#Either way we both will have a warped perception of time passing tonight

[insertcoolnameherethanks]

Yall out here drinking and getting tipsy.

I'm in here with a fever feeling delirious

[flatfootmonster]

Puzzle Pieces

Cold bites but not enough to dislodge me from my spot or my bookmarked thoughts. Orange tongues lick at the darkness eagerly, but as much as my palm hovers over them, enjoying heat spewed into the dark by the fire, the sensation sends no comfort to my feet. The dwindling success found in wiggling my toes every now and again is a good measure of how much more I can take. Winter nights hold less mercy than him—and perhaps a pinch more warmth. 

When I told myself I would run no more it was because there’s nowhere for me to go. Thoughts of escape didn’t cross my mind tonight where usually they would tempt; reality warping under illusions a safe haven could be blindly stumbled across if I only dared to look. I’d always retrace my own arguments, follow my own tracks, right back to my bed—an endless, exhaustive circle. But tonight there’s a task, it’s delayed as my pocketed hand remains hidden in cloth, cloaking the artefact I grip—equal parts spoiled reverence and fresh disgust. 

There’s no need for it anymore. I’m not sure when the spell was unmade; it was a slow unravelling process leading me to the understanding that no desire or intrigue hid within the mysterious forms—ink against paper. The only thing left after that discovery was a bitter disappointment. I think I’ve been disappointed for a long while now, at first, that was entirely self aimed. Not anymore. 

He was the one that scolded for ill words spoken against my betters. Yet if I don’t speak them, they are still true. Ill thoughts come from facts and if they only reside within my skull it doesn’t make them less truthful. Respect remains, as is proper, but I’m wary of memories. I’m ashamed of my feelings—once shunned and sacred, now infantile. I was infatuated, and he broke that with a cold smile and a harder shoulder. How had I ever imagined softness there?

This—this poem—was never for my benefit anyway, and was never given with good feeling. My fingers are cruelly tight around the parchment, they possess an unforgivingness that I cannot wield in my heart. Even if I don’t follow through it will be spoiled. And to think I once risked my life for a list of heartless platitudes. 

A cloud of mist materialises beneath my nose as a short snort of laughter burst from my lungs. I’m changing, and I don’t know what I look like or feel like anymore—if I even knew those things in the first place. All I know is I’ve outgrown the box I was placed in and I’ve granted myself the freedom to look deeper at those around me. Even if what I see stays secret, I can understand more detail than a sketch now, I begin to see hues and shade and highlight—nuance. That goes both ways—for the bad and good. 

I pull the poem free from its hiding place. It’s necessary to keep moving because that thought process—of looking beyond the two-dimensional outline of a being—always leads me to ground I’m not quite ready to tread. Emotions are dissolving in one part of me as they bloom elsewhere—wild and raw. As much as I’m growing out of selective naivety, these new developments seem just as treacherous. They are unknown and they feel dangerous. 

Frigid air expands within my chest before the hand strangling parchment joins the first. One end dangling down, teasing the fire, and the tongues grow longer, eager to devour. Spirits dance within the heat source knowing what needs to be done and what needs to be erased. Another huffed cloud appears when my fingers spring open, orange shivers and devours. There’s not a sound in the world past the crackle of excitement as spirits rejoice in appeasement of their meal. The thing was gone the moment it met the flames.

Ease settles in my chest. If they weren’t so numb, my lips might be persuaded to smile. The dancing flames hold me captive despite knowing that numb lips perhaps indicate that I should move now that it’s done. It’s just hard to summon the will to move because I know I’ll see more change once I do so. Deep within, my structure will have changed, restructured itself somehow and I’ll need to learn how to balance myself. But I’m not sure if my toes are actually moving now when I command them to. I should go back—to my own room, or… 

Weight cuts off that wondering notion; an extra layer envelops me as palms smooth over my shoulders. I don’t have time to flinch before he’s moved to the other side of the fire. Suddenly I’m being studied by dark eyes that flay and question on their own before I’ve taken one single breath. I can’t look away, my hands work on their own, drawing the heavy robe around me. His gaze drops to the fire for a heartbeat, gathering information from the spirits, before rejoining mine once more. 

“Do you plan on standing here until you turn to ice?”

The fact that he tackles my intentions to remain rather than question my motives means he’s watched; he’s aware of what I’ve done. But even if he hadn’t seen the action he has a way of reading me and knowing. It’s unnerving. 

“I was just about to come inside.” Under which part of the roof was never determined.

Head tilting to one side, his study takes in every inch of me as though he’s drawing up an itinerary. I get flustered when he does that, both in agitation and whatever the new thing is that’s evolving—it’s vines twist themself around my gut and chest, constricting and paralysing where they grow. 

I’m beginning to realise that this is not a passing fancy. I don’t think I’m a plaything to him either. Honestly, I’ve no idea what I am to him but I know he isn’t sure either—and that’s what makes this different. Constructing fantasies won’t help, so I try to stay grounded. but it’s confusing. Every now and again there’s a sensation like my heart wants to leap out of my mouth when he’s near. Should I feel shame over this, too? Emotions and desires before were held behind a safe shield—untouchable and unreal. All the knots I tie myself into now, because of him, he pulls and yanks and teases without trying.

“I fell asleep waiting for you.” The words are flat—emotionless even. It could just be a stated fact but there’s something more. The adjustment of his chin, as it firms momentarily, and then as his eyebrows draw together, add nuance. I don’t know him well enough to read these expressions, as minute as they are, but if I had to bet on it I’d name it disgruntlement. 

I was painting in his room. The thoughts that led me to this spot—and this purpose—had crept in the dark before ambushing my mind. My focus remained firmly on the parchment as they coiled around me, blinding me to everything but highlight, hues, and shade. I didn’t notice when he moved, from his reading spot to the pallet. No clues were picked up on that he was sleeping until I shifted around to work feeling back into my legs. The gentle sound of slumbering breaths caught my attention. It’s an odd sensation, and it always is, when I’m awake and he’s asleep. It’s about the only time when I can describe him as gentle, the unwavering features soften. He looks peaceful and that’s strange to see when his demeanour is usually focussed and sharp; he’s a library of rigid expectation and command in every waking breath. 

So, I watched for a while, feeling powerful in one hand and yet protective in the other. Who sees this side of him? There was never anything beyond the forced smile Inhun wore; no weaknesses shown and no upper hand offered. Yet Seungho lays down before me, allows me respite from his perception and gives me free rein. I can’t work out if it’s trust or complacency.

“I was going to come,” I repeat, clamping my teeth shut as they begin to chatter. 

Arms folded, his lips quirk into a smile which is neither warm nor cruel. This is another thing we’re both learning—something other than extremes. He doesn’t even have the decency to shiver, as he stands there in the snow wearing only his bedclothes, because when Seungho isn’t unconscious it is absolutely out of the question for him to show any weakness—no matter how human that weakness may be. I’m not sure if that side of him rankles me anymore, it’s more amusing now, although I don’t think I’ll ever have the confidence—or death wish—to laugh at him over it. 

“You said that already. Yet here you stand, turning blue. Must I carry you? Were you waiting for me to come and drag you inside?” he pauses, entertained by his own notions before adding, “or carry you like a bride?”

I don’t think my eyes could widen any further as I tussle with indignation. Drawing the robe tight around myself, I smooth out the irritation plucked at by his words before straightening to my full height. “I was doing no such thing, My Lord.” With all the courage I can muster, I make a jerky bow and turn away, willing my feet to do their job while they feel as useless as bricks. 

There’s a sound coming from where he still stands, near those dancing spirits, a snort that—if I didn’t know any better—could be laughter. Then he’s at my side. One arm extended, a hand hovers just behind my lower back. I can’t see the gesture but I feel it. I know the heat of it there, as vivid as the warmth from the fire, waiting in case I stumble. He has every right to scold me, in the very least, but he doesn’t—and I’m sure if I could look at him that strange smile would lay on his lips. For the life of me, I cannot figure him out. Every moment I’m blindfolded while assembling a one thousand piece puzzle, and each piece might kiss or bite depending on how I handle it. 

“The cold seems to inspire your impudence,” he murmurs. Still, there is no hard edge to be found to this particular piece. “Turning you back on me,” he tsks to himself as we enter the house. 

I slip off my shoes and he does the same. “I was following your advice, My Lord.” Perhaps I’ve lost my mind because the sniff added in punctuation is not humble in the slightest. My chin firms as my skin prickles because the mirth that radiates from him agitates me for a reason I cannot fathom. And why am I so perceptive when it comes to his moods? Why do his high spirits always make me mulish lately? The tangled threads of questions dampen my mood and cloud my vision before I catch myself. Hand to his door, I freeze realising, as I am sure he has, that I was about to enter his room without thought or planning. But It was where I’d just come from, well before I sought out the poem that is no longer. That’s why I was returning—it makes sense. But to him, it must look like…

“You’re quite the opposite of a bed warmer right now,” he says as he walks past me. 

And just like that my jaw finds its strength once more and I am staring him down, arms crossed over my chest. My purpose nor my intention was to be a bed warmer. I must have gone insane but I cannot help the way he easily plucks at my nerves tonight. Perhaps it was the surprise that came with his apparition outside whilst I was burning embarrassing souvenirs from a life left behind. The act says too much about me and where I stand that I’m not willing to admit out loud—least not to him. 

Does he know already?

Once more, he tilts his head to one side as he faces me—considering, amused. His mouth is soft, just like his eyes somehow became, before he offers a smile, it isn’t generous but it's genuine. It feels like an apology. He scans me, probably trying to understand why my feet have frozen on the threshold—no, he knows the why, he’s trying to figure out the undoing. “It’s warmer in here.” It’s given in place of an ask. That is something I’m learning about him: he does not know how to ask. And why would he need to ask a lowborn of anything? But what do I say?

Just as he has no ability to ask simple things, I have no practise in accepting. “I wasn’t finished,” I nod to where I was seated before, paper and brushes spread out around my work. His eyebrows rise by a fraction but he says nothing and gestures me into the room with one large palm.

I take the offer, silently shuffling to stand at my spot, looking down at my work. It was a lie, of course. I’d done everything I wanted on this particular piece, I knew when the last stroke was enough. Usually, I have no idea when a piece is finished, it can lead to ruin at times. Tonight it was intuitive, and as soon as the brush was laid down, I stood and made a quick path to where I’d hidden the poem. I realise, scouring the paper with fresh eyes, that there is something final about the forms beneath my nose, something that puts it apart from what has come before. 

“It’s different.” His voice at my shoulder is a shock. He’s crept up on me twice in the space of ten minutes. I try to shoot a scowl at him but he’s standing too near. If I tilt my head to meet his eyes, distraction from my ire will be inevitable. When did he learn to soften his gaze?

The scowl instead finds itself aimed at my feet as I fidget. Does he not like it? It seemed to come so naturally, without thinking, like a song from a morning bird. “Do you dislike it?” I ask, unaware that trepidation apparently lodged itself in my throat. It makes my words vibrate in tension. Do I need him to like it? That wasn’t a part of the agreement and if he doesn’t like it, that’s too bad. I shouldn’t care one single ounce for his appeasement. I shouldn't...

“I never said that,” he murmurs, moving closer. The fact that he’s unreasonably close and the inevitable urge to move into him sets off an itch beneath my skin. “It’s just different,” he pauses and I can hear my own heartbeat. Being cold seems a long-departed problem and it has nothing to do with the warmth filtering through the floorboards and thawing out my toes. My palms are damn, too. “Your face,” he continues, “the expression. Your eyes are closed, and your fingers hold to me, denting my flesh. There are marks down my back. My mouth is at your throat, brow creased. Your mouth is open, perhaps on a moan, and your toes are curled…”

With each clue he states, I begin to see it, too. My breaths deepen like his observations alone are foreplay. When did I become so fickle? “I hadn’t noticed,” the words are whispered; it is a lie, too. 

He hums, unconvinced but choosing his battles. “It's not a picture of an act, it’s a portrait of sensation. They aren’t on display for us, they are captivated with each other.” 

Wiping my palms off on the borrowed robe, my tongue is absent and my mouth dry. It isn’t fair for him to be so perceptive, to see so clearly into a piece I hadn’t quite understood yet. And that’s what he does, seems to figure me out before I do. All those times, watching me whilst inside of someone else, reading so clearly what I hid from myself with a thin veil of shame. Blindfold or not, I’m a puzzle he has no problem constructing. It makes me vulnerable and that scares me. 

“Perhaps.” It’s as much as I’m willing to concede, and it’s quietly done at that because another lie would be too much—even for me. Could he ever be captivated with me?

The trepidation in my throat hardens, it feels like I swallowed a rock. I should go back to my room. That notion lands in time with his arms as they coil around me. “Perhaps?” he asks knowing no answer will come because his breath is on my throat. In truth, he doesn’t need an answer. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open, to stop my neck from weakening so my head can loll on his shoulder. What has he done to me? “Do you like it when I kiss your neck, Nakyum?” 

“It’s late.” The only thing left is diversion tactics. I can cope with his demands without consideration; I’ve relied on that to avoid my own agency and desires. But now he’s asking me. 

He’s saying my name. 

As if he can feel my body summoning the energy required to pull away, to leave this embrace, he holds tighter. He rests his head on my shoulder, then he sighs. “I would like it if you’d stay—someone needs to make sure you’re warm enough after standing outside for so long.”

I’m frozen again. Another ask, even if it is followed by reasoning or an excuse that I can’t quite bring myself to believe. He’s asking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen vulnerability in him, and that’s what this feels like. Out of the confusing tangle of newness within, something very clear sounds: I don’t want to hurt him. It’s an absurd notion, what could I do to him? But it’s there all the same, logic damned. The softness I saw in his eyes, on his lips, is reflected in my answer, in my unwinding muscles. “I’ll stay.” The response is almost illegible to my own ears, I can’t hear much for the blood pounding through me. 

When he dictates it’s so easy to lose myself, and then there’s no nervousness because I have no choice to be so. But now it feels like I have power to act on my own urges and that is terrifying. Can I ask of him? How can I do that when I can’t even admit that everything firm, that’s within and without, melts away when his lips are at my neck. 

Something eases in him, he’s relieved—pleased with my response. There are butterflies trapped in my stomach, my mind is tripping over expectations of what comes next. I answered in a way that gives permission, he should need that and nothing more. Instead, wings still their beating when his arms release me. He steps back and it takes every bit of stubbornness I can summon not to buckle without his fortifying strength. It’s worrying—much, much more than worrying—to find myself leaning on something. I don’t trust what I seek for support because I’ve been wrong before. 

Chills glide over my skin and I rub at my arms. It’s futile because this cold didn’t come from outside. “See,” he impresses, the statement balanced between victory and concern. “Come. Lay down.” 

And I do; it’s an instruction, my body follows the lead as trained. Confusing thoughts torment and preoccupy my mind enough that I don’t retaliate against that sheep-like quality I’m starting to abhor. There’s no firming of my chin or crossing of my arms, I’m simply waiting on what happens next. 

Disappointment wasn’t what I had in mind. Seungho simply lays down beside me, bundling covers over us and muttering something about my cold feet. Then I’m left to argue with urges and shame in silence and dark—the only presumptuous thing is the thick band his arm makes as it wraps tightly around my middle and his slow breaths on the back of my neck. 

Now what? 

His question still burns, my inability to answer is an irritant. Do I want to speak on it? It’s a question of what’s at stake, I suppose. What do I lose by gaining my tongue? No one is present to hear the confessions I could proffer to Seungho, I’ll simply be naked in a way he’s never witnessed before. Yet the way he sees things, the way he looks at me, I’m sure he can already imagine that secret part of me—perhaps not the fine detail but he anticipates the sketched outlines. He’s not wrong. 

There were constraints holding me before, doctrine I’d prescribed myself on the advice of someone who I trusted. But that’s gone now—smoke and ashes. There’s nothing to stop unlearning those strictures, I just have to find the strength to be bare once more. It was other people’s ears I worried about overhearing my secrets—not Seungho’s. Do I trust him? 

My shallow breaths echo around the silent landscape. Is he still awake? I can’t move, I can’t apply the brakes in my thought process. The words have reached my throat and there’s no way they can be forced back down. 

“I like it.” 

It sounds much too loud but the reality is my words were as minute as a raindrop landing on the ocean. Minute and yet still they cause ripples. 

He’s as still as I was, the broad chest pressed to my back unmoving now. The words were caught, they are percolating through the space between us. He edges closer, his lips ghost along my shoulder. “What is it that you like?” he asks, pleasure clear in his voice. My will is gathering itself; he knows exactly what I mean, the question is simply posed to draw out the details. Before ire is finessed enough to engage with my tongue, his breath rushes over my skin and he adds one more sound to the ones that came before—a one-word question seeking reassurance. “Nakyum?” 

Does he know what it does when my name is in his mouth? He must know. My brain wants to reinforce mulish behaviour but the rest of me becomes fluid, I’m all too aware of every single inch of his body pressing to mine. I’ve come this far… “I like it when you kiss my neck.” There’s a confidence there, as my lips move, that I wasn’t aware I could wield. 

A deceitful stillness descends once more. I want to see his face and learn the expression that comes when he’s hesitant like this—to know the emotions beneath the surface of this vast ocean. 

I want to know him. 

“Can I?” This rift in stillness causes its own ripples. No, it would be more accurate to call it a tidal wave because the influx of need to demand clarification is suffocating. It forces me to turn, to face him. He asked? 

The ask coaxes something playful. I find myself mimicking his game. “Can you do what?”

The same snort I heard outside repeats. I thought I knew better but that was untrue. It is a laugh—or as close as it gets to laughter with Seungho. I made him laugh? The kaleidoscope of butterflies has returned, cascading flights swirling within. “Can I kiss you, Nakyum?” 

There’s no thought; no consideration; no hesitation; no shame. There’s only urgency.

“Yes.”

(You can read the first POV I wrote for Seungho here)

[thederailedtrain]

The Magic Shop: Lost And Found [Five]

Lately, it seemed that every time Gus was going over to Sophie’s, it was to apologize for something he did, or to apologize for something he was about to do. It was becoming a bit of a worrying pattern. One that he planned to break tonight.

Of course, the whole thing was kind of done on impulse. Gus was already standing in front of Sophie’s door before he realized he hadn’t exactly called to tell her he was coming over. Well, he had two choices right now; send a text, or ring the doorbell. Screw it, Gus thought, and went for option two.

There was some grumbling from inside that only his inhuman ears could pick up on. For a split second, Gus was worried he’d woken Sophie up, but then the door swung open. There Sophie was, curls piled on top her head and glasses threatening to fall off her nose. When she saw just who was standing in her hallway, her eyes widened.

“Gus,” She breathed. “I wasn’t really expecting you.”

“Ugh, yeah, I’m so sorry,” Gus sighed, slapping a hand over his face. “If you want me to leave, just say the word and I’m gone. I’ll totally understand.” Shit, what was he saying?

To his surprise, Sophie took the hand that Gus was currently threatening to smother himself with, and she brought it to her lips. “No, it’s alright, I was just studying,” She assured him, giving his hand a small tug to lead him into her apartment. “You can come in.”

The werewolf allowed Sophie to lead him into the apartment, breaking away after a few steps. Gus made it to the end of the living room before turning back, steps falling quickly across Sophie’s hardwood floors.

“Okay, so I let you in because you looked nervous...like you were in trouble,” Sophie spoke up, watching as Gus turned the corner again and started back the way he’d come. “Is there some sort of problem?” Not really in the mood to form completely coherent thoughts, Gus just threw his hands up and shot Sophie a look the next time he passed by her. “Because I know this kind of pacing behavior. It’s most often displayed by wild animals when they feel like trapped. Like, you know, a lion or a wolf.”

Shit, he was actually pacing. Gus stopped abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’d seen Cedric do so many times. It didn’t really help as much as he thought it would. ‘She called you a wolf,’ His mind so helpfully reminded him. Was he really that obvious?

“This trouble,” Sophie spoke up when he did nothing but grumble to himself. Gus looked up immediately and found Sophie just steps away. She reached out a hand to him and Gus took it. “Does it involve Kira?”

How in the bloody hell did she- No, of course she’d figured it out. Sophie was perceptive. It’s what made her such a good behavioral researcher. Probably would’ve figured it all out if the concept of witches and werewolves was even on her radar. And, unfortunately, they couldn’t be on her radar.

“She isn’t...the source of the problem,” Gus knew he had to choose his next words very carefully. “Kira’s been helping me out with it actually. This is something we’re working on together. It’s just that tomorrow’s a really big day and-”

“And you still can’t tell me what this secret is?” Sophie cut through his words like they were made of tissue. Flimsy, that’s that they were. Just like his defenses when Sophie looked at him like that.

Gus let out a frustrated groan. “It’s not- Don’t worry, I promise it doesn’t affect you. Much,” Even Gus had to wince at that one. “And it’s not exactly a bad thing, per say. Well, aside from making me unavailable on certain nights. Really, really inconvenient nights…”

For several long seconds, Sophie just stared into Gus’s eyes, searching them. The sigh she breathed when she finally looked away told Gus that she wasn’t satisfied by why she found in them. “Look, Gus, I was alright with a few secrets at the beginning of our relationship. Couples nearly always have them at the start,” Sophie began and Gus could feel his heart sinking. No, no, this was not how tonight was supposed to go. “But this seems like a pretty big one, and I don’t know if we can move forward with this thing between us.”

Shit, that was an ultimatum if Gus had ever heard one. “It’s just...It isn’t just my secret to tell,” He decided. Screw the Otherworld exposure laws, Sophie deserved to know this. “I couldn’t tell you my part of it without telling you everyone else’s secrets as well. But…” He took a deep breath. “I can ask them. See what I can tell you, who’s okay with letting me explain their part in all this.”

“Not exactly the answer I was hoping for, but I can live with that for now,” Sophie gave a shrug and a small smile. “I really like you, Gus, and I want this relationship to work.”

Gus’s mouth felt dry. “Me too, me too,” He told her, then leaned down for a kiss.

What started out as something soft and quiet picked up tempo the second Gus’s hands wove their way into Sophie’s hair. She wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his jacket at the sensation and that was all the invitation Gus needed to respond in kind.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” Sophie asked when they broke apart, both breathing a little heavier. She had her forehead pressed against his, all the better to see his eyes, but Gus just kept them closed.

“Yeah, yeah. Here, right now, everything is great,” Gus replied. Forcing his eyes open and taking a deep breath, Gus finally said the one thing that had been on his mind all night. “I think I love you.”

The second those three words were out of his mouth, Sophie’s eyes widened. But Gus just kissed her again before she had the chance to respond. He was afraid of hearing what she would say. There were so many more things Gus wished he could say out loud, but for now, he would have to settle for this instead.

Well, that was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. At least all of the squabbling was kept to minimum and no one got turned into a swine...this time. The gravity of an impending, potentially world changing battle tended to sober a crowd pretty quickly. Toni seemed disappointed with the outcome of the night, though Cedric had the feeling it was due largely to the lack of drama and not the lack of participation in this battle from either family.

Unsurprisingly, one of their own turning against them had affected the final Bloodworths decision. The surprising part was that it made their motivation plummet. They didn’t want to face family on the other side of the battlefield. Toni argued that it would be even more satisfying, getting to wipe that smug Harbinger smirk right off his face for betraying them. Apparently they didn’t share her views.

The Fortiers, who had showed a particular proclivity for the dark arts in the past, decided against fighting as well. Perhaps minimizing the temptation was a smarter move after all.

And as valid as their reasons were, Cedric couldn’t help the way the frustration sunk into his bones. They might have been the Otherworld equivalent of a reality TV show waiting to happen, but the Bloodworths and the Fortiers were both very powerful magical families. Losing them was a loss for their side.

Cedric felt heavier as he trudged through the shop. The bells above the entrance doors jingled overhead, but it didn’t feel like a greeting. The soft, tinkling sound echoed through the shop, a reminder of just how empty it was. It had been closed for days leading up to the final battle. It felt so much less welcoming once the energy left behind by people had faded away. For the first time in decades, Cedric felt cold in the shop.

“So is that it?” Toni asked, leaning against the staircase. “We go to sleep tonight, prep tomorrow and...the fight just happens?”

“In twelve hundred years, I’ve seen countless battles,” Cedric told her. He could have taken a seat on the counter, but he just felt too stiff. He needed to move around. “Every one of them has felt different, so I couldn’t tell you. At least we have the chance to prepare for this one.”

“Yeah, but we gave the Harbingers time to prepare too,” Toni sighed. Her glare went on for miles beyond the shop front. “That’s the problem with a hive mind - it’s a two way street. I’ve been a Harbinger for a while now, so I know how to shut them out, but only so much. They’re trying to shut me out too, but I can still feel them. They know and they’re getting ready right now.” She turned her frown on Cedric. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. Hell, it terrifies me,” Cedric replied, pressing his face into his hands. Images kept playing out behind his eyes, pictures of a park painted with red. How much of it would be his own? It didn’t stop when he opened his eyes to meet Toni’s gaze. “This is the most terrified I’ve been going into battle in a long time.”

Though Toni couldn’t see into his mind, Cedric knew she saw something in his blue eyes. “I know you told me not to bring it up again…” Oh, here it comes, Cedric thought. And he thought they were doing so well not talking about it on the drive home. “But I just don’t give a shit, so I’m gonna bring it up anyway,” Toni crossed her arms. “Is this about what I read in your-”

That question was cut off by a sudden flux of magic in the air. Space began to warp at his side and Cedric stepped out of the way. He gave his silent thanks to whatever deity was listening for Salazar’s timely arrival.

“Ah, yes, those are just the expressions I was hoping not to see,” Salazar said by way of greeting. He’d been popping in and out of the shop so frequently these last few days, he hardly needed one any more. “I’m guessing your meeting with the Bloodworths and the Fortiers went just as well as expected?” The other two could only offer him shrugs and frowns that confirmed his guess. “Well I have some disappointing news for you both as well. Looks like Toni’s intel on Greenland was correct. That was where this wave of Harbingers first began.”

“Of course my intel was correct,” Toni grumbled. “I’m the damn first person source.”

The situation in Greenland was something Cedric had been watching for a while. Placing a seal over the lower half of the country hadn’t been a smart idea at the time and it wasn’t now. Despite having a powerful flow of telluric currents running through it, Greenland was above an active rifting zone. That made channeling the energies tearing apart the earth into breaking the seal that much easier. They’d had trouble with that seal before, and it looked like that was the first one to go. Everyone on the Council had known about it, and Salazar was particularly protective of that seal, but there was only so much he could do from his own Ward thousands of miles away. And apparently the Warden there hadn’t done his job as well as he could have either.

Come to think of it, the first sign that the Harbingers were returning to their Ward was the coven of vampires that had been overcome with bloodlust. They had been from the Greenland Ward, hadn’t they? And Layla’s influence could easily have accounted for their change of mental state. Then there were the selkies - Kira still had yet to tell him the full story, but apparently Signy had mentioned some kind of encroaching darkness in the North Sea that was leading them to consider fleeing their ancestral home.

Shit, he’d seen this coming from a mile away and hadn’t done anything about it. But what could he do when fate tied so heavily into the way this story was unfolding? He felt powerless.

“Alright, so the Harbingers have been weakening the seal over Greenland and are planning on using that to help them break the seal over here,” Toni shrugged very casually for someone discussing a potentially cataclysmic chain of events. “I could’ve told you that. What else did you learn?”

Always so quick to get to the point. Cedric had to admit, he quite liked that about Toni. Not that he would say it aloud. She might have a chance of hearing it if he did.

Salazar seemed impressed as well. “Not much, and what we have isn’t good,” He conceded. “I’m sure you already know this, Toni, but there could be worldwide consequences if this seal breaks. Every single seal is connected, and if this one goes, every single one would be weakened. We’ve done the math, Lix and I. If they can disable the Manhattan seal...”

Salazar didn’t say anything after that. And he didn’t need to. He just let the implication hang over them. It would take more than one seal to free Layla, but depending on the outcome of this battle, the Harbingers had all but guaranteed their victory.

The shop wasn’t silent for long. The bells over the door jingled once, and everyone’s gazes snapped to the door.

“Oh, Kira, it’s just you,” Cedric let out a sigh of relief.

“The hell? Did you teleport here or something?” Toni pulled an impressive face at her entrance. Honestly, Cedric found himself wondering something similar. He hardly noticed Kira’s familiar presence until she was actually in the shop.

Kira just looked at the group, brows narrowed. “I...walked?” She said, confusion evident in her voice.

So her neutral magic really was evolving. Cedric felt a small swell of pride in his chest at that. On that he had to try very hard to push down. “Well, Miss Nguyen, I’m guessing you’re here to deliver the news of how today’s negotiations went,” He said instead. Getting straight to business was much easier than dealing with whatever this was. “And judging by your face, it’s not going to be good.”

The shake of Kira’s head only served to confirm his suspicions. “The pack is completely out - aside from Gus, of course. Markas was a royal douchecanoe about it, though,” She frowned, walking over to the group and leaning against the counter next to Salazar. “And the Kovac sisters are out as well. Luckily, they’ve agreed to cast a telepathic net over us before the battle, so we will be getting some help from them. A few of the younger members of their coven did agree to help us, though. Guess today wasn’t entirely lost.”

There was an air of defeat that was threatening to settle over the shop, so Cedric asked the first thing on his mind. “Have any problem’s with Amaranth?” He knew about Kira’s struggles with the Kovac sister’s pet unicorn.

“Surprisingly, no. I think Gus may be some sort of unicorn whisperer,” Kira smiled fondly at the memory. And so long as she wasn’t looking his way, Cedric was free to enjoy the expression for a moment. “How about the Bloodworths and Fortiers?”

Well, that was one way to kill his good mood. “Shockingly boring and resistant to the thought of fighting one of their own,” Toni spoke up for him. “Just saying, if Donnie was my cousin or something, I’d be jumping at the very idea.”

“Great, we’re another two covens short,” Kira muttered it under her breath like it was a swear. “Salazar, please tell me you got some good news from your Ward.”

Salazar, who had been staring at Kira strangely almost since she came in, snapped back to attention at the mention of his name. “Unfortunately, it appears everything we feared is correct,” He told her. Kira just groaned, sinking back farther against the counter.

“Ugh, looks like Gus and I weren’t the only ones who had a bad day,” Kira grumbled.

“Speaking of Gus, where is he?” Cedric asked, casting a glance back at the door like he imagined Gus would suddenly appear there the same way Kira had.

That actually made Kira smile, if only a little. “He wanted to spend the night at his girlfriend’s,” She explained. “Can’t say I blame him.” From the corner of the shop, Kira swore she could hear Toni mutter something along the lines of ‘Gus has a girlfriend?’ There was silence for a few seconds before Kira asked, “So what happens now?”

Cedric let out a long breath. “The only thing we can do; prepare ourselves,” He looked over everyone’s faces. They all looked so tired, but the energy flowing from them felt even colder. He tried to repress a shiver. “For now, we’ve done all we can. All that’s left for us to do is wait. Prepare, prepare, prepare. All the gods and goddesses know we’ll need it.”

That was all the invitation Toni needed to get the hell out of there. “Well, I’m out,” She said, before disappearing in a cloud of black smoke.

“I should probably get home soon,” Kira sounded reluctant to leave. Her little talk with Gus was still fresh in her mind, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to start the conversation they desperately needed to have. Something deep within her gut told her that it wasn’t the right time just yet. And for once, she chose to listen to it. So Kira straightened and made her way towards the door. “Goodnight, Salazar...Cedric. See you both tomorrow.”

Just before she made it through the doors, Cedric called out to her, “Get a good night’s sleep, alright?” Sleep was important to an incubus. Cedric could only hope she understood what he was trying to say. “Blessed be.”

The smile Kira gave him cleared the chilly air right out of the shop. “Blessed be.” And then the bells above the shop door were signalling Kira’s exit the way she came in.

“Miss Kira Nguyen, huh?” Salazar spoke, to no one in particular. When Cedric asked what he meant by that, he only shook his head. “Nothing, just realized I never learned her full name. Quite pretty.” He gave Cedric a meaningful look. “Would it be alright if I stayed on your couch for the night?”

“Why take the couch when I have a second bedroom?” Cedric smiled at his old friend, and thanked whatever deity was listening that helped him avoid a night alone in an otherwise empty building. He motioned Salazar to the stairs. “You know I can never turn down a guest.”

Meanwhile, Kira found herself contemplating actually teleporting to her apartment. Anything to escape this wind. Winter seemed to have experienced a resurgence in Manhattan, and Kira was not fond of it. At least the walk to her apartment was kinda short.

The whole way home, and as she finished her nightly routine, Kira was readying herself. For the last three weeks, even before the date of the battle had been decided, the only thing she had seen from the second she shut her eyes was that same damned dream. But tonight, she would be prepared. If she knew what was coming, it could no longer shock her. The only thing she could hope was that this time, she’d learn something new. It was the night before the dream would finally come to pass. Maybe she’d finally see the end of it.

Whatever happened, Kira was ready. She peeled back her covers, lay down, and let sleep overtake her.