#.002

[inthegroundontime]

@ncvaflows

Rudyard rapped upon the door, calling Liesel’s name with growing agitation. She had spent the better part of the blustery morning soaking in the tub. Now that storm clouds not only gathered over Piffling Beach but opened torrents of rain upon the coastline, Rudyard didn’t like being alone one bit. In the past, he might have sought Antigone’s company, only to regret it. 

But he had Liesel now. Or he would if she wasn’t so busy sulking and avoiding him. 

He couldn’t see why. Shouldn’t they spend the storm comforting each other? He didn’t know much about marriage, but he hoped that it would involve some amount of soothing when storms hit. 

Convinced she’d either drowned or fallen asleep in the tub, Rudyard gathered all the bravery he could muster and entered the bathroom. Thin bubbles covered Liesel’s body. To Rudyard’s relief, she lay in the tub in human form, her seal-skin draped over the side of the tub. Her lean frame was easy to make out under the waning veneer of the bubbles, thin with slight curves, and muscular from hours spent swimming in the open ocean. What right did she have to be so beautiful, even when she was angry with him?

Putting his hands on his hips, Rudyard surveyed the sight before him. His wife luxuriated in a bubble bath and yet frowned at him. What had he done to deserve her ire, besides barge into the bathroom? He thought.

Ah, yes.

“I know you’re upset I didn’t want you out on the beach today,” he said. “But the storm’s only gotten worse, so you have to admit, I was right for worrying.”

He took a step closer. Their row had probably contributed to the storm’s intensity - Rudyard wasn’t sure how much he affected the weather, but he knew that he did. Which was probably part of why Liesel was angry. He should have been able to call off the storm. He should have been able to, but Rudyard wasn’t skilled enough for that. 

He wanted to help somehow, though. 

He wanted her to be happy.

He wanted her to love him or, at the very least, comfort him while the storm raged.

Was that too much to ask for?

“Now, look at you. You’re safe inside, raising our heating bill when you could have just asked me to draw the bath for you,” he continued. “I bet the water’s gone cold, hasn’t it? I could have made it so it wouldn’t. I suppose I still could. If you’d let me.”

He approached her. Crouching by the tub, he dipped one finger in the water and looked at Liesel expectantly. He could magically make the water much nicer - warmer water, foamier bubbles, the works. But she wasn’t looking at him.

“That is... unless you’re still angry with me...? Are you, by chance? Liesel?”

[inthegroundontime]

My darling loves the ocean Her eyes, dark as the sea Look into my soul and for a moment I forget That I am magic, too. 

Rudyard Funn & Liesel Ivanov | for @ncvaflows

[inthegroundontime]

@professor-of-predators

“So you say,” Jane said teasingly, tightening her hug slightly. It had been a long hug, as far as songs went. Definitely more than ten seconds. But something told her that Rudyard needed something that would make up for the hugs he had missed. “I think it could stand to be a little longer, honestly. You’re not doing anything this evening, are you?”

“That depends entirely on how long this hug lasts,” Rudyard said, summoning as much tartness as he could. It didn’t mask they way his cheek melted atop the crown of Jane’s head or the way his stiff arms clutched her tightly as if she might be snatched from his grasp at any moment. A warm wetness stung his eyes, but Rudyard refused to cry. Until now, he’d never noticed how tight his chest was. “Are you going to hold me hostage all night or do you have other plans?” 

[inthegroundontime]

@professor-of-predators:

“Are you sure?” Jane looked the man up and down suspiciously. He was definitely not dressed for the slushy drizzle that was coming down around them now. He’d made a very creative use of a scarf, but the poor man didn’t even have a coat! He was clearly shivering. Something in Jane’s heart snapped, and before she could think too hard about it she was draping a spare blanket over his shoulders and ushering him inside.

“Bothered or not, why don’t you come in for some tea? I just baked some scones, and you’d be the perfect taste tester.”

Flexing his numb fingers, Rudyard nodded as much as his scarf would allow him to do. His neck and shoulders were tightly wrapped - so much so that his arms were pinned to his sides. Georgie had wrapped him up for the weather despite his protestations that he would be fine with a light jacket. 

“You’re not goin’ out like that, sir,” she’d insisted before ensnaring him in a bright, red flannel scarf The whole thing was probably very near Rudyard’s height. When satisfied, she sent him on his way. Rudyard knew why Georgie was so protective of him. He was a rubbish witch - not even really a witch at all - and would catch his death sooner rather than later if he traipsed about Piffling Vale in this weather without some protection. Or so he supposed. After all, the only reason his fingers were numb was the scarf. He wasn’t actually cold. The months without heat had accustomed him to discomfort, Rudyard supposed. 

That didn’t mean Professor Beckam’s kindness went unappreciated. The warm blanket draped across his shoulders and brushed his cheek. Soft to the touch, it brought him a modicum of comfort, unlike anything he could find at home. And she was offering him tea and scones. Rudyard had to suppress his initial shock, but he narrowed his eyes and watched Jane as she steered him inside her house. The scent of baked goods filled the air. Rudyard’s stomach rumbled. When had he last eaten? Even if the cold didn’t bother him, the hunger would eventually. What he didn’t understand was why Jane Beckam would be kind to him at all. Surely she had heard by now that he was not Piffling’s most popular resident. Until Eric Chapman turned up, Rudyard had assumed that was just the lot of the average undertaker. Clearly, he’d miscalculated. When would Jane Beckam notice that Rudyard was thoroughly unlikeable? He hoped it’d be after he’d had some tea and scones. 

“That’s very kind of you, Miss - ah, Professor Beckam.” It wasn’t often they had a professor on the island. Rudyard couldn’t remember the last time any academic had found their little isle worthy of study. Not many non-magical human types made their way out here anyway. Except for bloody Chapman. Rudyard swallowed. He wasn’t going to think about Eric Chapman and his most recent smug “Enjoy yourself, Rudyard!” and his ever-expanding business... “You don’t have to invite me in for anything, though it does smell heavenly... I didn’t realize you baked!”

[inthegroundontime]

@professor-of-predators:

“Well, you and your sister.” Jane agreed, nodding. She had to hold back a wave of gleeful applause. He was getting it! He’d seemed so opposed to the idea that he was anthying but normal just a few minutes ago, and now–! Jane was unreasonably proud of him. She’d barely known the man two months, but seeing his eyes widen with the breadth of possability expanding in his eyes made her feel … good. Proud, and warm, and excited for him.

She’d have to keep a close eye on those feelings.

Shrugging that realization off, Jane focused on pushing Rudyard towards his new understanding. “Now all you have to do is work on reigning it in!”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt there’s much to ‘rein in’ as it were,” Rudyard said, the astonishment dimming in his eyes. 

Shoulders slumping, he thought about his parents bickering that they’d had twins - an auspicious sign as any - and that neither child had gifts. Even with Professor Beckam - er, Jane - telling him that he was a witch through and through, Rudyard doubted that he could do more than a few parlor tricks. Wouldn’t he have noticed if he was capable of more? 

“If I’d been an especially powerful witch, I think someone would have noticed by now,” he continued. “I’d hate to think that I’ve wasted thirty-five years of my life wasting all my potential...”

He hated to think that the pride sparking on Jane’s face would snuff out when she realized he couldn’t even turn a towel into a teacup, much less do something really impressive, like raise the dead (which would be terrible for business, but which his namesake and great-uncle Rudyard Worthington Funn had been known for) or even spell cast. He’d given it a try exactly once when he was fifteen. He’d found his father’s unlocked spellbook and tried to cast a good luck spell on Antigone. Instead, she’d been passed over at auditions for the spring musical the very next day and contracted a rare strain of influenza. And their father had found out and made Rudyard practice digging graves by hand in the backyard.

“If you can’t do magic,” his father had said, “you had better get used to digging quickly if you want to get the funeral done quickly and cleanly.” 

Surely Rudyard couldn’t have been a very powerful witch, otherwise, he’d spent twenty years digging holes by hand for no reason. 

[inthegroundontime]

Title: So, You Married a Selkie Rating: PG Ships: Rudyard/Liesel ( @ncvaflows ), mentions of Chapman/Masha ( @enjcyourselves & @caughtintherevolution ) Characters: Rudyard Funn, Georgie Crusoe, Liesel Ivanov Summary: Rudyard may not have noticed that he’s been married for the last four months, but it hasn’t escaped notice altogether.

It’s unorthodox, but Rudyard supposes he quite likes having the shifter woman around. She’s kind to him in ways no one, not even Georgie or Antigone has ever been. She listens to his stories and shares some of her own. At dawn, when she returns from her swim, he makes her a cup of tea and she sits with him, reading her book while he does the Piffling Matters crossword. Together, they delight in typos and the simple pleasure of a sunrise in Piffling Vale before the rain rolls in. It always does – especially when she leaves to swim again and Rudyard departs for work. As he worries about her safety, the storms sometimes abate, but every now and then, the lightning becomes fierce and he thinks hers will be the next body Antigone embalms. Liesel. She’s an unusual woman, with sad, dark eyes. Sometimes she seems quite happy in his company, but when he can’t stay with her or when they part for the evening – him for his bed and her for the sofa (Rudyard really ought to charge her rent but he can’t bear to) -she looks at him with such profound despair, it breaks his heart a little. Nothing has broken Rudyard’s heart in a good, long time.

He no longer sleeps well in the bed. It isn’t particularly comfortable – it never has been – but it never seemed so large before, so empty. It’s cold under the blankets and Rudyard eagerly springs from bed in the morning to make tea and toast to go with the kippers Liesel has hunted off the coastline. Once, she brought him back a pearl the size of his thumbnail. He keeps it in his other top pocket – the one above his heart, where Madeline does not sit. He used to keep nothing but lint and a pen there. He doesn’t know why he does this foolish thing, but he does it anyway. It gives him comfort, allowing him to pretend Liesel is nearby when he knows she is swimming and he is trying to keep the funeral home afloat in a much less friendly tide. Across the square, Chapman has only grown more cheerful. No one wonders how he enticed the island’s newest resident – a pretty blonde whose presence dripped magic in a way Rudyard thought was bad form, but that everyone else seemed to take for charm – yet everyone speculates why Liesel hangs around Rudyard. Rumors circulate. He has used a love potion on her. (He hasn’t. He can’t brew a decent one to save his life and Antigone finds them unethical). He has stolen her skin and enslaved her. (He hasn’t. He returned her pelt to her the day they met. Slavery makes his skin crawl). He has hypnotized her, enchanted her, cursed her. (He has done none of these things. Since reconnecting to his witch roots, he has not ever attempted something so advanced).

No one, not even Rudyard, knows why Liesel stays.

No one, except Georgie Crusoe.

Rudyard is half-in the flue of the crematorium, scrubbing the bricks clean of soot and unnamable junk. Georgie, meanwhile, sits on the table, flicking through a manual on cremation that Rudyard shoved her way this morning. As they work, Rudyard can’t help but lament certain goings-on.

“Chapman is allowed to have a mystery woman turn up and follow him around and no one accuses him of enslaving her!” he grunts between scrubs. “Meanwhile, I open my home to a woman who prefers the sea to my company and the whole town thinks I must’ve bewitched her to sleep on my sofa when she gets tired of swimming!”

“Course no one accuses Chapman of anything,” Georgie says without looking up. “The whole ruddy island still thinks he’s human.”

“Of course, he’s human. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be much of a novelty around here, now, would he?”

“Mmm.” Georgie pauses and then asks, “Does Liesel always sleep on the sofa?”

“What, now?” Rudyard pops his head out from inside the chimney, coated in black soot. “Yes, of course, she does. What kind of impropriety-“

“ ‘S not impropriety if you’re married, sir.”

Rudyard smacks his head on the bricks as he climbs out of the chimney. Massaging his scalp, he looks at Georgie with shock and then sternness.

“Now, look here,” he says, “I think I would know if I was married to Liesel. I don’t appreciate your new brand of humor and demand you quit while you’re ahead.”

“I don’t think you would,” she continues. “Know if you’re married, I mean.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’d know.”

“R-i-i-i-ght,” Georgie says. “Oi, Rudyard?”

“What?”

“Are you married?”

“Good God, no! Like I said – I would know. And I am – and will always be – a bachelor.”

“I don’t know how much longer you’ll have that option.”

“It isn’t optional, Georgie. It’s a fact of life. No one would nor ever shall marry me. I’m short-tempered, bossy, and wholly unsuited to the enterprise.”

“Yeah. You’re unsuited all right.” A pause. “But how d’ya like Liesel?”

“Well, of course, I like Liesel,” Rudyard stutters. “She’s kind and smart and doesn’t ask me stupid questions and she’s been contributing to the household in her own way and-“

“But how d’you like her?”

Rudyard scrambles back into the chimney. Scrubbing the bricks furiously, he waits a long time before answering the question.

“She’s kind to me, Georgie. You have to understand, I have something of a weakness for people who are kind to me. And she listens to me – about anything, like what I have to say is important. No one does that. Not really, anyway. She makes me feel… special? Is that the word? … Valued? And I would return the favor instantly, but she looks so sad all the time and we both know I’m rubbish at cheering people up and besides, she spends so much of her time in her seal-skin, swimming and fishing and bellowing at Chapman when he goes for a dip in the ocean, so I get the feeling that maybe she’s only being nice to me so I won’t charge her rent since she prefers the ocean to me, which shouldn’t hurt, since she wouldn’t be the first, but I wish I knew how to make her stay…”

“Rudyard!”

“Yes? What?”

“Do you like Liesel? As in, do you fancy her?”

“Well, of course, I do, but that’s nobody’s business but my own, thank you very much!”

“Then why the bloody hell do you make her sleep on the couch?”

Rudyard smacks his head on the bricks again as he emerges. He grumbles for a moment.

“Now look here, Georgie-“ He sounds more tired than he does angry; resigned and almost sad. “-That’s not how things are done. When I fancy somebody, I don’t ask them to bed. I shove it down and wait for the feeling to die. It inevitably does. And then, since it’s already buried deep in my psyche, I don’t have to worry about giving it a proper send-off.”

“Oh my God.”

“It isn’t as if telling her I like her will amount to anything,” Rudyard continues. “Talking about your feelings has never gotten anyone anything.”

“Rudyard, you stupid-“ Georgie doesn’t finish that thought. “Tell me the story of how you met Liesel.”

“That’s hardly relevant,” Rudyard says. “But it was on the beach. I was trying to enjoy a cheese sandwich as far away from Antigone as I could get, so I’d gone down to the beach. It was an idyllic day – perfectly toasted sandwich, peaceful scenery, really, all except the angry wind, which I managed to stop, thank you very much! And a curious thing happened: a fur coat washed up on the beach at my feet. I picked it up – I can’t abide littering – and then this woman, lovely eyes, totally naked, begged me to give her her coat back. Well. Of course, I did, but not without lecturing her about beach rules! This isn’t the Riviera, after all! The last thing Piffling needs is a nude beach! And then, somehow, we got to talking and I offered her a place to stay until she was back on her feet – or flippers, I suppose. A little shifter humor. And the rest is history.”

“So, Liesel is a selkie.”

“Well, when you put it like that… yes. I suppose she is.”

“And you had her pelt?”

“I didn’t know it was her pelt! I thought some irresponsibly and obscenely wealthy woman had left a valuable fur coat lying about!”

“And you returned it?”

“She was naked! What else was I meant to do?”

“Rudyard. D’you know anything about selkies?”

“Sure. They’re seal-shapeshifters and they enjoy Russian literature, fresh flowers, and get weepy over televised ballets.”

“No, that’s just Liesel,” Georgie said. “Do you know what if means when a man takes a selkie’s pelt?”

“I didn’t take it on purpose!” Rudyard snaps. “It washed up on the beach, I picked it up, I handed it to her.”

“Men don’t normally do that.”

“Are you saying I should have kept it? Proved all those damned rumors true? That I can only earn someone’s affection by enslaving them?” He sits down on the hearth. Drawing his knees to his chest, he looks bleakly over at Georgie, who has abandoned her reading. “I didn’t realize then that she was a selkie, but even if I had, I still would have returned her pelt to her. She deserves to choose for herself how she wants to spend her life.”

“Have you noticed how she’s chosen to spend her life?”

“Miserable in the funeral home at night and in the morning; in the ocean the rest of the time?”

“With you.” Georgie joins him on the hearth. “When a human offers a selkie her pelt back, he’s proposing. She accepted. Congrats, sir. You’ve been married for four months.”

“I’ve been what?”

“It’s a shame we couldn’t have thrown you a real stag party.” Georgie elbows him. “I bet we coulda gotten Chapman to jump outta a cake.”

“Good heavens, why would I want that?”

“Dunno.  It would be hilarious, though.”

Rudyard chuckles weakly. Imagining Chapman looking like an idiot, covered in buttercream frosting almost distracts him. But suddenly, the color drains from Rudyard’s cheeks – not that it’s easy to see under the grime.

“Wait. I’ve been married to Liesel for four months?” he asks. “When was anyone planning to tell me?”

“She thought you knew,” Georgie says. “Still does. And you are a rubbish husband.”

“Well, we’ve established that I would be!”

“Yeah, but you’ve been ignorin’ her. Makin’ her sleep on the couch. You’ve never even tried to kiss her… I mean, have you?”

“No, of course not! I just learned that we were married thirty seconds ago! How was I supposed to know I was meant to act as a husband?”

“Dunno. A little cultural sensitivity?”

“I don’t have that,” Rudyard laments. “I don’t even have a paradigm of what a good husband does!”

“What about your mum and dad?”

“We don’t talk about them,” says Rudyard. “Their marriage wasn’t exactly ideal. I’d want to do better by Liesel. She deserves better than to only be acknowledged on birthdays and holidays.”

“Yikes.”

“Indeed.” Rudyard runs a filthy hand down his filthy face. “I need to start planning. I need to woo her. Show her I’m serious about making this marriage of inconvenience work.”

“I think the phrase is ‘marriage of convenience’.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to. The point is, I do fancy her and if I want her to spend less time at sea and more time with me, I’ll have to let her know, won’t I?”

“So you’re not gonna just push this down?”

“Things have changed, Georgie. I’m a married man now.”

“Just like that, eh?”

“What do women like from romantic partners? You’re a woman. What would you want from your ideal husband?”

“A flamethrower. A helicopter. A trip to the Maldives.”

“Now you’re just being difficult.”

“Nah. Just bein’ me. What would Liesel want?”

“I suppose I could get up earlier… Go with her to the beach. Learn to make a better breakfast.”

“And ask her to sleep in the bed instead of the sofa?”

“We walk before we run in this relationship. We’ll see.”

“Rudyard…”

“… I’ll ask, but if she leaves me over it, I’m blaming you.”

Rising to his feet, Rudyard walks towards the door. Georgie watches him curiously. He stops at the threshold and turns. For a moment, he looks as if he’s about to thank her. Instead, he nervously fidgets with the wilted collar of his shirt.

“How do I look?” he asks.

“Like hell.”

“Oh. Good. Women love a bad boy.”

As he walks out the door, Rudyard hears Georgie’s last bit of yelled advice: “Oi! Rudyard! Take a shower, you daft bastard!”

What he doesn’t hear as he veers upstairs and towards the bathroom – a shower might not be a bad idea – is Georgie’s whispered hopes.

“Good luck.”

[inthegroundontime]

@professor-of-predators

“Are you sure?” Jane asked, already half way into the tote labeled ‘instruments.’ She came up again, dusty and triumphant, holding what looked like a ukulele. “There’s treasure in here; look!” She beamed at Rudyard, not an ounce of sarcasm to be found. “We could start a band!”

“I was going to be a band once,” Rudyard said wistfully, eyeing the ukelele with the fondness most people reserved for long-lost lovers. Then, blinking he shook his head. “No, no, no! Now, look here, Jane! We don’t have time to go through all these old boxes. I have to prepare for the Billington funeral and you have to-”

Actually, Jane’s afternoon was clear. It was why she’s popped by. Rudyard sighed.

“If you want to go through the ‘treasure’ up here, fine. But if you’ll at least sort it into “keep”, “donate”, and “discard”, it’s really the least you can do. I have to line Mr. Billington’s coffin with an old blanket and I’ll be back to see what you’ve found.” 

[inthegroundontime]

@ncvaflows | Supernatural Marriage (Proposal?) Starter

This morning, it had come to Rudyard’s attention that he was a married man. His wife had never told him - Liesel just assumed he would know. It should have frustrated him more than it did. Of course, it did frustrate him, but it did so in multiple ways and processing it all had taken Rudyard a solid hour of frantically setting up and shaking a game of Boggle. 

So far, he’d gotten the following words: wedding, selkie, true, love, daft, moron, and try again. 

So, try again he would. But this time, he would use his words instead of assuming he and Liesel had an understanding. Now that he knew they were married, he wanted to ensure she was afforded all the respect and love a wife was owed. Rudyard refused to behave towards Liesel as his father had towards his mother. The late Mr. and Mrs. Funn had not been a loving couple. And though he fought to squelch the feeling, Rudyard did love Liesel. More than that. To his horror, he realized that part of the frustration he felt was a desire to have her in the big, lonely bed upstairs. He’d never desired a woman thusly. Nor a man, for that matter. Rudyard Funn was content in his own company and (unlike his depraved sister) he didn’t spend much - if any - time fantasizing about romance and sex. Nonetheless, as he examined his feelings, Rudyard realized he wanted to kiss Liesel. He wanted her warm body pressed to his. He even imagined what sort of sounds and shapes she would make if he - 

Well.

It was better not to speculate. For all he knew, Liesel had only agreed to marry him because a man who returned a selkie’s coat was less odious than one who would keep it hostage. 

However, if they were to be married, they were to be properly wed in the eyes of the law and the village. Rudyard didn’t mean to care for the opinions of others, but the speculation that he had enslaved Liesel rankled him. He wanted to ask her consent to be his wife. Rummaging through the attic, he found his mother’s old jewelry box. Many of its contents had been sold off after the funeral. Rudyard had been nineteen and had only just inherited Funn Funerals. They’d needed start-up funds and Stanley Carmichael, before his death, had been quite glad to take what he could off the Funns’ hands. Still, there had to be something that would do. Rudyard picked through the remainders of his mother’s jewelry carefully, unsure what was cursed and what was not. At last, he found a piece that he couldn’t remember seeing his mother wear: an Edwardian piece, studded with diamonds and rubies, only missing a few stones. Rudyard held it in his hands and then, pressing his palms over it, began to murmur incantations, bargaining with the band to fit Liesel’s finger and to relinquish any negative energies, to absorb only the love he felt for the strange, damnable woman who made him get up earlier in the mornings, convinced him to dance to symphonies in the kitchen as long as Antigone was locked in her mortuary, and who spent half her time as a great, bellowing seal on the beach. She was his wife and he refused to give her anything less than the best he could offer. 

Someone called his name from beneath the trapdoor.

“Just a moment!” he called, heart thudding in his ears. “I’m in the- I’m - That is to say, I’m not home! This is a recording!”

It worked on the telephone, but that voice was unmistakably Liesel’s and the sound of someone climbing up the steps told Rudyard he was out of time to plan what to say about why he was holding a ring in his hands and shaking like a drenched cat. 

Courage, Rudyard, he thought. She’s already agreed to marry you once. What you’re doing is a mere formality.

But it felt like so much more. 

[inthegroundontime]

let me fix that for you.

“What? Oh. Yes.”

Rudyard stopped fiddling with his tie. His hands fluttered uselessly to his sides as he allowed Jane to reach up and re-tie it for him. Typically, he had no trouble readying himself for a funeral service, but Rudyard’s nerves ran high and jittery today. He supposed he was excited but only because he’d snagged the booking from Eric Chapman at the last possible second and made promises that he needed to deliver on for the Carlo family. It seemed that they wanted a great and terrible storm for the funeral and when Chapman said, “We can check the weather, but I can’t guarantee-” and Rudyard had said, “I can. I can guarantee the biggest storm you’ve ever seen for your wife’s funeral, Mr. Carlo!”, well, Rudyard may have overextended himself. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he thought about the storm he needed to conjure for today’s funeral. 

“Rudyard can’t actually control the weather,” Chapman had told the widower. “That’d be ridiculous.”

“I guarantee that I can control the weather!” Rudyard said. “Especially thunderstorms!”

Maybe he’d been overzealous. He looked at Jane now, watching her loop his tie into place. 

“You think I can control the weather, don’t you, Jane?” he asked. “It looks cloudier to you outside at least, doesn’t it?”

[inthegroundontime]

Must be hard to kiss with those fake teeth.

“I wouldn’t know,” Rudyard said, running his tongue nervously over his fake canine. 

The teeth were cemented into his mouth and no amount of tugging had thus far broken them free. Piffling Vale had no vampires - something to do with the angry mob in the fifteenth century, Rudyard was still doing research, but he was a bit sensitive about angry mobs. It was all too real to him. That said, he wasn’t exactly taking precautions to prevent another mob from chasing him. He’d bought the vampire fangs at the shops because they were on sale. As he cemented them in place and Georgie told him they were “a bit racist”, he’d regretted putting them in. Now, he regretted not being able to get them out because even though there were no vampires in Piffling Vale, the other villagers eyed him with distaste That wasn’t unusual. He, however, had been very nervous to see Professor Jane Beckam at the harvest festival. Now that she’d seen him - and his horrible, stuck-in-place fake-fangs - she asked him how hard it was to kiss in those fangs. As if he knew! No one kissed Rudyard, with or without fangs, and he doubted very much anyone would now. But his skin flushed as he looked at Jane and he wondered if she also thought he was an insensitive prick for his costume choice or if she thought it’d be funny to fluster him thus. His heartbeat ticked frantically under his skin. If she was going to criticize him, she’d better get it over with.

“It’s difficult enough to do anything in these fangs,” he said. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast and you’re the first person to talk to me since we arrived to the festival. Georgie supposes they’re horribly racist, the fangs. I bought them on sale - don’t suppose you can help me get them off?”

[inthegroundontime]

I need you to believe me.

“Yes, all right I believe you - there’s a witch on the island.”

There were several. Rudyard wasn’t overly concerned about that. He sighed. Shaking his head, he thought how best to continue the conversation. The Piffling Witch wasn’t just a legend, told to Scouts when they went in the Piffling Woods. There were plenty of Piffling Witches. The Funns had been powerful spellcasters a generation back. And before that. And before. But sometimes these things skipped a generation. Rudyard didn’t feel witchy and even if he did, he wouldn’t tell Professor Jane Beckam, who had come to the island only two months ago. And even though he had magical heritage and did not live in fear of his neighbors for it, he did live in fear of being accused of (another) murder. There were limits, after all, especially when, like Rudyard, you were innocent of the whole, messy affair.

“But there’s no need to organize a mob. I’m sure the presence of magic and the strange deaths on this island are entirely coincidental. I’m sure if you even suggested a connection to Agatha Doyle, you’d be shooed out of her shop before you could say ‘sherbert dip-dab.’ There has to be a more reasonable explanation…”

[inthegroundontime]

“It looked alright in the pictures.”

“Yes, well, pictures hardly convey how dense the Piffling Wood is!” Rudyard huffed, sitting down heavily on a log. It creaked under his slight weight. “As it is, we’ll simply have to wait until Antigone or Georgie notices we’ve disappeared and hope that one or both of them come to our rescue. In the meantime, we should do something to pass the time. How about “I Spy”? I spy something that starts with a “T”. It’s tall and leafy. Go on, have a guess.”

This was not the first time Rudyard had been lost in the Piffling Wood. However, it was the first time he’d been lost with Jane and he would have no way of knowing just how incredibly lucky he really was…