shit on your face?" He gestured with the beer bottle in his hand. He'd had a line of them next to him on the rail of the deck, showing how much time he'd spent outside waiting on everyone. He was wary when she came to stand next to him, but he felt maybe it best to guard his jacobs in case she tried to knee him.

"It's makeup," she growled. Instead of going for the groin, Kimber slapped the bottle out of his hand, which he did not expect, and he yelled as he tried to catch it. He watched it as it fell over the side of the deck and landed in the grass about ten feet below, foaming aggressively and spilling out what was left. He looked back at her, mouth open.

"That was a full beer, you bitch!" he exclaimed. Despite the way he spoke, it was clear he wasn't really mad. Instead, he reached out and grabbed at a strand of her hair, which she'd curled. "I ought to rip a few handfuls out and make you look like that princess doll you had when you were little," he threatened with a grin. He let go as she shook him.

"You remember that thing?" she asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. "Oh, I was so mad when Bryn cut her hair. It was the nicest thing I'd ever had up until that point," she confessed, leaning on the rail next to him. She accidentally knocked two more of the empties off and jerked forward with a laugh. "Shit," she said. "Kyle's gonna think we're out here being bogan as fuck and throwing bottles to decorate the lawn."

"Course I remember that doll, I helped mum pick it out for you when we were at the store. What I'm not sure about is how you found a dress that's so fuckin' similar. It's downright creepy Kim, I'm concerned for your mental state," he said, touching his chest lightly over his heart.

"Oh, fuck off with the head shrinking," she said, reaching into the mini cooler and pulling out the last two beers. She handed him one, gripping the cap of her own and twisting it off. They were not twist off caps, but - wolves. "And you'd be amazed what you can find on eBay. I just dunno how I got into a dress and heels and did my own hair before either of those cunts was done and ready. And anyways, you're saying I'm overdressed, what the fuck are you supposed to be? Are those tearaways? You got on a pair of budgie smugglers under that tux?" she half-accused. "I really hope not, Rem, I don't want to see your garbage at all, at any point tonight, okay? I don't care how many shooters are on the table."

Remi straightened out, adjusting the collars of his tuxedo and straightening the bow tie. "How dare you, this is not a cheap party boy suit," he said, mocking offense in his tone. "I'm fuckin' James Bond."

Kimber, who had not been expecting James Bond, had just taken a large sip of beer, and began to laugh. The result was a geyser of beer sprayed directly on Remi, the tuxedo, and into his beard. She covered her mouth, eyes large as she stared at him, trying to muffle her laughter.

Thomas chose the second directly after this happened to slide the back door open and stick his head out. "Hey, we're ready to go. Kimber, lovely as always," he said, nodding to his friend. He looked at Remi for a moment, a brow raised. "Mate, you know you're supposed to drink the beer, not wear it, aye?"

"This would never happen to James Bond," Remi muttered, heading towards the door. "And you better watch out, missy," he warned, whispering to his sister as he followed her in. "I'm gonna get you back before this night is over." Her glance back over her shoulder told him that she dared him, and Remi sucked his teeth in response, giving her a little push and causing her to trip in her heels before regaining her grace.

"All right, children," Kyle said, holding his hand up to both of them as he finally came down the stairs. "Jesus, you look like you're going to the prom," he said. "What the fuck are you two supposed to be?"

"We're gonna be doing this dance all fuckin' night," Remi said, looking at his sister with a defeated expression.

"I'll try not to spit on you the next time you tell someone you're James Bond," she assured him, giving his shoulder a pat.

Ah, the holidays. Mariah Carey and Michael Buble were pumped out of every department store speaker, Christmas decorations had been up since he first of November, and the city was full of that black road slush that one got when it dumped snow into a heavily populated metropolitan area. But, most importantly, it was party season. And this particular party at Bonne Chance came with an open bar, so of course, Virgil was going to attend.

"Can I get a Jack on the rocks?" he asked the bartender, leaning against the brown wood and marveling at how crowded the place was - and how uncrowded the bar was. He supposed that's what you got when half the people here couldn't even find a point to alcohol since they would have to drink their weight in it to feel drunk.

"Jack? God, I knew you were trailer trash," Juneau said, sliding up next to him. "Hey Darren."

"Hey Juneau," Darren said. "The usual?"

"Hey Darren," she replied. "Please."

"Hey - what the fuck? What do you drink since you're so judgey about my choices? Some girly shit? Let me guess, a Cosmo? Or, a Gibson? The fuck do you even want onions in your spirits for?" he demanded.

"Johnnie Walker Blue Label neat for the lady, and here's your Jack," Darren said, his voice flattening out as he spoke to Virgil.

"Well, fuck me," Virgil said. He was surprised, but also a little impressed.

"Sorry, Verge - I don't fuck men who drink gutter whiskey," she said sympathetically, reaching out to squeeze his hand as she did so. "See you around."

After she left, Virgil looked back at Darren, who was utterly stone-faced.

"Well, go on and laugh," Virgil said, gesturing at him with his drink.

"Will you still tip me if I do?" Darren asked.

"Shut up," Virgil snapped. Before he could say anything else, he smelled the scent of Rhys' perfume, and it was confirmed when he glanced up to see her in his periphery.
 
"I just had the most interesting experience," Rhys said, dropping herself into the stool at the bar next to Virgil. She set the ornate clutch down on the bartop and signaled for another of whatever she'd been having, then turned around in her seat to watch the crowd. How was it that these parties got pulled off every time without a massive fight breaking out, she'd never know. She supposed, in the end, they were all industry professionals enough to know when to keep their heads. And the ones that didn't - well, they weren't in the sort of company where they could possibly outmatch them all, so either they didn't attend or they took one night off from being disagreeable.

Virgil looked up from his drink, turning his head to look at Rhys. It was surprising that they were so candid with one another to him, even still. She was naturally diplomatic, which balanced out Severin's quiet rage nicely. "Oh yeah? What's that?" he asked. At a holiday party that was packed full of hunters from all over, he was sure that whatever her experience was, interesting would be a way to describe it.

"So the Belmonts are here and they've brought Raj with them. Laz put his foot in his mouth when he asked if Raj and the Rashanas knew eachother."

Virgil snorted. "Of course he did," he said, smirking a little. "Was it bad?"

"Well," she said, pausing to take a sip of the gin and tonic that had been refreshed for her. "As it turns out, they do know eachother. But Laz doesn't know that. I do, Libby does, and now you do, but he's so embarrassed by the social gaffe that he's retreated to the bathroom and won't come back out."

Virgil actually laughed at that. "So who's gonna be the one to tell him? Because if you came over here to send me into the bathroom after him, you're barking up the wrong tree, lady. I am comfortable and the bartender and I have a good thing going," he said. "Don't we, Darren?"

From behind the bar, the cat glanced up. "If I answer that honestly, are you going to stop tipping me?"

"Why is that the only thing you'll say when I ask you a question?" Virgil demanded, sitting back in his seat a little. "Come on, man. Money is the root of all evil, or haven't you heard."

Darren set a fresh drink in front of him, and rolled his eyes. "That's only something people who have money say."

Rhys arched an eyebrow at Virgil. "You of all people?" she challenged.

"What can I say? I guess living in your castle has changed me." He shrugged, trying to dodge her as she slapped his arm. "Hey! Not when I got my drink in my hand, woman. This right here is precious cargo."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Virgil turned in his seat to do the same thing Rhys was doing, and his eyes wandered to where Juneau and Sev stood. They were with a group of people, but he noticed that there were glances to be had between them. "Huh," he said flatly. He thought back to the altercation a few weeks prior where Sev had slapped Nissa across the face. Granted, she had said some pretty awful things, to all of them, though Juneau had taken the brunt of it. He'd almost broken the brother the fuck off, but Sev told Nissa to get the fuck out of the house, and in the interest of not wanting that to be the particular day where they saw who was the strongest fighter, Virgil had gone with her.

That wasn't all that had happened, of course. He'd had some choice words for Nissa, too. It had been a bad time all around, though it seemed like things were mostly back to normal. He supposed that powder keg had been building for a while; probably long before his arrival, if he were a betting man.

"What?" Rhys asked, finally registering he'd said anything at all. She followed his line of sight, and nodded. "Ah, that."

"Yeah, that," he said. "They know that can't happen, right?"

Rhys inhaled, then drank until the ice clicked at her teeth, and set the drink down behind her before turning her body to face Virgil. "It never will happen," she said matter-of-factly. "Because they know the rule, but they also take the why behind it pretty seriously."

"At least now I know why he popped Nissa in the face," he said, emphasizing the word sarcastically.

"I thought you'd known, honestly," she admitted.

"Well, I don't do so good with hints. You need to basically hit me with a blunt object of information and intent, because otherwise, I stay way the fuck over here in my lane," he said, gesturing to himself. "Still though. Must really suck."

"We all make sacrifices for this lifestyle, Virgil," she told him matter-of-factly. "Sev isn't any different. Trust me, I wish I could see them off to some happy ending, but - "

"Shit, you don't gotta remind me, Rhys. In this life, there are no happy endings. The best we can hope for is a swift end. But happy? That's just downright unrealistic." He turned back to the bar, unwilling to process all of the depth and nuances of the discovery at the moment. It would kill his buzz, which was pretty hard to maintain as it was - both because of what he was, and because he'd built a hell of a tolerance.

"At least I don't have to worry about you," she said serenely. "It's quite clear you see Nissa as a sister. Maybe even more of a sister than I do, and I'm actually her sister," she added, a short, harsh laugh following her statement. She stood up, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "It's an ugly, complex family. We're so happy to have you."

"Happy to be here," he replied, nodding as she stepped away from the bar and back into the crowd. He looked down at his empty glass, and then back up at Darren.

"I don't really think money is the root of all evil," he said flatly.

Darren shrugged. "If it is, call me Satan, because my rent doesn't pay itself." He paused, a twinkle in his green eyes. "Another gutter whiskey, sir?"

"Shut up, Darren," he snapped.