Young Writers Society

Maybe going out to assess a mangled, decaying body almost directly after dinner wasn't the best idea.

Hands on his hips and standing as steadfastly as he could, Lyall watched as James stepped closer to the body without hesitation. The hunter pulled on gloves, making Lyall wonder why the man was so unfazed and absurdly prepared for this, and began...rearranging the body. Better positioning it for proper mending. In the near silence of the forest, the stiff joints cracking was quite loud.

Once it was in position, James popped open the salt canister and carefully poured a rough outline around the wendigo. Then twisted the copper wire (that Caspar also happened to have lying around?) in braid-like knots around the wendigo's wrists.

Beside Lyall, his sister was fiddling with the settings of her camera (an old polaroid). She snapped photos every once in awhile each time James stepped away to collect the necessary materials. She cast Lyall a small, concerned grin.

"No one will judge you for turning around," she said.

Lyall scoffed and tilted his chin up at a defiant angle. "You would."

"You're right," she conceded, "I would."

"You were a doctor, right?" Caspar asked, standing at his other side.

Lyall blinked at him. Any hopes of more returning memories were quickly dashed, though, when Lyall himself recalled James mentioning it at the cabin, and his heart sank again.

"Years ago," Lyall said absently, turning back to study the grim state of the body once more.

"Why'd you stop?" Caspar gently pressed, tone so innocently curious.

Opposite of them, James seated himself an arm's length away from the corpse. He closed his eyes and took deliberate breaths, as though meditating.

Lyall pursed his lips as he considered his answer, then settled for, "I wasn't a very good one."

Hild turned a sharp gaze at the side of his face, ready to argue. A slow light grabbed their collective attention before she could.

A glowing, electric green stone rested in James's palm. As he muttered in a language that Lyall couldn't understand, a light that matched the stone pulsed through the salt and copper wires, then covered the body, almost like a green flame.

Lyall had to angle his head away just a little and squint to watch as the edges of the wendigo's form began to shift. James's voice was a low drone, guiding the spell. The light turned blinding, forcing them to look away completely.

The stone in his hand shattered. The light was gone, and the green flame wafted away like a cloud of mist in the breeze.

The wendigo turned out to be a frail man. Lyall guessed he would be about his own height. The body was fully restored as James promised, but still pallid and very cold-looking. The spell, though immensely effective, still left a scar through the torso, when he'd been run through.

Pulling his bag closer to himself, James unfurled a sheet and carefully layed it over the body, leaving the face uncovered.

Hild's polaroid shuttered loudly in the stunned silence, making Lyall jump. Just a little.

"...There he is," Caspar said, voice quite faint.

Taking a step closer, Lyall cautiously bent over the body, brows furrowing as he studied him.

"He's in rough shape," Hild commented, almost plainly.

"Yeah," Lyall murmured, "I think he wasn't well, even before..." He nodded to James. "...you, and." He turned his hand in a small circle over the corpse's face. "Everything."

James stood at the head of the body, looking down at the deceased man's face.

"Do any of you recognize him?" James asked. Though he looked mostly to Hild and Caspar for an answer.

Hild just shrugged a shoulder.

Head tilted sideways, Caspar stared intently at the dead man. Realization straightened his posture a bit. He gestured to the man's upper body area. "Can you...pull the sheet down, just a little?"

James raised a brow slightly, but leaned down beside the body and obliged, revealing the dead man's chest. All across it, scars formed crude, shaky letters, creating words unrecognizable.

Too intrigued now to be bothered by his dead-ness, Lyall knelt down to inspect. The scars were old, the skin around them grey and knotted. One incision site looked like it was once infected.

Hild scrunched her nose, visibly unsettled.

Caspar clutched at his sweater, over his own chest. "Those were self-inflicted," he murmured.

Lyall whipped around to look at him. "How do you know?" His tone was sharper than intended. He knew the answer the instant he asked.

"He stayed in town for about a week," Caspar said, "and not long before you moved in." And he pointed his chin to Hild.

Lyall frowned. "But how did you know him?"

There was no way Caspar remembered a stranger who'd been here for all of a week, some five or more years prior, but not Lyall. Not for no reason, anyway.

"He..." Caspar stared at the body again. "Was asking peculiar questions when he came by. Skittish, terrible tipper when he came by the diner, but friendly enough, I guess. If he wasn't out exploring the trail, then he was...holed up somewhere. I don't know, I don't think he booked a room anywhere."

Standing upright again and stepping back, Lyall re-assessed the writing on the corpse's terrible chest. He recognized a one as a rune that he'd found on Caspar's walls.

"Then one day," Caspar went on, voice dropping to a murmur, "he was just. Waiting at my house. Didn't say anything to explain himself, just. Ambushed me."

With deep concern, Lyall glanced back at his old friend, fighting the instinct to next examine him.

"Ambushed you how?" James asked.

A second delayed, Caspar looked at him. "Like, an attack. Physically."

There was a pregnant pause, but Caspar didn't seem willing to delve into more detail. Understandably, Lyall supposed, assuming it went very poorly. It must have. The corpse had plenty of evidence of that. Well, as far as he knew. Which wasn't by very much. For all Lyall knew, a lot of the damage could've been after that, but definitely before James.

"Did he look like this when he attacked you?" James asked, gesturing to the corpse.

Caspar hesitated. Then bent down to uncover a little more of the body, revealing scarring on the ribs and a deep gouge in stomach that Lyall knew wasn't from the fight with James.

"Pretty much," Caspar uttered. "I gave him those ones."

"Did he flee after the attack?" James asked.

Caspar nodded. "Didn't see him again after."

"And you said he offered no explanation," James said. "He didn't say anything? Anything at all?"

He breathed in deep through his nose, brows pinching in thought. "Maybe he did. I..." He slowly shook his head. "...don't remember."

Taking another step back, Lyall pocketed his clenched hands. Staring at the blank face of the dead man, he wasn't sure if he wanted to set fire to the corpse, or simply throw up because of its still terrible-state.

Hild cast him an intent look before glancing down. Drawing as normal a breath as he could manage, Lyall forced his hands to relax.

Broken magic or no, there was still risk of it exploding if he wasn't careful.

"It sounds like his downward spiral had likely begun before he came to Curio," James said, still squatting by the dead man, looking down at his face. "It's unfortunate that this was his fate, but people don't become wendigos on accident."

James glanced up at all of them, as if looking for some kind of recognition.

"Wendigos are what become of people who consume other's souls," James said. "It's not an immediate transformation, but a gradual one. It's likely this man had killed several people long before he came to Curio - but if he targeted you, Caspar, it wouldn't surprise me if immortals might've been his original targets. Sometimes people target immortals with the intent of not only consuming their souls, but stealing their magic. Maybe he was doing both."

James looked back down at the dead man, his expression severe.

"He must've fled into the forest after his failed attack on you, Caspar," James said. "That was probably when he became what, ultimately, Lyall and I last saw of him. At some point, those who give themselves to feeding on the magic and lives of others are overcome with an inhuman, insatiable hunger. They lose their sense of humanity and become a creature of death... living only to feed. And, of course, they're especially drawn to those who've lived longer, and those who have magic."

James looked back up, briefly meeting Lyall's eyes.

"Had I not found you--"

"Yeah, yeah." Lyall waved him off. "Dire consequences and whatnot. Thank goodness our paths crossed and all."

"What a relief to see you're taking this seriously," James said flatly.

Lyall cracked a faint grin, then dropped it as quickly as he'd plastered it on.

The consequences truly would've been dire. He wouldn't have stood a chance on his own.

Hild looked between all of them, then swept an arm in James's direction. "And yet it didn't find you. Not for three weeks."

"And it only did," Caspar added, voice still small, "because your brother joined him that one time."

'Your brother' stung way more than it had any right to. Lyall suppressed a deeper, hurt frown at that.

"That was an oversight on my part," James said. "Had I known I was dealing with a wendigo on the front end, I would've use a different strategy and used less extreme measures to conceal myself. Apparently I hid too well."

"Nice to know that you have such skills at your disposal," Hild said, perhaps a little too amiably. She stepped around Lyall, likely for a different angle. She held the camera low and snapped another photo.

Lyall squinted at her, very briefly. Then looked back at the body once more.

"So, now..." He hummed. "...Do we bury him? Leave him for authorities to take care of? What? What did we decide?"

Caspar covered the body up to the neck again. "...I guess, since he's more or less presentable now." He stood and glanced to James. "I'll make a call?"

James picked up his bag, got to his feet, and took a long step back from the body, waving down at it with gloved hands. He whispered something with the movement and suddenly, all signs of footprints or disturbance around the body disappeared.

"It's all yours, now, Caspar," James said.

With a final nod, Caspar simply turned around and headed back for the car. James was quick to join him. Hild lingered a moment, probably since Lyall had made no move to leave just yet.

Lyall pursed his lips. "Scoop of the century, eh?"

Hild hummed, a little despondently.

"Well, even modified," he went on, "it'd still make a fascinating read."

She just sighed. "You still okay?" she asked, voice unusually gentle.

Glancing over his shoulder to the car, he confirmed that their friends were inside and out of earshot. Then turned back the other way and shook his head. "Not in the slightest."

Multiple times, any one of them could've very easily died. He'd just discovered a new brand of mutated human with godlike properties that used their magic radar to hunt down other mages. His friend's memories of Lyall were still largely lost, and thus whatever relationship they'd built before remained unrecovered. He still wasn't any closer to fixing his magic since the mystery writer turned out to be his sister, whom he was fairly certain knew even less than he did about that. Just this afternoon, he'd checked his wallet, and found that the one week spent at the inn really drained what he had left.

Glancing sideways, he met his sister's sympathetic gaze. Forcing a small smile, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and turned them both around. "There have been silver linings," he had to concede.

She leaned on him a bit as they walked. "You stupid sap," she said sweetly, "I think you're really glossing over matters that you really shouldn't."

He shushed her playfully. "Silver linings are all I have in this cruel world. Let me have them."

It was morning. The sun was just starting to come up, but James had been awake for a whiel. He had the fan in the bathroom going, and the window propped open, letting in the fresh, cool mountain air. After a brisk morning run, some eggs, and a gritty protien shake, James had decided to take it upon himself to keep busy and do something that sorely needed doing.

The cabin was filthy. So James intended to clean it.

For the past two days, Caspar had his hands tied with work, and he'd been out all day, leaving early at sunrise, coming home late. Whenever he came home, he looked exhausted, and he often hit the sack without saying much to either James or Lyall.

This morning was no different. Caspar left after a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee, and the moment he was gone, James got to cleaning. He had no idea when Lyall planned on being up, but he figured it would be best to get to the bathroom first, since it was the most used thing in the whole cabin.

James had already cleaned everything apart from the shower tub. Everything had been scrubbed, dusted, wiped down. He'd used as much bleach as possible to painstakingly scrub out the stains in the bathroom sink, and he'd managed to clean up the foggy mirror with a little help from a minor restoration spell.

Had it been necessary? No. But James was tired of having to squint into the dim mirror when shaving, and he was sure everyone in the cabin would benefit from it.

At present, James was shoving a drain snake down the shower drain, trying to clear it out. There wasn't much he could do about the squeaky pipes, but he noticed the shower was always slow to drain.

As it turned out, there was a lot of hair buildup in there. It looked like years' worth.

He ran the snake down there several times. This time, he pulled up a large clump of hair that looked like... something had coagulated in the thick of it, along with some mold.

Humming, he peeled it off with his gloves.

Through the open bathroom door, he heard footsteps down the small hall, entering the kitchen.

"Ugh," he heard Lyall say, "of course you're an early riser."

"What's that supposed to mean?" James called back.

The kettle clanged on the stove, and a flame clicked on. "It means you're predictable," Lyall grumbled.

"And you are predictably not a morning person," James said, tossing the last of the hair in the trash bag he'd kept by the tub.

Lyall audibly shuddered. "Why did that sound so wet?"

"I'm cleaning the bathroom," James said. "I'm discovering all sorts of things in here."

"Interesting, secret things?" Lyall asked. "Or moldy, 'I have regrets' things?"

"Moldy regrets," James answered.

Lyall made a sound of disdain. "Keep them, then. I'm making breakfast."

"I'm tempted not to," James said with a grin. "But for the sake of your peace and your stomach, I will."

He wiped any remaining reside away from the shower's drain, and then tied off the trash bag, keeping anything that remained dirty within its tie. Then he peeled off his gloves, knowing they'd need to be cleaned themselves before he did more cleaning in the main areas.

Gloves and trash bag in hand, he stepped out into the kitchen doorway, looking at Lyall.

Sitting at the counter, Lyall waited on the kettle with his chin in his hands, head tilted as he stared out the window. Hair even wilder than normal and robe crooked on his shoulders, looking like he really just got up seconds ago.

He glanced back at James when he heard him approach. "Did he already leave?"

"Yeah," James said. "About an hour ago."

Lyall hummed. "He remembered everything?" he asked after a quiet beat.

"Almost. I made sure he remembered his keys," James said.

Another hum, fainter, as Lyall looked out the window again. "Always something." He sounded concerned.

"...Do you think it's just his age?" James asked.

"Probably a combination of things," Lyall answered. "Age, increased stress as of late, past injuries wearing him down..."

James hummed faintly, and then walked past him, tucking the dirty gloves in his back pant pocket.

"I suppose it's a good thing we came around when we did, then," James said. "Otherwise he'd be locking himself out of his car every day."

Lyall huffed a dry laugh. "Poor sod." He got up to address the slices of toast he'd tossed in a pan. "Around what time were you from? I don't think we touched on that."

James glanced back at Lyall, pausing at the door.

"When's your birth year?" James asked.

Lyall snorted. "Fair enough." He flipped the slices of bread. "Summer of 1884."

James's eyebrows raised, and he looked at Lyall with a pleasant grin. Lyall arched a curious brow in turn.

"We're not too far apart, it seems," James said.

Lyall gave him a flat look. "Year?" he pressed.

"November 28th, 1882," James said.

Nodding, Lyall looked back to the toast. "Not far at all," he agreed.

Once the bread slices were sufficiently warmed, he set them on a small plate and grabbed jam from the fridge. Then got coffee brewing once the kettle was hot. James turned away and stepped out the door, greeted by the warm midday air. He made the quick run to the trash can, unlocking and locking it back into its bear-safe confinement. Then he ran his gloves under the outdoor hose spout briefly, just enough to wash away the bathroom's grime.

Flopping them to rid of excess water, he patted them dry on his tank top and threw them over his shoulder, going back inside.

"If you're still busy in the kitchen," James said upon entering, moving to take off his shoes. "I'm going to start cleaning the bedroom."

Lyall raised both hands. "Oh no, don't let me stop all proceedings here. I'm done." And he grabbed his own tin mug, his now jam-covered toast, and padded out to the living room. "Help yourself to coffee."

James hummed, watching Lyall, and decided to pass him and get started on the kitchen, then. He didn't need coffee today. He got a run in.

He dipped into the bathroom to grab the cleaning supplies again and returned to the kitchen, putting the rubber gloves back on. Starting from the too down, he took out a feather duster and began taking care of the cobwebs on the ceiling.

Seeing as the cabin wasn't very large, and the living room and kitchen were open and connected, James could still see Lyall, sitting on the couch now, eating his breakfast.

Despite being in "different rooms," they really weren't that far from each other.

"It's like he hasn't cleaned the place in the last century," Lyall mused.

"If you'd have seen what I've seen in the bathroom," James said. "You'd know that's not far from the truth."

On his tip-toes, he reached for the corner of the ceiling. Fortunately, all of the ceilings were low, except for the slightly raised ones in the living room.

Lyall huffed, appalled. Setting aside his now-empty plate, he turned and lied back on the couch, disappearing from view. "Where were you before here?"

James glanced at the couch.

"Before Curio? Or before Canada?" he asked.

"Uh, sure."

Hm.

"I was in the United States," he said. "Taking care of a ghoul situation in Oregon."

Lyall hummed. "Those are a real problem in Oregon. You ever get paid for your services? How do you sustain this lifestyle?"

"I do get paid on occasion," James said. "Sometimes I get commissioned to take care of supernatural nuisances. Through back-door communications, of course."

He paused.

"And I have some passive income," he said. "You know. Investing."

"Ohhh, investing." There was a grin in Lyall's voice. "Sounds like you've got things figured out."

"I try," James said. "What about you? Are you employed?"

"By contract," Lyall answered, "as a performer." He waved a hand vaguely. "Not always the most reliable source of income, or the most lucrative, depending on the crowd. But, long-term commitments often aren't required, which makes it easy to dash if necessary."

"What kind of performance?" James asked, catching the last cobweb, partially climbing the fridge to do so.

"The vocal kind." Lyall loudly slurped his coffee. "Don't have to lug around an instrument that way. Though I've considered maybe picking up a guitar sometime. Add to the musical repertoire."

James grinned slightly, remembering overhearing Lyall's singing in the forest (which, in honesty, wasn't bad, even though he'd teased him). It was interesting, though, that Lyall had history in the medical field and was now a performer. James wondered if the dramatic career change was in favor of his natural inclinations and talents or if it was a result of mere boredom. It wasn't unusual for immortals to try many things, considering they had all the time in the world in conparison to most, but it was still amusing.

"I used to play guitar a little bit," James said. "Casually, as a hobby. It's nice as a more mobile instrument, if you're looking to add that to your resume."

Lyall peeked over the back of the couch with an interested grin. "Duly noted."

"Do you think you'll try to get any gigs in Curio, while you're here?" James asked. "I think there's a bar or two downtown. They probably have live music nights."

James moved on to starting to scrub down the cupboard faces, working away at some grime around frequent touch-points with a sponge.

"I've been scouting the place, yes," Lyall said with a glint in his eyes that could only be described as scheming. He lied back down. "Might actually hit up one of those places in the next few days. You should join! I could serenade you."

James laughed, but decided to gloss over that and ask a different question.

"What kind of songs do you sing? What's normally on your set list?" James asked.

"I do a variety of genres. Usually try to get a feel for a place and work off of that. I myself usually lean toward jazz, easy listening, or older pop music."

James nodded.

"Well," James said. "If you land the gig, maybe I'll stop by."

"That'd be swell," Lyall said pleasantly. He brought his plate back into the kitchen, then leaned sideways against the counter as he watched. "You ever partner with anyone before? On your little monster hunts."

James glanced at Lyall, casting him a slightly judgemental look, but refrained from commenting. Lyall didn't have to help clean.

"I have," James said, scrubbing away at a stubborn chunk of something that had hardened on the cabinet's door. "But I do prefer to work alone when I can. It's less complicated that way."

"Oh, I see." Lyall nodded, grinning cheekily. "You're the sort of lone ranger type. Sure, fine." Doffing his robe and draping it over the back of the nearest chair, he stepped forward now and picked through the cleaning supplies.

James cast Lyall a raised brow.

"Maintaining relationships can get complicated, long-term," James said, finally working away the chunk on the cupboard. "You know that."

Lyall tucked a dusting rag in his back pocket and picked up the bottle of windex with a quick little flourish. His smile faded just a bit. "Yeah, I know that."

There was a small lull of silence, as James sense he'd struck a pain point. Perhaps it'd been insensitive, since James knew at least a little of what Lyall was going through the past few days.

James looked over at Lyall apologetically.

"Sorry," he said.

The not-doctor simply cast him another easy smile. "Whatever for?" Then headed out into the living room.

James huffed through his nose. Lyall clearly didn't want to get into it. And apparently it drove him out of the kitchen and into the living room. But at least he was helping to clean.

James sighed.

"For making you feel obligated to clean," he said instead. "I by no means meant to guilt you by existing."

Lyall laughed, a bit dryly. "Bugger, pulling on heart strings with little-to-no effort."

He spritzed the nearest window, and there came the distinct squeaking of wiped-down glass.

"I do have a bad habit of doing that," James said quietly, shrugging more to himself as he scrubbed at another greasy cabinet door.

Silence softly fell over the cabin for a moment. Lyall either ran out of witty and/or probing comments, or simply had wandered off mentally.

Eventually, Lyall's cleaning efforts came to an abrupt stop, and he just stared out the second window.

"Did Caspar mention any imminent visitors?" he asked slowly.

James froze, looking out at Lyall.

"No," he said, feeling a sense of urgency.

At that, Lyall backed away, out of view. James set down his sponge and ripped off his gloves, leaving them on the counter as he hurried to look out the window, jumping over the couch on the way.

Sliding to a stop beside Lyall, he found himself staring at... his sister.

She'd put on hiking gear, and, seeing as she didn't have any of her things, she clearly got a room at the inn in town. Her long hair was thrown over a shoulder in a braid, swaying with her steps.

A million different thoughts ran through his head. One, she was supposed to call him when she arrived. He was going to pick her up. Had he missed the call? Did she just not call him? She was supposed to get back to him on...

He sighed deeply, standing upright as he walked to the front door. He opened it just as Larrel stepped up onto the porch.

"James!" Larrel said brightly, rushing forward like a magnet, embracing him tightly.

James stood there, slowly returning the hug, patting her back as she squeezed the life out of him.

"My sister," James said, glancing over at Lyall, who was, understandably, confused.

Larrel ripped away from him, pushing James to the side to get a look at who James was talking to.

"Are you the guy?" Larrel asked, staring at him. "The guy my brother almost got killed?"

"Wow," James said flatly, but Larrel just pushed him further into the house, shoving past him to extend a hand out to Lyall.

"I'm Larrel," she said. "James's cooler, more extroverted sister. He got all the magic and I got all the friends."

James slow-blinked behind her.

In an instant, Lyall went from alert to simply confused to utterly delighted. Giving her hand a light shake, he bowed deeply at the waist with a grand flourish of his other arm. "A pleasure to make your acquiantance," he said as he straightened again. "Lyall Ashlund, at your service."

Larrel snorted faintly and looked back at James with a suppressed smile, that read (jokingly): "Where'd you find this guy?"

"I do apologize for my current state," Lyall went on, "your brother neglected to mention that you two had planned a visit." Glancing around Larrel, he gave James a very pointed look, as if to say, 'Nor anything about family, for that matter.'

James widended his eyes with another pointed look in return, as if to say: 'I didn't know she was coming here either.'

Larrel laughed.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Larrel said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It's like Christmas morning. Everyone's in their pajamas. Besides--"

She pointed at James's feet with both hands, accusingly.

"He's out here with his grippers out," she said. "He should really put his hobbit feet away."

"Now that you two have met," James interrupted, setting his hand on Larrel's shoulder firmly. "Perhaps we'll give Lyall a moment to collect himself, since he wasn't expecting company."

Larrel looked at James and then whirled back around to face Lyall, hands on her hips.

"Would you like that, pajama man?" she asked.

Lyall snorted. "Just a few moments would be greatly appreciated, yes." Grabbing his bag from by the couch, he made his way backwards to the guest room. "I'll be ready for some lengthy chats after, though!"

And with that, he closed the door.

James immediately turned to Larrel.

"Outside," James said lowly.

"Okay," Larrel said, raising a hand up in defense. "First of all. I'm not the one who's in trouble here."

"Outside," James said again, more insitently, this time, turning to go out the door.

Larrel marched out behind him, following him onto the porch.

"At least put your shoes on," she said.

"Too late for that now, I'm already out here," James said, closing the door behind them.

"Ugh, whatever," Larrel muttered.

"Why didn't you call me when you landed? I was going to pick you up," James asked, launching right into it.

"Because my phone plan doesn't cover dinky-little-towns out in the middle of nowhere, Canada!" Larrel said, poking his chest. "And I'm not going to waste money on a payphone like some kind of... ancient... old person."

James just stared at her, unimpressed.

"Besides, I had a feeling you weren't going to introduce me to these people, anyway," she said. "You always get so weird and protective about me meeting the people you work with sometimes."

"That's because normally the people who hire me aren't--" James started.

"I know, I know, they're sketchy as all get out," she said. "You think I can't handle sketchy?"

"I would've introduced you to them," James said. "These guys..."

James glanced in through the window, checking to see if Lyall was out already. James didn't see him.

"They're not sketchy," James said quietly. "Just-- you know how immortals are. We all get a little..."

"Yeah, we're all freaks, thanks for reminding me," Larrel said. "So's the rest of the human race. Blah, blah, blah."

"Listen, Larrel, I'm glad to see you, really," James said. "But you didn't have to come all this way out here just to make sure I'm alive. See?" He gestured to himself with a wave of his hands. "Look at me. I'm fine."

Larrel pointed to the wendigo scars on his arm.

"That's new," she said, meeting his eyes with severity.

"And healed," James said.

"Magic doesn't heal everything," Larrel said, quieter.

James pressed his lips together into a line, letting out a sigh through his nose.

"Besides," she said. "Maybe I just missed my brother."

James rolled his eyes to the side.

She always did this. She knew if she got sappy, even if it was completely genuine and honest, that it would get to him. It always got to him. He groaned.

"Don't act like you didn't miss me too," she said.

James looked off to the side, stubbornly avoiding eye contact, though he felt childish doing so.

"... I'm glad you're here," he mumbled.

Larrel grinned, and pulled him into another hug, to which he relented, hugging her back. With her head over his shoulder, she whispered into his ear.

"You can't keep scaring me like this," she said. "Just because you're powerful doesn't mean you're invincible. Magic can't compensate for stupid. I hate having to worry that one day I'll get a call about you turning up, dying some gruesome death. Or worse, I hear nothing at all because it's always so secret."

She pulled away, holding his shoulders at arm's length.

"So at least allow me to make sure you don't do anything too stupid for a while, okay?" she asked.

James sighed, shrugging off her touch.

"Okay," he whispered.

Larrel grinned, then glanced at the door.

"You think he's presentable now?" she asked. "Not that he looked bad before."

James frowned at that.

"Don't compliment him to his face," James said. "He'll take it too personally."

Larrel raised a brow at that, grinning, and unfortunately clearly accepting it as a challenge.

"So tell me about him," she said. "How'd you two meet?"

James rolled his eyes, looking off into the forest.

"He was wandering in the forest while I was hunting for the wendigo," James said.

"Oh! A wendigo," Larrel said. There was hidden worry behind the smile she flashed at him. "You neglected to mention that detail."

"Somehow, typing wendigo over text felt a little too--"

"Oh my gosh you have to stop being so paranoid," Larrel groaned before he could finish. "The FBI don't care about you that much."

"I knew you'd overreact, was what I was going to say," James corrected, even though that wasn't what he was going to say.

"You mean react normally," Larrel said, folding her arms. "Not everyone's amygdala is broken like yours."

Before James could form a response, the front door opened. Fully dressed now in jeans, a sweater, and a leather jacket, Lyall peeked out.

"He's not kicking you out already, is he?" he asked, tone breezy.

"No," Larrel responded before James could. "He couldn't even if he wanted to. He loves me too much."

Lyall cast James a broad, amused grin. He beckoned them both back in with a wave. "Well, come on! We've got coffee and not-expired food aplenty. We can finish cleaning after breakfast."

"Cleaning?" Larrel asked, stepping inside.

"The man who's hosting us has different standards," James said, trying to put it kindly. He closed the door behind them.

"Does he eat expired food too?" Larrel asked

"Hopefully not knowingly," Lyall answered smoothly. On his way to kitchen, he gestured to the table in the living room. "If you don't fancy coffee, I do believe he's stocked up on tea as well."

"Tea would probably be best," Larrel said, taking at seat at the table with a plop in the nearest chair. "You don't want to see me on coffee."

James briefly met Lyall's eyes, nodding in confirmation.

With brows raised, Lyall nodded as he hopped into the kitchen. "Okay. Tea it is!"

"Something herbal, preferably," Larrel added. "I like peppermint, if that's an option."

James took a seat across from her, briefly meeting her eyes. But she seemed distracted by the new company.

Lyall gave her a thumbsup before disappearing around the corner. They could hear as he poked around the cupboard and pantry for a quick moment. Triumphantly, he re-emerged with a chunky clay mug, filled with hot water, and the tea bag tied loosely to the handle and already steeping.

He carefully set it in front of her, then slid into the seat between the two. "So," he asked brightly, "which of you is the elder sibling?"

Larrel pointed accusingly at James.

"By two years," James said.

"Ah!" Lyall raised his own mug to Larrel. "1884, then? A very good year."

"What makes you say that?" Larrel asked.

"T'was the year that apparently we both graced this world with our presence," Lyall answered.

Larrel's face lit up, and from that point forward, James was beginning to regret not trying to talk his sister out of visiting.

Now there were two of them.

James remained silent unless otherwise called upon (or harassed) while Larrel and Lyall proceeded to talk circles around each other. It wasn't long into their conversation that James excused himself to continue cleaning, even though he was by no means separate from the conversation just by taking the five steps into the kitchen. He was just glad to have something to busy himself since he didn't have much to contribute to their mostly surface- level discussion anyway.

For a while, he tuned out of their conversation, focusing on wiping down the counters, scouring the stove-top, and spending an eternity cleaning out the oven. It was hellishly dirty in there, and even after going through two scrubbers, stuff was still coming up.

It felt like he spent an eternity with his head in the oven until it was finally as clean as he could get it, and then he finally scrubbed down the floors. Arms a tired from all of the scrubbing motions, he picked up the bucket of cleaning supplies after the kitchen was all done and carried it into the living-room, landing on the couch with a huff.

"He hasn't been Cinderella-ing it up all day, has he?" James heard Larrel ask behind him.

"Since early this morning," Lyall said with a hum.

"Have you eaten anything?" Larrel asked.

James glanced over the back of the couch at her.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Not my question," she shot back.

"I had breakfast early," James said with a sigh, looking away. It seemed like that was enough to appease her.

"So," Larrel said, picking up where they apparently left off. "What's your sister like? When do I get to meet her?"

Lyall made a huffing sound into his coffee before taking a sip. "As soon as she's got enough free time, I suppose. Norns know when that'll be."

"You should invite her over tonight," Larrel said. "Or, even better! Let's all go out to eat! There was this cute little restaurant I saw on main street. The Italian one?"

"Ah! Yes, that's an excellent spot," Lyall agreed. He set his coffee down with an audible clang and jumped to his feet. "I've only been once thus far, and have been meaning to revisit since. My sister mentioned she has lunch downtown most days, so we should be able to catch her somewhere."

"Oh! You want to go get lunch, then?" Larrel asked. "What time is it..."

Rounding the couch, Lyall grabbed his bag from the coat rack. "If we start walking now-ish, we should make it by noon."

Larrel was quick to her feet and followed behind him.

"Perfect!" she chirped, but she looked at James with a frown as she passed.

"...You're sweaty," she said, scrunching up her nose.

"I'll shower and catch up with you," James said. "I have my bike."

"Of course you do," Larrel said with an eyeroll. She never liked his bike. Or rather, never liked him riding it.

"You go with Lyall. Just text me where you end up if you land somewhere before me," James said.

Larrel sighed, turning to the door with a twirl.

"Fine," she said. "But hurry up."

The two had only stepped out onto the porch when a car pulled in out front. Lyall's somewhat surprised greeting confirmed it was just Caspar.

"You're home early," Lyall called to him.

There was a short beat of quiet, palpable confusion.

"I'm Larrel!" his sister blurted. "James's sister. I'm visiting. Sorry to drop in by surprise!"

"Oh," Caspar said at first. "Oh! Yeah, uhm. No problem."

Taking heavy steps up the porch, Caspar came partially into view through the front door. He offered Larrel a friendly (if tired) smile and a warm hand. "I'm Caspar, and I'm deciding that my housemate of all of three days being comfortable enough to already invite guests over is a good thing."

James couldn't see Larrel's smirk, but he could feel it.

"Thanks for being cool with it, Caspar," she said. "And oh! If you want, we're all getting lunch in town about now. James is catching up with us in a bit. If you want to come, here's your invite."

From where he sat, James could catch through the window as Lyall glanced over Caspar in thinly-veiled concern. Lyall didn't say anything, though.

"I, uh." Caspar made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and laugh. "Thanks, but I'm. Beat." He gave them a small wave as he slowly ducked inside. "You two enjoy, though."

"We will!" Larrel said. "Get rest, Caspar."

And at that, she began to hurry down the steps.

"Come on, Lyall!" she shouted after him.

With one last glance back at the house, Lyall bounded down and stayed close at her heels.

After easing the door shut, Caspar ran a hand through his hair, then ducked his head as he idly scratched the back of his neck. His shoulders drooped with exhaustion, and he closed his eyes as he sighed deeply through his nose.

After a solid three beats, it started to look like he was tipping forward. His forehead eventually met the doorway with a soft thud.

"She seems very nice," Caspar said. "Your sister."

"Sorry about not warning you," James said. "She didn't tell me she was coming out here."

A pause.

"To the cabin, I mean," he said.

"It's okay." Caspar's voice was rather faint.

"Are you alright?" James asked, slowly getting to his feet.

Still leaning on the doorway, Caspar tilted his head to look out at the room. "Smells...clean in here," he said instead.

James hesitated.

"I did some cleaning," he said. "Haven't gotten to the living room yet."

"Huh." He cracked a small smile. "Maybe we can count that as, uhm. Part of rent."

James wanted to argue with him, but for some reason, Caspar seemed so spent that James felt guilty for even considering it.

He couldn't help but wonder what a headache the whole missing person's case had been since Caspar called the dead man's body in. He knew Caspar had alluded to having been told to stay out of it, and he could only imagine that now Caspar was possibly receiving the brunt of his superior's displeasure.

And James knew it was because of him, ultimately. He'd failed to keep Caspar out of it, and now Caspar was having to deal with all of the fallout.

"...Sure," he finally said. "If you want."

Pushing off and stepping away from the door, Caspar shook himself into a more present state of mind. "Did they mention where they were going?" he asked, trying to sound conversational.

"No, but my sister's going to text me where they end up," James said. "This whole thing was very spontaneous."

Caspar nodded. "Sounds about right," he mused, "for Lyall, anyway. And-- yeah, her too, since they seem like...kindred spirits."

"Unfortunately," James said with a small sigh.

Caspar barked a laugh at that. "You don't sound very thrilled," he commented.

"You'll understand when they get back," James said, turning to walk into the kitchen, pausing by the counter.

"I'm going to shower real quick," he said. "Do you need anything in the restroom?"

Caspar shook his head. "No. I'll just need rest, which is...better done in a different room." With a quick frown at the floor, he sighed, "Not my best. Gods..."

James huffed a laugh.

"The jokes will come back to you after some sleep. Why don't you go lie down? I'll catch you later, if you're up. But good news is, with us all out for a while, the cabin should be quiet."

Namely, James was referring to Larrel and Lyall. But it was true regardless.

Caspar just nodded. Taking short, shuffling steps, he rounded the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch. His feet had to hang off one end.

"Maybe you could just stick around for the quiet, too," he said, sounding like he was fast-fading. "M'sure they'll keep each other busy well enough."

"I'm sure they would," James said with a hum.

He waited to see if Caspar would reply, but it felt like a natural stopping point, and it seemed that, within moments of lying down, he had fallen asleep. It was evident that Caspar sorely needed it. If it wasn't work that was eating at him, it was something else - and either way, he seemed perpetually exhausted.

James turned away and left Caspar to rest, hurrying to shower so he could meet up with the others for lunch.

As the Fates would have it, the three (once James joined them in town) did run into Lyall's sister. Hild was likewise out for lunch, as he predicted. And surprisingly, she had time enough to fit in a visit with them.

Out in public, Hild spoke with them still under the guise of Eloise Clark. Which. Frankly, the accent and feigned bubbliness distracted Lyall for the first ten minutes of their chats.

James introduced his sister as Lillian Altschuler. Which meant Larrel came prepared as well, so there was less to explain later. Lyall grinned. Great!

Less surprisingly, Hild left just as quickly as she came. Somewhere in the middle of conversation, her housemate texted her. Though Hild kept a level voice even under duress, there was more of that familiar severity to her movements as she packed up to head out.

She neglected to clarify anything. Lyall decided he was fine with that; judging by the sounds of it, the matter was urgent as well as personal. He shoved aside any stinging sensations in his chest as he watched her speed off, and simply made a note to check in on her by phone later that evening.

A short while after lunch, they walked Miss Larrel back to an inn. A different one from where Lyall stayed. An inferior one, in his opinion. The place had its own charm, he just didn't care for the staff.

They parted ways here, with promises of meeting up again within the next day or so.

And then there were two. So James simply drove them back. Which Lyall also did not care for. The hunter must have caught on early; the ride stretched out just a little, so that he could take turns and the particularly rough patches of road slower. In turn, Lyall tried not to hold on too tightly.

It was still light out by the time they got back. Inside, Caspar was nowhere to be immediately found. But there were signs of his recent presence in the large sketchpad and pencils left out on the dining table.

Lyall peeked into the kitchen. Nope. Huh. For a moment, he stood at the bottom of the staircase, seriously considering peeking into the loft. Just to be sure.

"His car's still here," James said, not far behind him. "He's probably just on a walk."

Lyall hummed. James was probably right.

"Give it thirty minutes before you start getting worried," James said.

Lyall forced a light scoff at that. "'Worried', I'm not worried."

"You've been worried about him the moment he didn't recognize you," James said.

"Well, it's a big thing to forget!" he said, a little more defensively than he realized was necessary. More evenly, he elaborated, "We were good friends, I hadn't seen him or... Hadn't seen him in a while. Norns know how well he's taken care of himself all these years, and he's been...having other troubles on top of things."

Okay, sure, he couldn't lie believably about that. But how could he not worry?

"Your worry is completely warranted," James said calmly. "And I don't mean to talk you out of it. I only wish you would talk to Caspar about it. Even if he doesn't remember your friendship, I think it would mean a lot to him if you said something. People need to hear that other people care."

James had moved towards kitchen, leaning on the outer edge of the counter as he looked at Lyall.

"I hope I'm not speaking out of turn," he said. "But if you're going to be staying here a while, I think it would help both of you."

Glancing at the handrail, tapping it idly, Lyall sighed.

Right. Just, go and say it outright. For all the Ashlunds' waxing poetic and filibustering that would put politicians to shame, being direct was never any of their strong suits. It harmed them as often as it served them. Maybe this was indeed a case of the former.

He cast James a flat look. "Do you ever speak nonsense? Your level of level-headedness is honestly infuriating."

James raised his eyebrows.

"So you'll tell him, then?" James asked.

"I'll--" He turned a brief, half-hearted glare up to the ceiling. "Sure."

James looked at him, his expression softening.

"There's no shame in caring," James said, surprisingly gentle. "It's painful, sure, but... if anyone's going to make fun of you for expressing a genuine thought, I can assure you it's not going to be Caspar. Despite his constant weariness and occasional sarcasm, he's been alarmingly sincere any time I've ever spoken with him. I do not think you are at risk of driving him away. If anything, he probably really needs a friend right now. Whether he realizes it or not."

Lyall was surprised at the empathy in James's expression. It felt like a far cry from the gruff lone hunter he first met in the forest only about a week ago.

There was an irrational part of him that felt rubbed the wrong way by it. And that part of him was just a bit louder than the part of him that simply felt seen.

For probably the second time in this man's company, Lyall didn't know what to say. So silence just. Hung between them, as if by a thread.

James let out a sigh.

"I'm going to keep cleaning," James said, dropping the subject for a different one entirely. "I'll be in the living room, probably moving furniture around to clean behind things. Just letting you know if you're looking for somewhere to settle down for the afternoon."

And at that, James turned away, going into the living room just like he said he would.

Lips pursed, Lyall watched him go. All that magic, and the guy insisted on moving furniture himself.

He swept through the living room to the guest bedroom. "Not to worry," he said, with admittedly less of his usual energy, "I'll take a seat in here in the meantime."

As he passed, he tossed one of the cleaning rags and, with a flick of his wrist, left it suspended. "Assistance, in my absence," he said, before cracking the bedroom door behind himself.

"Thanks," James said simply.

Spinning on his heel, Lyall flopped back onto the neatly folded bed. Unless the little Gideon's Bible on the night stand wasn't already there, the room seemed distinctly lacking in any James-ness. Everything must've stayed packed away, ready at a moment's notice.

Lyall tilted his head, noting the dreamcatchers and what looked like an oil-painting on the wall.

For all the time he had known Caspar before, the cabin interior felt rather not-him as well. Or maybe Lyall just didn't know him as well as he initially thought. Or he was reading way too into it.

What was familiar, though, was the painting of the woman on the wall. The use of colors, and rough brush strokes. That painting felt more like the friend he once knew.

'Just tell him,' James said. Like it was easy.

Lyall wanted to. Absolutely. And James was probably right, Caspar was the least likely person to scorn another for reasonable, kind concerns.

What Lyall had been most unsure about was probably inadvertantly trying to force an old dynamic where there wasn't any room for it function as it once did anymore. He didn't want to drag Caspar backward in any way. Lyall felt he'd done that enough with his own family.

That was probably an underlying reason as to why Hild was hesitant to meet up, even if she was the one to reach out.

Lyall at least knew it was the sure cause of his own daughters' resentment toward him.

The temperature of the room lowered. By only a little, but enough for him to notice. He lifted a hand and grimly stared at the ice crystals beginning to form on his skin.

He needed a walk.

No, he needed a solution.

Swinging off the bed and striding out through the living room, Lyall took down his coat and bag from by the door. "B-R-B!" he called back to James.

He didn't hear a response as he closed the front door. Just caught a glimpse of the floating duster, obediently waiting by the couch while James was...who knew where.

As he walked, Lyall grabbed a book from his bag. And from the book pages, a folded-up map. And from his jacket pocket, a red marker.

He'd scoured a lot of North America thus far, for unnatural plant life or other such materials. Curio was an absurdly small place. But its disproportionate amount of strange sightings and occurrences put it on his map, at least. If he didn't find anything here, he really was going to have to just. Up and leave, move this operation, and try his luck in the Fertile Crescent.

As he walked, part of him hoped to encounter Caspar on his way.

There was a long silence between the two of then as James and Larrel walked under the canopy of trees, following the dirt road from Caspar's cabin into town. The sub was still in the sky, but it was evening, and it was beginning to dip towards the horizon.

It was the beginning of September, and even though the days were still warm, the nights were getting cooler, and James could feel the slight chill in the air.

Larrel's silence was loud, and he could sense there were things she wanted to say - she was merely waiting to say them. She was probably preparing for the conversation in her head. Or maybe she was dreading it.

"Who sent you after the wendigo?" Larrel finally asked.

The trees rustled overhead from a faint breeze. The loose hairs around Larrel's face that fell out of her braid caught on the wind, and fluttered around her.

"An old client," James said. "Goes by Cryptid Keeper. They like to keep tabs on any supernatural sightings."

Larrel hummed, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

"You don't know their real name?" she asked.

"They don't know mine," James said. "Don't need to."

Larrel frowned at that, but she didn't look surprised. Just unsettled, like she always did when they talked about the clandestine nature of his "job."

"So you... got paid for that kill, then," she said. "Does Caspar know that?"

"I'm not sure why he needs to," James said.

"So he doesn't," Larrel said.

"I just didn't think it'd be... relevant," James said. "Or helpful."

"You were just trying to avoid more questioning," Larrel said with a sigh.

It was the truth, and James couldn't deny it, but it wasn't the only reason. He wasn't always proud of how much he didn't say, but he did take the job in the first place with good intentions. It was never just for the money. He wanted people to stop going missing. He wanted to help put an end to the murders - and that much he'd made clear.

He didn't want Caspar knowing there was money involved mostly because he knew it could complicate the investigation for Caspar. And he'd already complicated things enough.

James sighed, looking up into the trees.

"Maybe I'll tell him when this all blows over," he said quietly. "But the man's already dead while walking. I don't want to burden him with... more things to be concerned about."

"I know you're trying to be sensitive or something," Larrel said. "But you really can't determine what he can handle. You don't even know him that well. So what, he finds out that you're basically a monster hunting mercenary? You want him to find out through someone else?"

"I don't think it'd be a surprise to him," James said. "He's probably already deduced as much."

Larrel sighed.

"I'm just saying... you're making a lot of assumptions," she said quietly. "And if you're going to be staying with these guys for a while, you might want to think about that. Have you even thought about what's next?"

James looked over at her, his brows drawn together.

"I'm... just waiting for my next commission," he said. "I don't know how long that'll be."

Larrel shot him a look of concern, and before she even said anything, he already knew what she was thinking.

"You've been doing this for... over a hundred years, James," she said quietly. "I know that it... it helps people, and it makes places safer. But... do you really want to keep living monster to monster?"

It wasn't the first time she'd brought this up, but she was being more direct about it now.

"It's... not just that," James relented, looking down at his feet.

"It's not just what?" she asked.

"It's not just about killing monsters," he said quietly.

Though he didn't look up at her, he could sense her eyes watching him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. He pursed his lips together into a small frown, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets as well.

"It feels... safer," he said. "Moving around all of the time."

He didn't feel like he had to explain. Larrel knew it was hard for James to settle down for reasons greater than just a restless spirit. Frankly, he would love to settle down, but it wasn't only his magic or his immortality that made that impossible.

He was one of the few powerful sorcerers left on the earth. And he and Larrel knew that he'd had a target on his back ever since the resurfacing. Eir had lost her life banishing Ivar to the Below, but James had been her protoge, and now that Eir was gone... he was one of the last sorcerers left alive that stood a chance at stopping Ivar if he tried to strike back again.

And Ivar was not one to forget a face, nor a grudge. For decades, James had been trying to stay off grid as much as possible, and never stay in any place for too long. If any of Ivar's followers knew where he was... it was bad news for him and whomever he was with.

That's why he had to keep moving. That's why he could never let anyone too close. And that was why he always felt guilty about having his fun, even now. Even if it was with other immortals. Even when he knew it was temporary.

Larrel had gone quiet for some time, and James knew that she wanted to refute him, but the facts still remained: as long as Ivar existed, James would never truly be safe. And there was no hope of Ivar going away any time soon. Certainly not in James's lifetime.

"I just want you to be okay," Larrel said quietly, and he could hear the sadness in her voice.

Looking over to her, he reached out to take her hand gently, holding it between them.

"I am," James said softly, squeezing her hand.

"I know you're used to all of the danger, and all of the violence," Larrel said. "But that doesn't mean it... it doesn't still affect you. It doesn't mean it's not scary. I know a wendigo is the least of your problems, but..."

"I'll be more careful," he said, knowing it was what she wanted to hear. And he did mean it - at least, that he would try. But he knew he still had a reckless streak.

Larrel sighed, pulling his arm close and holding his hand tightly. She leaned on his shoulder as she walked beside him.

"You said that last time," she said sadly.

And it made his heart sink, how it was clear she didn't believe him. It almost felt like... she was giving up. On hoping he would change.

James didn't like how deeply that stung.

He didn't want to dissapoint her. But he was beginning to realize... he'd been dissapointing her for a long time, hadn't he?

They walked the rest of the way to town in silence.

For the time being, since calling in the body of a new primary suspect, Caspar had been thrust back into the fray of an ongoing investigation. His boss made it very emphatically clear that this was temporary, that technically he still only had the authority of a by-law officer and was only to provide support on the case as needed.

So he wound up staying late most nights to finish up paperwork, and making a lot of calls to labs or places with records and documentation and the like.

It was fine, it was a good thing. This was his contribution to the investigation. A colleague in records-keeping sometimes offered to assist with the filing and things, so it felt a little less like punishment for getting involved. Caspar liked that it kept him in the loop, thus allowing him to keep his neighbors and new housemates up-to-speed-- even if this part was less-than-legal.

For once, Caspar wanted to replace the face of someone he'd known with just words and information. That way he didn't have to face the monster from just a few years ago. That way the monster haunted him a little less at night.

Lyall earlier this afternoon had messaged about meeting the group at one of the bars in town.

With the main officers on the case already gone for drinks, and just the night crew bustling about, there wasn't much else that he could do at the moment. So Caspar decided he could afford to punch out a little earlier than normal and head over to meet with maybe-friends of his own.

The sun had just begun to sink behind the mountains in the near-distance. It cast an orange glow on the town, and long shadows across the streets.

The bar in question was marked by an oval black sign, with a graphic of a multi-headed creature in white paint. The second part of the sign under it stated in a typewriter-like style Plato's Republic. The doorbell rang once as he ducked inside.

It was about the same as when he last visited a couple months ago; dark walls covered with a mix of surreal and neo-classical artworks, moody lighting, and richly stained wood tables. It smelled heavily of greasy food. The clientele was a good mix of folks, including families with small children.

Toward the back of the establishment, musicians took up their instruments for tuning and warmups. Lyall was among them, his back turned to the rest of the bar as he spoke with one of the guitar players.

Someone passed in front of him. For a split second, Caspar stood on the threshold of a dance floor. The place was hazy from social smokers, giving it a blurry dream-like quality, and loud with the evening crowd. He caught glimpses of a singer with his back turned, on stage, past dancers in shimmering dresses or sharp black suits. He was hyper-aware of the bullet holes in his overcoat and how his boots were tracking mud.

The singer turned, green eyes brightening with recognition as he gave Caspar a familiar boyish grin. He welcomed him in with a playful bow and hand flourish.

Just as Caspar moved to meet him at the other side, a tray of drinks rushed by. Steping back, he found himself at Plato's Republic again.

Lyall was looking at him now, from the back of the bar. Their eyes met, and the wizard gave him that same boyish smile. Caspar found the familiarity comforting, and couldn't help his small grin in turn.

A stranger behind Caspar brushed past with a polite, "excuse me," and he stumbled out of the way. Arm waving off to the side of the establishment caught his attention. With a big smile, Larrel welcomed him over to a table of four.

"Hey, Caspar!" Larrel greeted.

"Miss Lillian," he replied, haltingly as he struggled to recall all of their aliases. He took the remaining seat by Hild, across from the Hawkes. "Eloise, uh, Matthew. Did I miss anything?"

"Not yet," Larrel said.

"They're still getting set up," James said.

"Which has been taking an eternity," Hild added. "So, if we see this show in this lifetime? Personne ne connaît."

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Maybe it's just technical difficulties? Should be alright."

A waiter came by with a cheerful smile, looking ready to offer a warm greeting. Before he could say anything though, Lyall slid in beside him.

"Yes," he said breezily as he turned the waiter back around by his shoulders, "pleasure to meet you, Danny, but they'll need about five more minutes. Please and thank you."

"Something wrong?" Larrel asked with a raised brow.

"Yes, in fact," Lyall answered. He turned a pleasantly surprised smile toward Caspar. "Ah, you made it!" He lightly smacked the table with enthusiasm. "Fantastic! Gang's all here, then, to witness the debut of our very own Matthew Altschuler." And he gestured to James with a small flourish.

James blinked, looking over to Lyall slowly.

"...What?" James asked lowly.

Lyall's grin broadened, eyes glinting with amusement. He cleared his throat and clarified, "That is, if you'd be willing to step in. Our guitarist is suddenly unwell, and unable to perform tonight."

Hild seemed likewise entertained by this turn of events as she watched with an arched brow and faint smile.

Caspar turned an impressed look to James. "You play guitar?"

James's expression seemed to rapidly shift from confusion, to realization, to a hardened, annoyed glare that pierced through Lyall's skull.

"Suddenly unwell?" James repeated. "How convenient."

Lyall shrugged. "I'm not at liberty to share his medical history with you. Just take my word for it that it's a legitimate thing, and dust off the old--"

"And if I say no--" James started.

"Matthew!" Larrel interrupted, voices overlapping. "Come on! I haven't heard you play in forever."

James turned to Larrel, his eyes widening.

"That's because I haven't played in forever," he whispered through his teeth, his words running together.

"Just give him the set list," Larrel said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "He'll be fine."

James pressed his lips into a thin line, looking like he wanted to object, but instead, only frowned, turning to Lyall with a look of resigned annoyance. Abruptly, he got up from his chair, to his feet.

"Show me what songs you're doing," James muttered.

Smile brightening, Lyall wrapped an arm around the hunter's shoulders and lead him away. "And while we're at it, I'll introduce you to the rest of the band."

James followed, with a hint of dread in his eyes.

Caspar felt a little bad for him. For James's sake, he hoped all went well. For the most part, though, he couldn't help but simply be very intrigued.

Hild uttered something that he couldn't quite catch. Judging by her tone and the admonishing look she cast across the room, it was probably about her brother.

Not longer after while the band continued set up (now with James's unexpected support), Danny got them some drinks to start off the evening.

"Do you know any instruments, Miss Lillian?" Hild asked, gesturing to the back of the bar with her glass of wine in hand.

"Oh!" Larrel said. "I know a little piano. But I haven't played since I was a child. I barely remember anything, now. Maybe I could play chopsticks."

She waggled her brows with a smirk, as if assuming Hild could do the math on how long that might be.

Hild gave her a dry grin. "So, yes, but sorely out of practice."

"I'm glad I didn't mention anything to Lyall," Larrel said with a little laugh. "Otherwise he might've tried to recruit me too. And that would've been a genuine disaster. James is actually good, though he'll never say it. Me? I'm honestly terrible. I would not be able to follow a band to save my life!"

"I'm sure you'd be better than you're giving yourself credit for, if you had opportunity to practice enough," Hild offered.

"No, really. The false humility is my brother's thing," Larrel said. "I'm being honest. I'm good at plenty of other things, I assure you. Just not music."

"Alright," Hild said, humming a laugh, "I desist. Don't ever play for us, then."

"I shan't," Larrel said with a goofy grin, laying a hand over her heart. "What about you two? Are either of you secretly musically talented?"

Caspar blinked. His second's hesitation was time enough for Hild to answer first.

"I played cello," Hild said, after taking a sip of her wine. She made a so-so gesture with her free hand. "Not so secretly, nor with natural inclination. But I practiced consistently enough to be considered skilled once."

"Ho-ho!" Larrel said with a pleased giggle. "Very nice." She then turned her gaze to Caspar.

"What about you?" Larrel asked.

Caspar shook his head and quietly answered, "I don't."

Eyes narrowing ever so slightly, Hild pursed her lips in disagreement. But she didn't openly argue. Caspar stared resolutely at the wall past Larrel.

Larrel glanced between the two of them, also narrowing her eyes.

"Okay. Okay," she said softly. She sounded deeply skeptical.

Yup. A+ evasion on his part.

Tapping on the edge of his beer, Caspar awkwardly cleared his throat. "So, uh," he said abruptly, "progress on the Aaron Keller case." He coughed again. "We just heard back from the American side of things. We have a full file on him now."

"Oh, you have a name," Larrel said quietly, her expression turning to concern.

Hild nodded subtly, gaze fixed on her wine as she swirled it. "If it's not a trouble, I'd like to join for that briefing, so to speak, which I imagine you'll further discuss at your place."

Caspar nodded once. "No trouble at all. I thought you might, so..." He shrugged.

"Should I, uh," Larrel hesitated. "Be... there?" She spun her finger vaguely in a circle before taking a sip of her drink, still looking at Caspar.

Caspar shrugged again. "You don't have to be, but you're welcome to."

"Sweet," she said with a smack of her lips as she set down her drink. "I'll sit in too, then. Not that it's much of my business, but--"

She gestured back at the stage with her thumb, rather accusingly.

"He made it his, and he's my business," she said. "So."

Caspar huffed an endeared laugh. It was nice, just how deep her love for her brother was. "Yeah, no worries," he said softly. "You're in."

Larrel grinned. "Thanks."

Over the speakers, Lyall offered a bright greeting and quick apology for the delays. With a genuine smile in his voice, he invited folks' attention to the back of the establishment. Caspar had to twist around a bit to see the performers.

Lyall stood and spoke with confidence that either suggested he was used to this scene, or that he just had a lot of gall. Caspar was inclined to believe the former at the moment.

Shifting a little under the bright lights, with his eyes firmly fixed on the sheet music before him, James looked less comfortable front and center. He seemed to be resisting the urge to further fiddle with the guitar strings.

Once through introductions, they sprang into the first song. Right off the bat, James carried an upbeat rhythm, and it wasn't long at all before Lyall joined with vocals.

Caspar recognized the song, from the many times he'd heard it playing on the radio or in markets. Something about a 'soul sister'. He didn't think he'd listened to it (or most other popular music) intentionally enough to know whether a note or two was slightly off. So everything sounded pretty good to him.

By the third or fourth song, James had hit his stride. He looked up from the sheet music more, sharing a faint smile with the other band members on occasion as they gradually fell more and more in sync with each other.

Lyall brought energy and heart to his performance, which made him quite engaging with both audience and the other musicians. He seemed to smile brightest and most playfully when he and James shared glances.

Hild seemed pleasantly surprised. Larrel meanwhile held up her phone to record, looking absolutely delighted as she watched.

As far as Caspar could tell from the fun-loving dynamics on stage, it was a fairly seamless integration. They gave their all, and gave everyone one hell of a performance.

It was dark by the time the show ended, and they drifted out into the parking lot.

Lyall, still quite exhilarated, grabbed James in a sort of side-hug as they walked. "I'll be honest," he said with a broad smile, "that was quite the gamble, and I truly feared the worst. But! No regrets, not today! For you, good sir--" He gave the hunter a light shake. "--are a fine musician!"

Caspar could tell James was fighting back a smile, and he playfully pushed Lyall away.

"Just give me a warning next time," James said, like he was still trying to keep up a stiff appearance. "I only knew one of the songs in the whole set list."

"Which was evident," Hild offered with a light grin, "but only every once in awhile. You did well, considering the ridiculously short-notice." And she cast Lyall a pointed look at that.

"Thanks," James said, a little more genuine as a small smile leaked out, just for a moment.

Briefly, Caspar caught Larrel's rather dramatic side-eye at her brother, but she merely looked away with a grin.

Huffing a laugh, Caspar turned and walked backwards as he quicky counted heads.

"Fullest the car's ever been," he commented as he opened the driver's door.

"I'd say that's a good thing!" Larrel chirped, buckling her seatbelt.

"The more, the merrier," Lyall agreed whole-heartedly.

James, stuck between the two of them in the middle back seat, slouched slightly out of view of the rearview mirror.

"Lyall, can you stop leaning on me?" James muttered.

"I can assure you," Lyall answered, full volume, "I am not." He inched to the side anyhow.

Caspar noted Larrel's head was on James's other shoulder.

"Uh-huh," James said lowly.

"He does make a good pillow," Larrel said sleepily.

Lyall laughed. "I'll take your word for it."

"When we were little," Larrel carried on. "I would crawl into his bed sometimes because I was scared of sleeping alone. Or I'd drag him to go with me to our parent's bed."

"Larrel," James said quietly, like he was trying to chide her into silence.

"Sometimes he'd tell me bedtime stories to help me fall back asleep," she said. "He'd always come up with these big, grand plots that had several episodic parts. Like TV-shows before those were a thing. Maybe he should write for Netflix."

"Hilarious," James said dryly.

"Hey Lyall!" Larrel continued, evidently increasingly chatty (even more than normal) while a little more than tipsy. "You have a great voice! Reminds me a bit of uh..."

She snapped her fingers, trying to recall.

"You know that guy from Dear Evan Hansen?" she asked. "He plays the main character. It's escaping me now."

"Ben Platt," James offered.

"That guy!" Larrel said with a broad smile.

Turning an amused grin to James briefly, Lyall raised both brows. "So I've been told."

"Such a nice voice," Larrel emphasized. "I don't know why you're not famous."

James gave Larrel some side-eye at that.

"You're very kind for saying so," Lyall said, laughing, "thank you. But part of our schtick is lying low, unfortunately."

"Riiiiiiiight," Larrel said, patting James's chest as if he'd been the one to say so. "A shame. You've got that charismatic way about you. You'd probably be really popular."

"Why, thank you!" Lyall said again. He turned a pointed look to his own sister. "I certainly think so, and am heartened that someone at last agrees."

Hild gave him a flat look through the rearview mirror. "Don't kid yourself," she shot back, "you probably couldn't handle the social pressure and inevitable fall from grace. Don't forget what century you're from."

Lyall tsked at that. "I'm modern! I've adapted."

"You still talk like you're from a Dickens novel," James said plainly.

Larrel snorted at that.

Lyall balked. "I fail to see how all this criticism is warranted!"

"I think it'd kind of endearing," Larrel said with a grin.

James, with his arm around Larrel, patted her shoulder.

"No you don't. That's the drink talking," he said.

Larrel blew a raspberry of dismissal.

"And it might benefit you to learn some modern linguistic patterns," James said. "You look young, but the moment you open your mouth you sound twice your age."

Lyall pouted. "I think I just sound sophisticated."

Hild scoffed. "Try 'pretentious'."

"Start saying things like 'that's fire' and 'you're the goat,'" Larrel suggested with a giggle.

"'The goat'?" Caspar echoed incredulously under his breath.

"Maybe not the latter," James said. "But, yeah. If something is good, specifically when talking about music, you'd say it's fire. Or, perhaps, a bop. Or your jam. But those have different nuances. 'Jam' might make you sound more like a millennial. And a 'bop' doesn't apply to all music. It has a certain... upbeat, danceable quality to it."

Unwarranted criticism notwithstanding, Lyall hummed as he took this in. "Well, consider me informed. Against my will, mind you."

"He's good at that," Larrel said.

Lyall leaned forward to look around James. "At what?"

"Giving unwanted advice," Larrel said.

Lyall laughed again and bumped James's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Oh, I'm familiar."

"At least it's decent advice," James said with a small huff.

"Shhhhhhhhh," Larrel drew out, pushing his face to the side with her hand.

James put up with it for a few seconds before he shooed her away.

Hild giggled as she watched the three. "'Nor cast your pearls before swine,'" she said reassuringly.

James huffed again, but Larrel made a small oinking noise, which sent her into a fit of giggles. Lyall cast his sister a deeply offended look.

"Enjoying the peace and quiet up front?" James asked, calling to Hild and Caspar.

"Has it been?" Hild asked. "Those two could be heard just fine from opposite ends of a hockey rink."

"Oh yeah?!" Larrel shouted.

"Ow," James said. "Right in my ear, Larrel."

"Marco!" Larrel shouted again, looking to Lyall.

"Polo!" Lyall called back without missing a beat.

Larrel burst into a fit of laughter, sliding down into her seat.

Caspar winced, but couldn't help his endeared laugh. "Alright, settle down," he said placatingly, "driver needs to focus. We're almost there."

"Alright, alright," Larrel surrendered, her laughter dying down.

And, just like that, the last ten minutes of the ride was near-silent. Sometime into it, Hild said something in a language that Caspar caught bits and pieces of. Lyall answered in kind, though haltingly and needing to mix in some English when he couldn't find the words.

Still leaning heavily on her brother's side, Larrel managed to doze off. Though firmly supporting her, there was a relaxed slope to James's shoulders as he sat contentedly with the quiet.

Caspar pulled up by the front porch. He hadn't hosted this many people at once in awhile, but wasn't totally unprepared for it.

Larrel seemed pretty tuckered out, so Lyall offered that she snooze on the couch for a bit. She shook her head and instead sat on the couch, trying to sober up with a tall glass of water.

James helped grab extra seating from the kitchen again. Caspar turned the couch around, that way Larrel could be more in on the conversation. Hild sat with a pen, a pad of paper, and a slice of toast. Lyall sat next to her, settled down from his social high by the quieter half of the drive back.

"So," Hild started, slipping into her official interviewer voice, "you said you have updates on the Aaron Keller case."

Caspar sighed. Down to brass tacks, then.

"Yes," he said, taking the seat at the corner between the Ashlunds. "We have...mostly complete records from the American side of these affairs."

Hild's pen scratched at the paper as she transcribed in a tight, neat scrawl.

"He was born in the state of Rhode Island, 1985," Caspar said. "He worked a blue collar job with his father for a time. Just went off for college a little after his mother fell ill. He switched from law to medicine. When she passed, he left school altogether. Bounced around the states a lot, never stayed for more than a few months at a time. Until around 2010, in Minnesota."

"That's around the time my housemate Ava had tried settling down with her boyfriend," Hild furthered, glancing up at everyone for a moment. Quieter, she added, "Unsuccessfully."

"How does your housemate relate to this?" James asked.

"She and Aaron Keller were together for a time," she answered. "She said he was quirky when they first met, but began exhibiting concerning behaviours a short time after his mother passed."

Caspar tilted his head to the side. "Did she ever feel like he was dangerous?"

Hild shook her head slightly. "No. She never felt like she was in danger, anyway."

"What 'concerning behaviors' exactly?" James asked.

"Well, there was the secrecy, of course," Hild answered, setting down her notes for a moment. "She told me that was the biggest change, since they were always so open with each other before then. He was angrier too, and obsessive over a research project of his. He actually resorted to publicly denouncing medical professionals, as well as a select few in completely unrelated fields, about solutions being needlessly withheld, especially from those who needed them most. Which lead to Ava breaking up with him."

"Do the records say what his mother died of?" James asked.

"A sort of cancer," Caspar murmured sadly. "They caught it too late, and she died only months after."

"So Aaron was trying to find a cure for cancer," James said. "And somehow stumbled into consuming souls."

Lyall, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet thus far, leaned an elbow on the table. "Is there lasting evidence of his research?"

"His belongings were turned over to his father," Caspar said, just as Hild also answered, "Ava has a box of his old notes."

Of which she took quick note of.

"We're still missing large portions of his life," Hild evenly stated. "Between the time he dropped out of higher education, and Curio's forest. There's only so much that Ava could fill me in on."

"Do we even know if he was naturally inclined in the magical arts?" Lyall asked, resting his chin in his hand. "It sounds like, driven man that he was, he was ready to lead a largely ordinary life."

"Perhaps he was just a late bloomer," Hild said, giving her brother a pointed look.

"James was," Larrel blurted.

James slowly dragged his gaze over to her.

"So it's possible," Larrel said.

Lyall huffed. "Be that as it may, I do find it pertinent actually to find his sources."

Caspar hummed. "Right. Where did he learn all that he did?"

"Maybe he sought out someone to teach him," James said. "Or, if he was as obsessive in his research as implied, he stumbled upon some of it himself."

"A teacher of sorts would explain why he picked up things so fast, though," Caspar said.

And there were few sorcerers left in the world who could teach magic. As far as Caspar knew, anyway.

"Do you think it's possible he killed his mentor?" James asked.

Subconsciously, Caspar itched at his chest a bit. "...Wendigos are essentially leeches, using something like a draining spell. Maybe that's even how it started for him."

"Considering all of this is conjecture at the moment," James continued. "Maybe he looked into that school of spells because of his motivations. Not to say that taking the life of someone else cures cancer -- but maybe he thought it could work. Like an equal exchange?"

Hild scrunched her nose a bit. "Though dreadfully dismissive toward the value of human life, it's not bad logic."

Caspar had to agree.

Lyall straightened and set a hand on the table, tone bargaining as he slowly asked, "Would it be too much to ask of your housemate, that we could take a look at what belongings of Aaron's she still has?"

Hild sent him a sharp look at that. "I'd rather not. This past week has been hard for her, and there's no plausible reason for someone not-of-the-law, like yourself, to have such a request."

Leaning back, Lyall held up his hands in surrender. "That's fine!" he said quickly. "Simply curious."

Hard gaze relenting, Hild turned back to her notes. "James," she said suddenly, "where were you when you first found news of the wendigo?"

James raised his brows slightly.

"Oregon," he said. "Though, like I've said before, I didn't know it was a wendigo at the time. Only that there were suspicious disappearances."

Fitting her fingers together, Hild rested her chin on her loosely clasped hands as she carefully considered him. "Do you think yourself a thorough researcher?"

"I try to be," he answered.

"Good answer," she concluded. "Now that we all have an idea of what information we still need, perhaps you and I should meet up and do a little more digging later this week. Only if you don't have any prior obligations, that is."

"That works for me," James said, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

Hild allowed herself a grin. "Would 6 in the morning be too early for you?"

Lyall glanced back and forth between the two.

"Not at all," James answered.

"Great." Hild set her pen down. "Meet me at the cafe, then."

"What day?" he asked.

"Does Thursday work for you?"

"Perfect," James said with a small wave of his hand.

Lyall raised a hand. "I too am good at the researching bit--"

She gave him a withering look. "The fewer people openly involved, the better."

"Don't you have some..." James twirled his hand towards Lyall. "I don't know, singing to do?"

Lyall frowned. "I have a little time to spare."

"It's okay, Lyall," Larrel said. "You and I can do something. I've always wanted to try skiing."

"It's not snowing," James said flatly.

"Okay, hiking instead," Larrel said.

"Trail's still closed," Caspar said with an apologetic grimace.

"Do you like arcades?" Larrel asked, like she was, at this point, grasping for straws.

The Ashlund siblings for the next beat seemed to have a stare down, complete with micro-expressions to siently carry their own private conversation. It was impressive, actually.

"I used vacation days to be here," Larrel added. "I just want to do something fun with my time."

"Very well," Lyall finally relented. He cast Larrel a warm grin. "We'll do an activity of your choosing, then, whilst our siblings obsess over the deceased."

Larrel pumped her fist into the air.

"Score," she said, leaning back into the couch.

Lyall's fond look faded a bit when he turned back to Hild. His brows twitched inward a bit with concern. Hild let her own expression soften ever so slightly, and she gave his arm a reassuring pat. Nodding slowly, Lyall gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

Caspar glanced down. Watching felt like an invasion on a private conversation, so he busied himself with the zipper of his jacket.

"Was there anything else you found?" James asked, looking to Caspar.

He looked up again. Then drew in a breath as he wracked his brain for information. "I think that about covers it for now," he answered, shaking his head. "Let me know what you two find?"

"We'll keep all of you up-to-date," Hild promised. "Assuming we do find anything."

Caspar nodded. He was ready to wash his hands of this whole affair, and get back to... life. He supposed.

"They still keeping you busy downtown?" Lyall asked, voice softer than before. "I can't imagine there's much else for you to do, since the case is basically done on their end."

There was open concern in Lyall's expression. There were a lot of those kinds of looks from both the Ashlunds, especially when they thought he couldn't see them. He wanted to feel touched by the way they cared. But in reality, they still felt quite a bit like strangers to him. So their concern just felt like pity, like there was something wrong with him.

Maybe what really bothered him was that, there was something obviously wrong with him, and there wasn't a thing he could do to fix it.

Caspar scratched at his sweater again. "There's still some processing things," he answered, "but yeah. I should have more free time again pretty soon. I'm okay."

Lyall nodded. "Okay."

"If you get any more free time by Thursday," Larrel interjected. "And you want to jump in on my totally cool spontaneous vacation plans, let me know."

Caspar smiled and nodded his acknowledgement. "I'll seriously consider it, thank you."

And he would. He mostly wanted to walk by the lake if he could, though. Maybe even take the boat out and fish. Just disappear for a little while. Shame he already took a whole week off recently.

Larrel abruptly slapped the arm of the couch and the shoulder of her brother sitting next to her. It made James jump, flinching as he looked at her pointedly.

"Welp!" Larrel said, quickly getting to her feet. "I'm about ready to crawl into my hotel bed and get my snooze on. Who's taking me home?"

She glanced at Caspar, but then turned her gaze to James, staring at him.

"Dearest brother," she began, but it was all she got out before James rolled his eyes and got to his feet, already walking to the door.

"You've been spending too much time with Lyall," James said.

Larrel barked a laugh, but covered her mouth with both hands, shooting Lyall a deeply apologetic look.

"He didn't mean it," Larrel said, trying not to smile.

Lyall gasped with feigned offense. "Away with you both!" He clenched his hands dramatically. "My tender artist soul can handle no more of this mockery."

James stopped at the door, looking at Larrel while he gestured to Lyall with a pointed hand.

"This is what I'm talking about," James said.

"One day," Larrel said, coming up beside him. "I will draw the secret thespian out of you."

"Give it another 200 years," James said.

"Ah, wait!" Hild stuffed her notes back into her bag and stood. She cleared her throat loudly and inclined her head. "Calder, as much I'd rather not further trouble you, it may be best we take your vehicle. Ava would be worried if I don't return as promised."

James, paused in the half-open doorway, poked his head back in.

"You know, I could drive them if you don't mind me taking your car," James offered. "I don't mind."

James spoke just as Caspar moved to stand as well. Pausing, Caspar's mind blanked as he stared at James.

"You've got a real job to be up for in the morning," Larrel said. "James? He's got nothing. He's just--"

"If it's easier for you," James said.

Caspar leaned back again. He scrubbed his face with both hands. Then sighed and, against his better judgement, tossed James the keys. "No joy rides," he said, managing a hint of a teasing smile.

James caught them in one hand.

"Please," James said with a small smirk. "You gave me the keys. Not Larrel. We'll be--"

Larrel pushed James out the door, and he disappeared.

"You're the one with a motorcycle, you butthead!" Larrel muttered, following behind him.

"If can't take it, don't dish it out," James retorted with a small laugh.

The door closed behind them.

Caspar huffed a laugh through his nose. Gods, these people had no right to be so...entertaining, and fun to be around.

Hild gave her brother one last shoulder pat. "Behave."

Lyall just grinned breezily. "Always, dear sister."

She huffed. To Caspar: "Don't be afraid to spray him with water if he acts up."

Managing just a brief smile, he nodded. "Yes'm."

With a farewell, she strode out and eased the door shut behind herself. Leaving her brother and Caspar to sit in silence with each other.

Caspar listened as the car revved up. The headlights shined through the windows as they backed away from the porch, then drove off.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Caspar ducked his head. Counted to thirty, then tilted his head up. Office work was a beast of its own, made worse by keeping him stationary for prolonged periods of time. It drove him nuts sometimes.

Lyall glanced off, trying to appear busied or content with the quiet. He clearly was neither, and had something weighing on him.

Caspar waited.

"The painting," Lyall eventually said, "in the guest room. The woman. Is she someone in particular, or just...someone?"

Caspar glanced at the doorway, catching the edge of the woman's smile and the flowers in her hands. "Yeah."

A beat of silence.

Lyall tilted his hand in a shrug. "'Yeah' what?"

Caspar blinked. "Uhm, yeah, she's..."

Another face he knew, but couldn't remember. Just that she was important to him at one time, and took a piece of him with her, wherever she went.

Heart sinking, he tried his best not to audibly sigh. He'd done a poor job of hiding his poor memory thus far, so it seemed pointless to try anymore.

"...Someone in particular," he finally answered.

Quietly, Lyall nodded in understanding. He searched the table a moment, looking like a million thoughts were going through his head at once. Probably questions. Lyall, Caspar found, was a nosy sort.

"If it's not too forward," Lyall gently offered, "I think it's a lovely keepsake of someone who must have been a lovely person."

Folding his arms, Caspar set his chin atop as he studied the other man.

It was a polite sentiment, and probably all that Lyall felt he could rightly offer. He was trying-- had been trying, while not wanting to force a connection. It was a delicate balancing act. Caspar felt he should try and meet him halfway.

The memory of the smoky room and the singer who he was sure was Lyall then too, played back in his mind.

"Some of it's coming back to me," he said. "Broken up, and kinda foggy. But it's definitely you in what I'm assuming are flashbacks. Feels kind of unreal. Like in those motion-pictures."

Lyall blinked. Then sat straighter, attentive. Like he was hanging on to every word, and it almost hurt to see the desperation Caspar felt so clearly reflected in someone else's mannerisms.

"That's amazing!" Lyall grinned wide. "When-- Which times? It's important to me that you first remember me in the most flattering ways possible."

Caspar huffed a fond laugh. Yeah, this felt right. "Once so far," he answered honestly. "You've always been a performer, haven't you?"

Puffing his chest a little, Lyall tilted his chin up. "Why, indeed I am! Maybe not always by career, but I am a showman in spirit. It can't be helped."

"And it certainly helped you gain connections," Caspar said, laughing. "I think you were my ticket into the Ritz or something, once."

Lyall grinned, boyishly lopsided as he nodded. "Probably 'or something'. While I aimed high, I could only get us into the lower-paying, slightly more desparate establishments."

Felt fancy to Caspar. He recalled feeling severely underdressed.

He pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought. Then asked, "How did we meet, exactly?"

Lyall's joy dampened a bit. Caspar winced; probably not a good sign.

Clearing his throat, Lyall glanced off and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of place. "Ahm. It was. Not an ideal first meeting, to be frank."

Caspar frowned, partially dreading what it could've been. "What happened?"

Several beats of silence as the wizard avoided eye contact.

"Lyall?" he softly pressed.

Looking up at the ceiling, Lyall groaned. "It was..." He pointed accusingly as Caspar. "Let it be known, what happened was mostly your fault!"

Caspar frowned. "What did I do--"

"Less than favorable outcomes," Lyall said vaguely. "Something about breaking and entering."

"We burgled someplace?"

"Well-- No!" Lyall waved both hands wildly as he searched for a way to explain. Then settled for, "Technically, yes. There was more circumstance and actual build-up worthy of maybe a mystery novella or a noir film, but a novella nor film do we have the time for."

Caspar shrugged. "I disagree, there's a whole evening ahead of us."

Lyall hummed pointedly. "Which should be spent mostly sleeping?"

"I--" Caspar sighed. "Yeah, I do have work... More on it tomorrow, then?"

Lyall reached across the table, and they clasped hands in agreement.

With open sincerity, Lyall promised, "You have my word."

Thursday, fortunately, was only two days away. He spent the whole of Wednesday completing his thorough deep clean of the cabin until he was dragged out in the latter half of the day by Larrel, whom he took for a walk around town. It was nice to spend some time with his sister, and they did have plenty of fun together, but there was a quiet sadness about her that he could feel lingering in the air.

Even though he was the oldest, it felt like for all their years, she'd always been the one trying to look out for him, even though he was trying to do the same for her. He never despised that it was mutual, but he did always feel a certain sense of guilt. Unlike him, she'd hadn't been born with the burden of magic, and though she was immortal, she never quite had the target on his back that he did.

It made things complicated. Moments like this - between the two of them - were far and in-between. They both knew it was better for Larrel that he didn't associate with her too heavily, but it felt like, for this trip, Larrel had thrown all caution out the window.

It made James worry, and they both knew it. But Larrel's worry seemed to be less about anyone who'd target her and more like she felt like her days with him were numbered.

He could feel it in the way she kept trying to divert conversation to something serious. He could feel it in the way it was like she was trying to cram every well-meaning sentiment of love and care and affimation into every interaction. He could feel it in every lingering touch, and the way she seemed to soak in every hug like it was their last.

He knew she wasn't saying goodbye, but he couldn't help but wonder if she really was worried to that degree: so much so that she didn't have hope she'd see him again, after she left.

And the worst part was he didn't have any hope to offer her.

Just six months ago, before he'd fled to Oregon (and yes, found a job, but also fled) he'd had a close call, and it'd ended messily. A man who claimed to be a servant of Ivar (though James suspected him to be a servant of a servant, not having known Ivar personally) tried to kill him.

It had been a sticky situation, especially since the man attempted to do so in public. It was always messy when they made a scene of things. Not only did it make it more difficult for James to wipe any trace of himself in said location, but it made it difficult to end it quickly.

James didn't like resorting to murder, but when it was his life or theirs (especially with innocent bystanders involved) he was going to stop the violent offender at all costs.

Only problem was he wasn't looking to go to court. Or prison.

Hence, it'd been a mess. Larrel only knew the half of it, but ever since then, she'd started checking in on him more frequently.

James was beginning to worry that Ivar was getting impatient, trying to hunt him down in particular.

He didn't like feeling like his days were numbered, but it'd been his reality ever since the resurgence.

When Wednesday came to an end, James bid his sister goodbye once more, leaving her at the inn before he returned to the cabin and went straight to bed in preparation for his early morning.

When he woke up, he went for a brisk run before sunrise. When he got back, he took a quick cold shower, braided his hair half-up, and trimmed up his beard. Careful to try not to wake Lyall, he grabbed his clothes and changed into one of the few nicer outfits he had packed with him.

He was still sporting his leather jacket, but he took out his nice pair of boots - the ones unscuffed and unweathered - and put on slacks and a button-up.

Not wanting to come unprepared, he took his backpack with him, since it held his small laptop, and with it, all of his research. Some of it he'd printed off and filed into folders for posterity, which they could use as reference between the two of them as well.

Once fully dressed and packed, he snuck back out into the living room, catching movement in the corner of his eye from the kitchen. Once closing the bedroom door behind him, he looked over at Caspar, flashing a small smile by way of greeting.

"Morning," James said quietly.

Hair mussed, and still in pajama pants and a t-shirt, Caspar raised his mug in acknowledgement. "G'morning," he murmured, mustering a small lopsided smile of his own. "Have fun."

James nodded. "Will do. I'll catch you later," he said, turning to head out the door.

Making his way to his bike, he paused briefly to look out into the forest, habitually scanning his surroundings.

The sun was starting to rise, which meant it was getting close to 6am, and he should hurry. But it was a beautiful sunrise, and he did appreciate the way the sun split the sky in warm hues of periwinkle and orange. The stark shadows of the trees against the sky looked like a painting, and he wished to capture it in his memory for just a moment longer... but he also didn't want to be late.

With a small sigh, he clipped on his helmet, hopped on his bike, and with a low rumble, rolled out onto the dirt road. Since he was riding alone, he went a little faster, cutting down his previous travel times by at least five minutes.

James had aquired Hild's phone number the night he dropped her off (after dropping Larrel off, so it'd only been the two of them, and he didn't have his sister peeping over his shoulder) so he'd been able to text for an address to confirm the where.

They were meeting at a cafe downtown, where the buildings stood taller, and the road was wide, and most of the shops were still asleep.

The cafe, however, had an early opening time, and when James pulled up to it, it was the only shop open on the street.

James glanced down at his watch, seeing that it was 5:58am. It was cutting it close, but at the very least, he was still punctual, so he didn't waste time quickly parking his bike and walking up to the entrance, noting the door had a bell that rang over his head when he entered.

He spotted Hild, but she was easy to find. Aside from an older woman reading a newspaper and doing a crossword puzzle in a corner, Hild was the only other customer, and she was seated by the wall with the large window, facing the sunrise. The light was spilling in right where they could see, and he couldn't help but briefly admire the way it struck Hild's face. There was a brief moment where she didn't yet look up at him - consumed in research, presumably, as she already had her laptop and everything set up at the table.

When she looked up and met his eyes, he mastered his features with an easy grin, giving her a small nod as he approached, sliding into the booth across from her.

"Good morning," he said, setting his backpack beside him in the booth.

Sitting straighter, Hild quickly rearranged the spread of papers so that there was room for him.

"Right on time," she said, casting him a quick but sincere smile. She adjusted her scarf and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I hope you don't mind that I already ordered a coffee while waiting. Not that I was waiting awhile, I just am usually here early anyway. A force of habit." She glanced down. "I now realize waiting would have been more courteous."

James shrugged with a small smile.

"It's fine," he said. "You got your coffee in. I went for a run. We're both awake. You do what you've got to do."

"Right." She took in a breath and relaxed her posture a bit. "Very good."

"That said," James went on. "I might get some coffee."

"Ah! Yes." She gestured to the counter at the back of the shop. "Please, do so."

"Have you gotten anything to eat?" James asked as he started to stand up.

"Not yet."

James stood at the edge of the table, tilting his head with a small smile.

"Could I buy you something?" he asked.

She blinked. "Oh! Sure, that." Hild rose to her feet. "That would be lovely."

James smiled a little warmer.

"Great," he said, walking beside her to the counter. "You get whatever you want. I haven't been here before so it might take me a minute to decide. Do you recommend anything?"

Hild folded her arms as she scanned the options. "They bake their own ciabatta for the egg sandwiches. Highly recommend with some avocado spread on."

James stood beside her, looking at the menu posted on the wall behind the barista, who was patiently waiting for them to approach.

"Two of those?" James suggested.

Hild smiled. "Works for me."

James nodded, going up to place the order. Before he opened his mouth, the barista smiled.

"Already got it," she said.

James let out a small laugh.

"Great," he said. "And I'll have a black coffee. The dark roast sounds good."

"Got it!" the woman said, her voice surprisingly chipper for a 6am shift. "Anything else for you two?"

"That'll be all," James said, waiting the few seconds for the total to show up so he could tap his card and pay. Upon hearing the chime of confirmation, the barista flashed him another smile.

"We'll be right out with those sandwiches and that drink for you!" she said, turning around.

"Thank you," was all James said as he turned to Hild and nodded back towards their table.

"How early does this place open?" James asked her.

After nodding her thanks to the barista, Hild retook her seat. "Recently, they started opening at 5. To stay in competition with the diner."

"God have mercy on the staff," James muttered, glancing back towards the kitchen. "But you do get a great view of the sunrise, I suppose."

He slid back into his seat as well as he looked out the widow.

Folding her hands, Hild rested her chin on them as she glanced out as well. "It's unmatched," she agreed softly.

"I'll bet you get views like this all the time, living here," James said. "It's a beautiful place."

Hild smiled faintly. "It's wonderful. Any days we don't have sun is due to actual clouds. No pollution here."

James hummed a small laugh in the back of his throat.

"Quite the feat in this day and age," he said.

For a few seconds, the two of them quietly admired the sunrise as it reached over the treetops.

He stole a glance over at her while her eyes were fixed on the view.

"What's your favorite thing about this place?" James asked softly.

She hummed, and eventually turned her attention back to him. "I've grown most fond of the friends I've made here," she answered.

James didn't let it show, but he felt a small tug of sadness at that. It was layered. He could hear in Hild's tone what he heard in the voice if every well-meaning immortal with a heart: the anticipated pain if every inevitable goodbye.

But for him, there was always something else.

He didn't know how long any of this would last for him, and he couldn't help but feel a sting of guilt. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in Hild at all - he was, and was sincerely - but he did know...

There was an inevitable goodbye with him too. At least, that's what he'd always done in the past, to keep people safe. It was why he distanced himself from his own sister.

"I assume Ava is one of them?" James asked. "Only because she's your housemate and all..."

Hild shrugged a shoulder. "She and her daughter are the only reason I've stayed this long."

"Oh," James said. "I didn't know she had a daughter."

Was the daughter Aaron's, too?

Hild nodded. She smiled with fondness as she went on, "It was her daughter, Shaniece, who got me to try photography. It helps with the job, being your own cameraman."

"I imagine so," James said. "Employers always like when you can wear many hats. Means hiring less people."

"Fewer expenses too, when they need to send us out to the story," Hild agreed, hair bouncing as she nodded again.

"Do you get a lot of work here in Curio?" James asked. "Or do you get commissioned out often?"

"Depends on the season." She scrunched her nose in thought. "Or if something major pops up, here or in the closest towns over."

"Makes sense," James said. "Sounds like it keeps you busy."

"More so during town events, or holidays." Hild tilted her head as she rested her arms on the table. "Do you ever take jobs alongside your freelance work?"

"I do," James said. "I have a few recurring clients, and a few one-offs now and again."

Closing her laptop, Hild pushed it aside and stacked some of her documents on top of it.

At that moment, the barista came around.

"Oh! Right on time!" she chirped. "Are you alright if I put this here?"

She gestured to the space Hild just cleared, holding two plates of near-identical sandwiches.

Hild smiled and gestured likewise. "Please do!"

She set the plates down and then placed a steaming mug in front of James.

"And your coffee, sir," she said. "Enjoy!"

And at that, she departed.

Hild moved most of her things entirely from the table to the booth space beside her, then set down her notes.

"Have you," she began as she wrote, "ever taken gigs? Performing, that is, or is music purely a hobby of yours?" She slid the paper and pen across to him.

How do your clients find you and your work? Do you reach out instead?

Ah, so that's how she wanted to go about it. Clever.

James took the pen and started writing.

"I was in a band for a short time," he answered. "Didn't last very long, but I played guitar. A little harmonica. It was mostly folk music we played. Sometimes we dipped into blues."

Meanwhile, he turned the paper back around.

Dark web. Burner phone. Lots of one-way communication. They give a place, a goal, an offer. I show up within a week or I don't. I only reach out to one client whom I trust.

With a faint smile, she wrote in narrow, sweeping scrawl. "Is there a genre of music you prefer?"

"I do enjoy folk music, and also classical pieces," James answered, taking a quick bite of his sandwich to occupy his mouth so she could finish writing.

Hild briefly glanced up with a delighted sparkle in her eyes. "Likewise. Though I do try to keep up with what's mainstream and all. Pop music is entertaining, but sometimes hard to translate fully to a cello."

James raised his brows, a wide grin pulling on his lips. He didn't want to say so out loud, but the fact that Hild was a cellist did make her more attractive in his eyes.

Are they a friend, or purely a work associate? Ever meet any clients face to face?

She turned it back to him, then leaned back with her own sandwich.

When he finished chewing, he took the pen, speaking and writing at the same time.

"The cello, huh?" he said. "When was the last time you played?"

He spun the paper around and took another bite of his sandwich.

Just a client. If we meet in person, our identities are concealed. Cryptic. But safer.

Hild hummed. "Maybe a couple months ago? Things have been picking up at work, what with the cases of course, so I've fallen behind a bit on practice."

"Can't be worse than my guitar," James said.

Nodding, she set aside her half-eaten sandwich and wrote back. "True. How long ago since you played before my brother's gig?"

"Oh," James laughed. "Quiiiiiite a while."

Is that how you found out about the disappearances here? Separately?

James took another bite of his sandwich as he wrote his reply to this one.

Client reached out. I did research after.

"Oh!" Hild tapped her pen on the edge of the table. "Impromptu performance that it was, were you properly compensated for your troubles?"

"You know," James said slowly. "I did get paid for it. Guess I can't be mad at your brother for getting me a paying job."

Her next written question took far less time to write out.

"Think you'll make it a regular thing?" Hild asked. "I'm sure my brother would be delighted to turn you two into a full show."

Does Caspar know?

James sighed. Upside-down, he wrote:

Not yet.

Another quick response on Hild's side:

Good.

James did pause at that. But only for a moment.

"I don't know what Lyall's plans are for the future," he said. "But I wouldn't be opposed to accompanying him from time to time. I'm not sure I could commit long-term, but. I'm sure it'd be fun."

He wrote another response quickly.

Neither does Lyall.

"Well," Hild went on easily, "if he catches so much as a whiff that you enjoyed performing, be prepared for a legitimate offer. And to be honest, he can take a rejection just fine. He's had plenty of practice."

James huffed a light laugh through his nose.

Her next written reply was a bit longer:

Also for the best. He's good with secrets, but not when it comes to Caspar.

James wrote a brief reply.

So I've noticed.

"This is why I'm trying not to let on that I enjoy him at all," James said with a faint smirk. "If he knows, he's going to be unrelenting in everything. I can sense it in his nature."

"He has that obnoxiously stubborn way about him," Hild said with a hummed laugh.

"The spirit of a jester, the will of an ox," James said.

She laughed openly at that. "No truer words ever spoken of his likeness!"

James found himself smiling a full smile, happy to have made her laugh, even if it was at Lyall's expense.

Hild's mirth settled into something fonder as she fiddled with the corners of the pages. "It's what makes him infuriating," she said quieter, "and I've missed it."

James's smile softened. He understood that.

Gingerly, he took the pen and wrote his question.

How long has it been since you saw him last?

Hild wrote back, then gave James a heartfelt smile. "Short as your time with him may have been so far... Thank you for looking out for him."

She handed back the paper:

A lifetime. He's all I have left of our family.

James had to sit with that for a second, letting out a deep sigh before he looked up to meet Hild's eyes with empathy.

"I'd gladly do it again," he said with a small smile.

He then looked down, writing his next words.

That must have been painful. Were you lost to one another the whole time?

Hild let her hand brush his as she took the pen. "You are a good man, Matthew Altschuler," she said conclusively. Quickly, she wrote back, and added rather abruptly, "And we should get started on research shortly."

She turned the paper back:

C'est la vie. I kept tabs on him, and I like to think he tried to do the same.

Judging from Lyall's shock at seeing her, James had a feeling Lyall had not been able to accomplish the same. Probably not in the slightest. But he would leave that to them to hash out.

"Sounds like a good idea," James said, reaching into his bag to pull out his laptop.

James and Hild spent the next few hours getting knee-deep in research. James used his own resources to scour the deep web, and he and Hild were able to compare their sources while they went on the wild goose chase that became finding Aaron Keller.

A few times, they thought they tracked him down - but it appeared that Aaron Keller, perhaps unsurprisingly, hopped on and off grid several times. It wasn't out of character for what little they knew about him, but it did make James suspect with more certaintly that if Aaron wasn't immortal himself, he definitely had connections to people who were. It was the only thing that made sense in the context of his eventual demise and what he'd become.

Finally, they were able to find loose connections between Aaron and a person who was known for using traditional healing traditions to cure people of various illnesses. They weren't a registered doctor or naturalist, and there was a lot of controversy around their practices, but there were some undeniable results of a few "patients" who'd walked away mirculously healed. Interestingly enough, the healer didn't credit it to anything supernatural, but to the "magic of herbalism, homemade medicine, and recipes that were generations old." Magic, of course, was not being used in the literal sense when said healer was quoted, but James couldn't help but wonder if they were toeing the line between irony and literalism.

The healer's name was Amanda Smith, and their link between her and Aaron was a photo in an article, where they spotted Aaron in the background. It was a loose connection, but Aaron had clearly been careful to cover his tracks, and even Amanda seemed careful not to indication any association.

But what really tipped James off was the manner of Amanda's sudden and unusual death.

She'd died young. Mid-life, due to "unforseen heart failure." Previously, she'd shown no indications of heart problems, and it was considered to be one of those "unexplainable tragedies" that befalls unfortunate people for no good reason.

But James knew that the symptoms of those who'd had their souls torn from their bodies resembled heart failure.

Maybe, Amanda had been Aaron's first kill. Or maybe she'd been a necessary kill, because she was in the way of Aaron's motivations. Regardless, it seemed they'd finally found where it all began.

Based on the date of the article and the time of Amanda's death, they were able to piece together the approximate time Aaron might've known Amanda. Of course, it was with a great margin of error, but he at least knew her between 2010 and 2011. Hild noted that 2011 was the year Shan was born - and she'd informed him that Shan was, in fact, Aaron's daughter, but that Ava had left Aaron during that time as well. Soon after, Aaron dropped off the map completely.

It sounded like 2011 had created a perfect storm for Aaron, pushing him onto the path that eventually turned him into a wendigo.

James let out a small sigh, leaning away from his laptop as they finally settled on a loose timeline of events between Aaron's fall out with Ava, the death of Amanda, and the present. Despite having more clarity, James couldn't help but feel the weight of it, knowing that this was a real person, and Aaron's death was affecting a real family - one that Hild was especially close to.

It was tragic. It appeared that Aaron's life was marked by a string of deaths. First, his mother. And his grief sent him spiralling enough to take others' lives for his own. There was Amanda, and all of the people who'd disappeared from Curio. All of the people along the way in between, that no one might ever know about. James couldn't help but wonder how many cold cases were connected to Aaron.

And the saddest thing about it all was that... even though Aaron had gone off grid, it seemed he'd never drifted too far from Ava. In death, he'd ended up only a few miles away from them, and James couldn't help but wonder if, even in Aaron's near-zombified state, he wanted to be close to them. Maybe somewhere, deep down, he still hoped for reconcilation and still cared.

But Ava and Shan would never know the fullness of that story.

James closed his folder, tucking away the file he had on Aaron.

"I think anything beyond this," he said. "Would just be conjecture."

They'd come to as many reasonable conclusions as they could with what they had. But there were some things they'd probably never know in full. Not for certain, and not with proof. They could make educated guesses, sure, but those were never helpful in situations like this. They only belabored the pain of the loss.

Lips pressed into a hard line, Hild carefully closed her laptop, and let her hands linger on its edges as she stared at the empty space beside James.

"I think we've found what we needed," she eventually agreed, turning her eyes up to his with a brief, half-hearted grin.

James nodded faintly, closing his laptop as well and tucking it into his backpack.

She just watched him quietly for a few long beats of silence. He packed the rest of his things away, zipping up his bag.

"You'd make a good journalist, I think," she finally offered.

James hummed. "Maybe," he said. "Guess I missed my 'calling.'"

Hild shrugged. "A calling, anyway."

James looked up with a small grin, though the sobriety that sat in his gut didn't fade.

"True," he said. "I guess it's never too late for a career change."

"A shame we aren't hiring," Hild said. "Otherwise I'd put in a good word."

James huffed through his nose.

"Don't worry about--"

The bell rang. Facing the entrance, James looked up to see a man walk in, wearing a long black coat, and trim dark clothes. He appeared built, beneath his clothing. He was on the taller side, though didn't quite reach Caspar's looming height. The man didn't look James's way as he strode towards the front to order, but James felt a deep distruption in his soul.

A dark energy carried into the small cafe the moment the man entered, and James knew it to be magical in nature.

All of James's senses were suddenly hijacked - the quietness of the moment seized by a paranoia that pulled at the end of his nerves, setting him on high alert.

"...about it," he finished after a brief hesitation. "I didn't mean it too seriously."

He kept his eyes off of the man directly, and he went around the counter, their view of one another slightly obstructed by a supporting pillar and the display window full of pastries.

Hild looked at James a little oddly, but brushed it off quickly enough. "Well. I consider this research venture quite successful." She cleared her throat and asked, "Should I come by later this evening to fill in our friends, or another time?"

"I think Lillian might've wanted to do something tonight," James said. "How about another time? I'll text you."

Nodding, she glanced up only briefly as she tucked away her own belongings.

"Oh!" James said, flashing a smile. "You know what. I forgot something."

He reached into his bag and ripped out a piece of paper and a pen, quickly scrawling.

"I never gave you my number," he said, even though he had, but he hoped that in saying so she would pick up on the fact that something was off. She was quick.

She did. "Right!" Hild laughed lightly.

Quickly scrawling, he tried to keep it brief, because phone numbers were never very long.

Folding it up, he handed it to her and got to his feet.

Find Larrel, take her w/you to the cabin. Stay safe w/Lyall. Someone in town. Dangerous magic. I'll find Caspar.

Hild glanced over it before tucking it away in an inside pocket of her coat.

"I've got a few errands to run in town," James said, shrugging his backpack on.

Rising likewise, Hild slung her bag over her shoulder. "Bonne chance à toi," she said, giving him a breezy smile. "Let me know about later plans."

"Will do," James said, flashing another warm smile in return.

With that, Hild inclined her head and headed out. Through the window as she passed, she glanced back inside, letting concern flash in her eyes for just a second.

James waited a second, watching her depart as he picked up their empty plates and his empty mug, setting it at the bus table. In the corner of his eye, he noted the man's position in the store, but directly paid him no mind as he walked to the exit.

The man didn't pursue, but James had a feeling that this was going to be a slow pursuit.

His nerves ate at him as he put his helmet back on and hopped onto his bike.

If Hild could take care of Larrel, and Lyall was hopefully still back at home, since it was still early, then the only other person who needed to know was in town.

Caspar would be at work by now, and James knew at least where the office building was. He wasn't keen on making his face known at Caspar's place of work, but... it was possible this man already knew of James's connections in town if he'd found him already. Especially if he was escalating to making his presence known.

He'd probably been stalking James for some time. James had a sinking feeling that Larrel might've been the key that led him to him... because for three months, James had had no issues.

But he couldn't tell Larrel that. She'd be crushed under the guilt.

He just had to make sure everyone stayed safe. And apparently, that meant he'd have to walk into the police station, which was crawling with cops.

Not ideal.

Just when he didn't think they could find anything else related to the Aaron Keller case that might need filing.

They didn't, actually, that case had hit a small road bump since it was back in the Americans' court. So in the meantime, his boss was kind enough to give him paperwork for another matter.

Caspar decided he was thankful for a far less personal case to read up on.

Despite the two cups of coffee, he eventually fell asleep on the documents. He woke up to a small poke at his shoulder, and a sheepish, "Cal?"

He straightened. Then muttered a curse when the world spun violently around him for a moment. "Myeah?" he mumbled, wiping at the crusty bits in his eyes.

Officer Lin gave a smile that looked more like a grimace, and pointed both thumbs in the direction of the lobby.

"Heyyyy," she said gently, "there's a...Cousin Matthew?"

Caspar blinked. "Matthew? Why?"

Since when were they cousins?

James always made a point to be as unobtrusive as possible. And coming to a police station felt quite counter to this lifestyle, so something was already way off.

Caspar did his best to ignore the sinking feeling--

"Yeahhh." Lin nodded. "Says that your, um, aunt passed away? He doesn't seem to be... Your cousin's distraught, okay? You should--"

Distraught?

"Oh, sh--" Caspar jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. "Right, I'll-- Thank you, I'll check on him." He shuffled out of the office around her. "Thanks." And he jogged out to the lobby.

Sure enough, there was James. He looked like he'd legitimately been in tears just moments prior. Either he was a supremely convincing actor, or something had sincerely gone horribly sideways. Whatever it was, Caspar didn't have to dig far to find his own sincere concern.

Caspar hopped the gate and placed a firm hand on James's shoulder. "Hey," he said gently, "Matt, you could've called me, and I would've come to you."

He was at a loss for what to do, actually. Something felt seriously wrong, but simultaneously. Not? In the way he thought, probably, since there was this...this.

"Something about, uh, Aunt Julie?" he pressed, a little haltingly as he tried to lean into this cover.

James looked up at Caspar, his expression sullen, and his eyes red, already looking on the verge of welling up again.

"Hey," James said, his voice croaking. "I'm-- I'm sorry to pull you away from work. I just-- I just got the news an hour ago and I--"

Tears started falling down his cheeks, and James glanced around the small office waiting room, swallowing hard.

"Sorry," he said. "Um. Would we... I don't know if you can..."

Now Caspar truly was fearing the worst. He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the receptionist.

"Yeah, no, work'll keep," he said reassuringly. "We can step out."

James nodded, getting to his feet with the forlorn posture of a man really in shock from a sudden loss. He nodded, as if to himself.

"Okay," James said thinly.

With a warm hand still on James's shoulder, Caspar called back to the receptionist that he'll need the rest of the day. Tony answered with an empathetic, "No worries, mate!"

And with that, Caspar lead the way out to where he parked his car.

"Please tell me no one actually died," Caspar uttered once they were out of earshot of people. Though he braced himself for the absolute worst case scenario.

"No one's dead," James whispered. "Not yet, anyway."

Caspar fought the urge to sputter incoherently, and shut his side of the car once in. "That's somehow far less comforting."

"Yeah, well," James said lowly, his tears starting to subside into a grievously serious expression. "It shouldn't be. You already know I was present for the resurgence, so I won't dance around it. Ever since Eir's passing, Ivar's been sending people after me - for decades, now, but far more persistently in the last ten years. I can sense he's growing impatient, and I can sense someone else is here in Curio. It's likely they already know I'm connected to you, and Lyall, and everyone. I'm sorry to have dragged you into this, but you deserve to know. I don't know when they plan to strike, but we need to come up with a plan. I want you all to stay safe."

Caspar stared at him.

Alright, no one was dead. Yet. But it was an imminent possibility.

"I have a feeling that whoever this man is - because I did see him - is waiting for the right chance to strike. Probably when I'm alone, or when he can otherwise leverage any of you against me. I don't know what kind of game--"

Caspar waved him down. "Okay, so. Someone of Ivar's?" He wracked his brain for any names. He'd run into a faithful few followers, but. Not recently. As far as he could recall, not in the past few decades.

James took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Yes," he said. "A tall fellow. Appeared strong. Sharply dressed. Vaguely roman features, from what I caught briefly. I don't know him, but he had a powerful dark presence with him."

Dark magic. Definitely one of Ivar's, then.

He started up the car. "Alright, do we know where everyone else is?"

"I sent Hild to get Larrel and told her to meet us back at the cabin with Lyall," James said. "If they're walking, we may catch them on the way."

Caspar just nodded as he pulled out of the parking lot. "We'll work more on that description later. Unless you managed to get a photograph."

"Wasn't able to get one in without being conspicuous," James said. "Unfortunately."

Right. Fine, this was fine. They'll regroup, and plan next steps together.

"I worry, that in finding me, I've led him to all of us," James said quietly.

Caspar cast him a quick side glance. "It's possible," he answered honestly.

"I'm sorry," James whispered, looking down into his lap.

They sped down the main road through downtown.

Caspar couldn't help his wry laugh. "Hazard of living," he said. "Don't be sorry."

"It's just that I've been trying so hard to be careful for so long," James said. "I never meant to bring any danger to your doorstep. I know you've been trying to live a normal life."

Something in James's tone made Caspar pause, and soften with empathy.

He slowed for a stop light, and took this moment to look straight at James. "No one ever means for this kind of thing to happen," he said, voice quieter. "But we're here now, and so is he. And we'll figure this out together. Okay?"

James pressed his lips into a line, and he nodded, but said nothing.

Caspar let out a quiet sigh as he considered the hunter. The way his head bowed and shoulders dipped under the weight of guilt. That forlorn act wasn't so much of an act as it first appeared. It was real, and Caspar knew what that felt like.

He couldn't remember everyone or everything as clearly as in lifetimes passed, but the guilt always stayed. The sense of loss always stung. He saw it in James's eyes now, and had to wonder how many encounters he faced alone, or if solitude was only the aftermath of such encounters.

A quick, sharp honk behind them brought his attention back to the now-green light. Caspar sped through, then at last out of town. They hit the trail to his house.

Before he could think of any other comforting words to offer, he spotted Hild and Larrel in the distance.

Hild and Larrel caught sight of them too. Caspar slowed the car to a rolling stop, and the two hopped in without hesitation.

Larrel leaned forward between the two front seats, grabbing a hold of James's shoulder with earnest and a look of distress on her face Caspar hadn't seen before.

"James," she whispered. "Is this because of me?"

James swallowed, and though James's acting in the precinct had been convincing, there was a genuine pain and sorrow in his eyes as he looked to his sister, clearly trying to steel his emotions.

"Of course not," James whispered back.

Larrel pinned her brows together, and she grabbed James hand, shoving her phone into it.

"Check it," she said, her lips pulled into a deep frown.

James hesitated as she pulled away, finally leaning into the back seat beside Hild, putting on her seatbelt. Caspar watched James, in the corner of his eye, stare down at Larrel's phone before he bit his lip and then pulled out a pocketknife, flipping out a small screwdriver extension.

He took off the back of the phone's cover, and Caspar realized James was probably looking for a bug.

It wasn't long before they reached the front porch of the cabin; Caspar may have been driving faster than necessary. By then, James had scraped something maybe, Caspar wasn't sure, out and he shot Larrel a worried glance.

"We're going to have to toss this," James said quietly.

Larrel's face fell.

"They followed me?" she whispered, sounding on the verge of crying.

"It's not your fault, Larrel," James said again. "It's-- it's not."

But Caspar saw the tears already running down Larrel's face in the rearview mirror. Hild silently wrapped a comforting arm around her.

James looked down at the deconstructed phone in his lap, and he winced, muttering a spell under his breath. Before Caspar could fully see what happened, the remnants of the phone seemed to have... disintegrated with a flash of light.

Caspar stepped out of the car and leaned against its side. Trying to brace himself for what felt like an incoming storm. He patted the roof of the car. "Alright," he called, ducking his head to peek in at James. "I'll need a good description of this guy if we want a picture of what we're up against."

James nodded, hopping out of the car in turn. Larrel followed out with Hild, trying to compose herself.

Back inside the cabin, Caspar tossed aside his car keys and dug around for paper and pencil. He half-registered Lyall's bleary greeting as the rest followed in behind.

Lyall was sobered the instant he saw Larrel. "What's happened?" he asked, brows knitting together with open concern. "It's too early for a crisis."

"That man's never been here before," Hild said instead, taking a seat by Larrel on the couch. "Not in the past several years I've lived here, anyhow."

Lyall shot his sister a deeply troubled look. "What man--"

"Long story short," James said, standing stiffly in the middle of the room, his hands deep in his pockets. "Someone's here to kill me. Sent by Ivar."

Lyall frowned with severity. "How do you know?"

"There's no reason for a stranger with powerful dark magic to come to this town," James said, "nevermind a near-empty coffee shop, where I happened to be, in a town he's never been to prior. I've been through this too many times to blame it on happenstance. These things don't happen on accident."

"Fair enough."

Caspar stopped mid-search for a pencil and looked to Hild. "Photo?"

She shook her head.

He nodded. Kneeling down, he checked under furniture. "I can work from descriptions, then."

"He was probably around 5ft10," James started. "Broad shouldered. Short, dark hair."

Grabbing a carpenter pencil from beneath the couch, Caspar climbed up onto the nearest chair and took note.

"I only took in his appearance briefly, but of his more notable features," James said. "He had a short, clean-cut beard. Straight hair, slicked back. Some early greys. Dark eyes and a medium olive complexion. He had an Italian nose and... a casual look about him. Relaxed."

For a second, Caspar felt rather out of his depth, trying to recreate a person's face from just words. This was a whole science, he remembered, not something you could just wing and hope for the best.

It took some back and forth, and lots of tweaking, until James finally deemed the sketch a good likeness to the stranger. Hild agreed after taking a look herself.

"Great," Lyall said a little plainly, "we have a face." He gestured to James. "'Dark magic', you said?"

"Yes," James said with a small sigh, leaning on the table to look down at the drawing. "These days you would call it 'very bad vibes'."

Caspar likewise stared at the drawing. He wanted to say this man was familiar, but. Unsurprisingly, couldn't place why. There wasn't any emotional weight...

"Do you recognize him?" James asked, looking to Caspar.

"...More in like..." He scratched at the collar of his shirt. "...a 'Where's Waldo' sense? Like. He's popped up in memories before, but was never important?"

James looked at Caspar intently.

"Can you place a memory?" James asked. "Even a vague one? A second of it?"

Raking his hands over his head, Caspar really, really tried. He reached back into the distant long-term. And found paint.

He straightened. "A workshop," he said. "Uh, an artist's. Probably in oils."

James pulled up a chair right next to Caspar, sitting down abruptly with his focus fixed on him.

"That's perfect," James said. "Hold onto that memory."

Caspar frowned in confusion.

"If you hold onto it - think of it intently - I-- I know a spell," James said. "I'll be able to see the memory in my mind and, in a sense, relive it for you. I might be able to gather some information from it about him, if you'll allow me."

The concept sounded...iffy, but he trusted James.

Caspar nodded. "Sure."

James hesitantly reached out a hand.

"It requires touch," James said. "Can I rest my hand on your shoulder?"

Made sense, Caspar supposed, so he nodded again.

James rested his hand on Caspar's shoulder, and quietly whispered a few foreign words. And in a second, Caspar felt awash in a warm current. Having the presence of another in his mind didn't feel so much like an intrusion as he thought it would. James's presence was comforting, and cleansing, were that possible. It tingled a bit under his scalp, like sunlight. Like Eir's magic.

And then James pulled away with a sigh. Caspar sat stiffly, trying not to follow his touch.

"Well... you spoke to him," James said. "His name is Constantine. He was a traveling painter, apparently. At least, that's what he told you at the time. It was a quick, casual conversation. He'd dropped in to see your paintings. Apparently he'd heard about you - though the nuance to that, I don't know. Maybe he knew you were immortal. Maybe he genuinely was only interested in your art. Regardless, that was about all I got from it, aside from a clearer look at the man. There's a few things I might tweak about the drawing."

Caspar looked at the sketched face.

"Is it close enough as is?" Lyall asked. "The rest of us could probably pick him out from a crowd well enough, if it came down to it, right?"

James sighed.

"Probably so," James said. "But there's one more defining feature."

He pointed at the drawing of the man's mouth.

"He had very sharp canines," James said. "Unnaturally so."

Lyall clapped his hands together. "Fantastic. We've got a roman vampire on our hands."

James leaned back into his chair, rubbing his face.

"I have some silver bullets," he muttered.

Lyall's face fell. "I didn't mean literally."

"What?" James said. "He could be a vampire. Hell if I know."

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared," Caspar murmured. "Fire may be the more sure offensive move, though."

"Lyall already knows I could throw fire at him," James said with a loose gesture towards him.

Lyall waved both arms in James's direction. "Vampire or no, do whatever you need to do!"

James gave Lyall a pointed look, but his annoyance seemed to be a mask for the stress underneath.

"We may not have very long," James said stiffly, getting to his feet. "I'm going to start making preparations. Caspar, you should speak with my sister about the protective runes you have around the cabin. She may be able to help prepare some more or strengthen them. That's her area of expertise."

Caspar looked Larrel's way. Larrel looked like she'd finally collected herself, and she gave him a sharp nod.

"Show me what you have," Larrel said.

He took in a breath, and pushed himself up to his feet. "It's not much," he said honestly. And there was only so much that defensive symbols could accomplish. They were a good repellent for a...less mindful being, but really only for that.

Beckoning her over, Caspar stood by the door, where they'd have the fullest view of the room at once. He pointed to the corners of the room, where he'd carved out symbols some years before.

"So far," he said, sighing, "I haven't needed much more than these."

Larrel hummed, biting her lip.

"I could... put some around entrances and exits," she said. "Kind of like... it won't keep people out, but it'll make sure we hear them coming. If you don't mind me... permanently carving into the wood, that'd be the most potent."

Larrel brought her hand to her chin and thought.

"I know some runes for warding off dark magic," she said quietly. "If that's what James says this man has, it wouldn't hurt to start with those. So at least it'd weaken him a little bit. Hopefully."

Caspar tilted his head a little as he considered this. "Could work, yeah."

In passing, he wondered where Larrel might've learned in-depth about runes. From Eir, too? Or her brother passing along any knowledge he'd gained from his studies?

He made a mental note to ask a different time.

"I've got some carving knives you can use," he said.

"Perfect," Larrel said, rubbing her hands together. "Gimme."

"Yes'm," he said with a faint grin, and set off to do just that.

Off to the side, the Ashlunds were leaned close together as they brainstormed...something. Caspar couldn't catch everything, they were speaking too quickly.

Aloud, Lyall then announced, "We'll tweak the terrain, make this place harder to reach, and plan exit strategies should things go south."

"In the unlikely event," Hild added.

"Uncharacteristically optimistic of you," he teased, and she just shot him an unamused look.

"Calder," Hild went on as she pushed her brother toward the door, "perhaps join us in strategizing outside once you've finished here. You probably know these woods better than all of us."

"I can take care of the runes," Larrel offered. "You can leave me to it."

Standing by Larrel's side again, Caspar conceded that he wouldn't exactly be able to make the process go any faster, and handed her a wrapped bundled of his carving tools.

"Between you and the house," he said, "I care far more about you. Please don't cut yourself."

Larrel laughed.

"I won't," she said. "I've done this many times before. Trust me."

He smiled and set the bundle in her open hands. "Have at it, then."

With a grin, Larrel nodded with a little more glee than made Caspar comfortable after handing her sharp objects. Then she skipped away.

Outside, after assessing the forest around them for a little bit, the Ashlunds settled on some sort of magic relating to plants.

Caspar only really knew superstitions and small rituals that would help yield a good harvest, but that was definitely a longer term strategy that they did not have the time for.

As the only other sorcerer in their number, Lyall decided on growth spells, with a particular focus on the undergrowth to hide the rough trail that lead back here. Standing a good thirty feet from the cabin, he held aloft both hands, then hesitated.

Hild watched with open concern in her eyes. "Are you sure--"

"Quite," Lyall cut her off, tone defensive.

Caspar glanced back and forth between them. "Everything good?"

Lyall adjusted his stance. "Never better."

The wizard clenched his hands, then stretched them out. Took a steadying breath. Eyes closed, he bowed his head and uttered a familiar sort of chant.

It was actually one of those harvest prayers that Caspar knew. But with the voice and guiding hands of a sorcerer, the underbrush of the forest responded. Ferns unfurled, growing twice as large within seconds. Vines crept higher into the trees, and reached out farther to catch sunlight. Bushes and small evergreens turned dense, helping obscure any and all possible paths to the cabin.

Caspar watched in awe as the forest came alive in this way. He caught another one of Hild's concerned gazes, though, and followed her line of sight back to Lyall.

Lyall's hands had turned black like coal, and they trembled from the exertion. He clenched his jaw, face pinching in pain. And suddenly Hild's hesitation made sense.

Lyall's magic was warped.

Tree roots began breaking through the dirt--one displaced Caspar's car a bit a short distance away. Some of the ferns closest to them began to wither. The coal on Lyall's skin spread up his arms. Darkness began pooling underfoot, and began spreading up the bark of the pines.

Caspar jumped forward and set a hand on Lyall's shoulder. "I think we're good," he said, trying to stamp down any urgency from his voice.

Lyall jerked away, as if startled.

The ferns and bushes looked singed along their edges, but the spell held up well enough.

It took a few beats before the birds called from a distance once more.

Out of breath, Lyall set his hands on his hips and looked around. "Too much? Probably too much." He waved dismissively. "Gah. It's fine. It's what we wanted. Right?"

Caspar frowned. "You didn't mention..."

Lyall set off for the east side of the cabin. "No point. We should plan escape routes now, yeah?"

For the chattiest guy out here, he sure was hard to have a productive conversation with sometimes.

Caspar glanced at Hild. She only shrugged and somberly inclined her head, before following after her brother.

Where one might believe they couldn't dance around the now-outed truth any longer, Lyall tried to do so anyway. Half-heartedly, admittedly, and with increasingly weakening resolve in the face of his sister's unusually readable concern.

And now Caspar was similarly worried, and it was honestly one of the last things Lyall wanted right now. The man was too polite to broach the subject right now, thank goodness. Less thankfully, Hild didn't abide by such rules.

Caspar told them that, concerning an escape route, there wasn't as much planning as maybe they thought there would be. The open forest provided plenty of distance to put between them, and more than enough cover to hide if cornered.

"Norns willing," he murmured, "it'll be over before it can come down to a retreat." He reached up and patted the doorway as he ducked back inside.

Caspar stopped by Larrel to check on her work. As Lyall brushed past, it felt like the man was standing a solid few inches taller than before.

"Lyall," his own sister called as she followed closely behind.

Grabbing his jacket, Lyall shoved his arms through the sleeves and stuffed his hands in the pockets. A meager attempt to hide what was already made glaring. When he slouched down on the couch, Hild sat close, her gaze fixed pointedly on the side of his face while she waited.

Lyall sighed. He wasn't getting out of this. When he turned his head to meet her eyes, Hild reached out and tilted his chin up, then down, to the side. He fought the urge to withdraw when she took his hand from his pocket. She pushed up his sleeve, and brushed her fingers along the veins of pitch that snaked up his skin. When he winced, she recoiled, but still held his arm.

Most of their family had that tendency to hover. It was their instinctual way of showing concern and affection, and it was what made them good doctors.

Hild spoke again first.

"Though we separated," she said, quietly, "a...long while ago, it still felt like you weren't ever too far away. Like, if I tried hard enough, I could've reach out to you a number of times."

Mmmkay, not where he thought she'd take this. Folding his arms, Lyall sank even lower on the couch. Hild followed suit, and leaned on his shoulder.

"After talking with James for a bit this morning," she explained, "I think...it only just occurred to me that you remained mostly traceable. On purpose."

Lyall blinked at the wall ahead. When she didn't say anything else, he sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I did."

"I appreciate it. Though I fear that it may have led to...whatever hurt you--"

"It didn't," he answered firmly. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Swallowing thickly, she just nodded.

"Look," he said, exhaling through his nose, "it's. Hard. I haven't..." He didn't have the guts to face it in the past two decades. And nothing ever forced him to face directly again, so he just didn't.

Until now.

Hild hummed. "I heartell actually talking about it helps."

Lyall gave her an unamused look and muttered, "Sure, fine."

"I just want to know if it was...really bad," Hild said. "And if maybe me being there sooner could've helped."

"Well, I didn't die," he said plainly.

"And I'm here now," Hild added. "So how did it happen?"

Honestly. This was all Lyall wanted. To know that something he held dear could be salvaged, preserved. That he hadn't burned all his bridges. That life hadn't moved on entirely without him.

They didn't know what to expect with Constantine. They didn't know when. So now was as good a time as any.

"It was a follower of Ivar," he said. "They were a really sketchy kind of religious. Followed me for a while, some decades after I lost track of you. And I was ready to just." He sighed, deeply, and shrugged his free shoulder. "Let them win."

Hild looked directly at him again. She stayed quiet, though.

"They used something like Aaron Keller's magic," Lyall went on. "And that's what's been wrong with me since. In trying to take my magic, they just broke it."

They suffered dire consequences for it as well; that seemed less pertinent at the moment, though.

She stared at him, long and hard. Lyall kept his gaze firmly trained on the runes on the wall ahead.

"Did you ask James about it?" she said.

He frowned. "Why would I?"

Hild shrugged. "He knows what he's doing. He might be able to provide some valuable insight."

"He does know," Lyall admitted.

Hild looked offended by that. "You told him? Before you told me?"

Before Lyall could try to backtrack, the door to the guestroom opened.

James stepped out into the living room, suddenly with a presence that absolutely could not be ignored. And it wasn't just the return of the full camouflage. Lyall could feel an energy like the hunter's summoned weapons from before, simply radiating from the man himself.

In fact, it felt as though they were no longer in the company of a man. Lyall was looking at something god-like, and it was terrifying and a comfort all at once.

"Ugh," Larrel said, speaking before anyone else. "Put the necklace back on."

James sent her a sharp look.

"Constantine wouldn't be after me if he didn't know what he was dealing with," James said lowly.

"You're just so... bright," Larrel sighed.

James rolled his eyes.

Caspar cleared his throat. "We're all set out here, I think." He pointed an arm Larrels' way. "She's about chipped away enough of the doorway that I kind of fear for its structural integrity now, and the Ashlunds covered the exterior to buy us time." He shrugged. "Time for what, I'm not sure. But there's that."

"So..." Lyall turned an open hand up in a small shrug. "...we just wait, then?"

"Are you kidding?" Larrel asked, gesturing to James with the carving knife she was holding. "He's like a freaking beacon, now. Mr. Vampire will be knocking on our door any minute, probably."

"I wouldn't call him that," James said flatly.

Lyall raised a hand. "I would."

"Thank you, Lyall," James said, sarcasm laid thickly. "For your unwarranted opinion."

Lyall tsked. "My opinion is always warranted, thank you very much."

"Don't you have to be a cop to get a warrant?" Larrel asked.

"Yes. So only Caspar can have a warranted opinion," James said, pointing to the tired giant of a man by the stairwell.

Caspar barked a laugh and murmured fondly, "My gods..."

"There," James said. "I made Caspar laugh. Now you can keep fooling around, Lyall."

He strode across the room, weaving through all of them to go stand by the front window, looking out.

Lyall jumped a few mental math hoops, trying to predict how long James would be sitting on sentry duty like that until Constantine did show up. He concluded, for as long as necessary. The hunter had an absurd threshold for the waiting game.

Caspar loudly patted the railway. "Hey, how comfortable would the rest of you be with, uhm, traditional weapons?"

Lyall whirled around. "Weapons? What kind? What have you been hiding?"

"Uh, like the arrow-shooting kinds," Caspar said.

"I'm better with knives," Larrel said. Lyall might've guessed this.

Hild raised her hand with a shrug. "Swords, mostly."

"Fencing," Lyall clarified, nodding toward his sister, "which we took together."

"We all should have at least one means of offensive strike," Caspar explained. "I've got knives, and a crossbow to lend." He nodded to Hild. "Would you be alright with that?"

Hild let her hand drop to her lap. "If it'll give you some peace of mind, I'll...hold it."

Caspar nodded. "Actually, it would." He gave a sloppy, two-finger salute. "Give me a second." And he disappeared upstairs.

"Do you know how to use it?" James asked, unmoving from the doorway, eyes fixed out the window.

"Can't say I've had opportunity to learn," Hild answered, propping her chin in her hand as she studied him.

"Then it would be better for you to have a weapon you know how to use," James said. "A sword, right?"

"Familiar," she emphasized. "It's been awhile."

"Better than unfamiliar," James said.

Eyes still locked on the window, Lyall watched as James reached into a bag strapped around his hip, and his hand seemed to disappear into it, deeper than it logically should've been able to go.

With a slight frown, Lyall tilted his head as he tried making sense of it.

But then James pulled his hand out, gripping what looked like the hilt of a sword. And as he lifted it out, a whole blade came with it, like a sword had practically appeared out of thin air.

It was a rapier, and the hilt was golden, winding around his hand.

Finally, James glanced back at them, making eye contact with Hild.

"Take it," he said simply.

Slipping away from Lyall's side, Hild joined James by the window. Lyall noted that her hand lingered over James's for a second too long as she carefully took the rapier.

Out of curiosity, Lyall got to his feet too and meandered over for a closer look. With an excited glint in her eyes, Hild turned and gave him a proper salute, which preceded the en garde stance. Lyall held his hands up in mock surrender and backed away with a grin.

James watched Hild for but a moment before he turned his focused gaze back out the window.

"Larrel," James said, reaching into the bag at his hip again.

Larrel hurried to his side, and James pulled out a very long sniper gun out of the bag - again, impossibly so - and handed it to his sister far too casually. Lyall also didn't know how he felt about the grin on Larrel's face as she accepted the gift.

"This one's got the silver bullets?" she asked.

"A few," James said. "Use them wisely."

Larrel nodded, moving to the other window, already setting up.

James glanced back at Lyall.

"What weapons are you proficient with?" he asked.

"I likewise fenced," Lyall answered, angling his chin up a little, "and--"

"Mostly just running his mouth," Hild cut in as she practiced a small lunge off to the side.

Lyall shot her an unamused look, then reiterated, "Fencing."

James sighed.

"Contrary to how it may seem," James said. "I don't have an armory with me."

"Not to worry, good man," Lyall said, "I'd rather not, anyhow."

"At least you have your magic if you must," James said.

Pursing his lips, Lyall nodded. "There is that."

Caspar returned just then. With a long bow and quiver both hanging off his shoulder, and an axe strapped to his hip, he blew dust off an old crossbow in his hands. Looking the part of an Old World hunter.

"It's been a bit, but it should still--" He paused, and pointed to the sword in Hild's hand. "Oh! Where did that...?"

"James evidently has a pocket armory," Lyall answered smoothly. "In hindsight, it shouldn't surprise me."

"I said I--" James started, but merely let out a huff instead of finishing his sentence. He turned away to look out the window once more.

Caspar nodded and murmured an, "Oh," in understanding.

As a hush fell over the cabin, Lyall kept his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the window James sat by.

This was a familiar setup: the hunter, ready to wait for who-knew-how-long, keeping an ever-watchful eye out on the forest. Prepared for an incoming threat that they only had a vague idea of.

Though, he wondered how truly vaguely James's picture of this threat was. They'd all been around, they've had their share of adventure and peril. But a sorcerer of this kind of power? Of course Ivar would be hellbent on finding him, James was unwanted competition. And what seemed like over-kill on the survival/prep bit, it wasn't unwarranted.

He wondered how many of Ivar's followers James had to go through, since as far back as the thirties.

"You are quite possibly," Lyall quietly mused, "the unknown world's most-wanted man, aren't you?"

James's expression turned severe, and though it looked like he was about to open his mouth to answer, his whole countenance shifted.

With no warning, James ripped the front door open and ran outside.

"Cover me!" was all he said before the door slammed behind him.

Tearing open the front door, Lyall started, "Hey--!"

Then froze when something foul turned his stomach, and a violent shiver wracked his spine.

Up ahead, a darkness fell over their part of the woods. And James, like a lantern on a midnight ride, dashed headlong into it.

The forest was quiet, and covered in a blanket of darkness. The creatures of the night had fallen silent as the dark shroud encompassed the whole area, seeping in like thick fog and smoke, making it so James couldn't see more than six feet in front of him.

Light radiated off of James in a small circumference, making him a beacon in the dark. He knew that Constantine would already be able to sense his presence, so there was no use in hiding. And James was done, hiding now. That, he would leave to his friends in the cabin.

James passed through the rough terrain with ease, hurrying to meet the man before he came too close to the cabin for James's comfort. He knew that he was the main target, anyway.

Out of the darkness, James finally saw a figure emerge, shifting with the darkness around him.

He resembled the shape of a man, but there were parts of him that were distinctly inhuman in his shifting silhouette. Extra limbs. Extra heads.

"Mister Hawke," Constantine greeted with a low, silky voice. Multiple smiles flashed at him. "Eir's only-surviving pupil. A pleasure to at last make your acquaintance."

The many-headed man paced up to the threshold of James's light. He'd shed the long overcoat, letting the additional limbs writhe outward like a spider. They were bare of skin, as if not fully formed. His two beastly heads snapped and licked at their teeth. All eyes were fixed on James, intent and hungry.

He was like some sort of grotesque human cerberus. Despite the man's clear ominous aura, James couldn't help but feel bad for him if this was his true form. He looked the man up and down, his expression serious, and unmoving.

"Constantine," James said, deciding to use the man's full name. "You finally made it. How was your coffee this morning?"

"A lovely dark roast," he answered pleasantly. "My appetite's grown since." He pointed with his chin. "No one in the Known world knows me by name. So how do you?"

"Get used to disappointment," James said. "Because I'm not telling you."

With a hum, Constantine pouted. "Not to worry. I'll simply find out by another means."

In the blink of an eye, the heads twisted. Beastly maws wide open, he lunged for James. James's arms shot up immediately, anticipating an attack after Constantine's subtle warning. One hand met either end of his jaw, gripping the flesh around the gums with force.

Constantine tried to snap at James's hands, but James held steady, pushing either direction on the jaw to tear it open wider.

He felt the jaw pop out of place with a crack as the sinews around the edges of the mouth tore. Clawed hands grasped Jamses's wrists, as the injured head roared and spun out of his grip. Another, more reptilian one took its place. In a flash, it sank snake-like fangs into his arm.

Gritting his teeth, James muttered a spell under his breath, and a burst of powerful energy erupted between the two of them, sending them both flying in opposite directions. Contained in a bubble, there was a loud boom that echoed between them as James landed on his feet and skidded to a stop, the two of them sent several feet back from each other.

Constantine stumbled back a little, arms wheeling to steady himself. The snake head was a bit bloodied, and one eye dark.

Blood seeped through James's sleeve, but he ignored the piercing pain as he prepared another spell, stretching out his hands as a beam of light burst from them, striking Constantine square in the chest just as he got to his feet.

With a pained cry, Constantine fell back. At this distance, his form shrank down as he hauled himself back into the shadows.

James muttered under his breath, preparing another spell for the moment he saw Constantine again. He could feel the venom from the bite starting to eat away at his skin, making him feel a small wave of nausea.

"Scared of the light?" James hissed into the darkness, bulbs of radiance beaming around his hands.

Constantine hummed a low laugh. "No, just biding my time."

So, Constantine needed the darkness to recover. That was good to know. Now, James wouldn't let him.

James rushed forward, following Constantine's voice and the dark energy his whole form carried. Constantine quickly came back into view, with now five sets of teeth bared. He slashed massive claws at his chest. James was only able to half-dodge the blow, but the claws still dug through to his skin as he bent back. As he slid back, he released the radiance from his hands, and it erupted him with a burst, each pulsing beam making contact with one head on either side of Constantine's shoulders.

He could smell the sickly sizzle as the muscle started to burn.

A scream tore from the throat of every head as he reared back, trying to disappear once more. Immediately, James pursued. He dug his fingers into Constantine's hair, pulling him back so he couldn't run. Two sets of hands blindly grabbed at his arm and his coat, yanking him even closer as the snake head turned on him again. Its jaw unhinging around his shoulder; teeth pierced into his back and chest. Poison spread in his veins like wildfire.

Well, now was as good a time as any to not hold back.

James leaned into the painful embrace and laid his hand right over Constantine's heart. Practically whispering into the man's ear, James spoke a spell that was like second nature.

A burst of light pierced through Constantine's chest as the flaming, golden blade of his spectral sword materialized in the cavity of Constantine's physical frame. The fire burst behind the man's back, catching on his clothes, and his flesh.

Now they were both burning. In different ways.

Behind the crackling flames and screeching beasts, Constantine's waning voice murmured incoherently. Then clearer, spoke, "For as long as you all run, he wins."

So Constantine knew about the others. It was likely Constantine had already informed his own contacts of James's allies.

So James had been right. They were all dead in the water. And he had brought all of them into this.

James plunged the sword deeper. The beasts lost their voices, and Constantine took one last groaning breath. The body fell limp on his blade.

The man - and the beasts attatched to him - were heavy, and James was quick to let go, letting the body slide off the sword and land on the ground with a heavy thump.

Standing over the now dead body, James noticed the heavy misty was finally starting to clear. He dismissed his spectral sword, and he quickly laid a hand over his shoulder, muttering a healing spell.

But the venom, evidently, was fast-acting, and some things could not be undone so quickly.

Constantine's hold on the forest slowly fell away. Sunlight gradually filtered through the trees once more.

That's right. It was still... evening.

James let out a faint laugh, wincing as his head started to spin. He kept his hand over his shoulder, muttering another healing spell. Though it was helping with the bleeding, it wasn't doing as much for the venom.

Well, that was inconvenient.

James sat down, aware that no one was going to be happy about him running out to face Constantine on his own.

There was rustling behind him. Fast-approaching, urgent steps.

"What the hell?!" Lyall called from a short distance.

"James I swear if you're dying again--" Larrel shouted, not sounding far behind. "I'm going to kill you!"

"Guys, come on," Caspar pleaded after them, "at least wait like, thirty minutes before you berate the man."

James's head was getting foggy. He leaned forward, propping himself up on one arm.

Lyall came up around his side as support, face drawn with irritation but he held his tongue for now. He hauled James up to his feet.

"I can tell you're upset," James said, leaning into him.

"What gave it away," Lyall snapped. Pulling James's arm around his shoulders, he held him up as he started the way back.

"He had a snake head," James said. "It's the... venom kicking in."

Lyall muttered something else under his breath. With just a flash of concern in his eyes, he said aloud, "Lucky for you, we have experience with treating that sort of crap."

"It shouldn't kill me," James said. "I've... been..."

But it was becoming more difficult to enunciate, nevermind get a word out. It felt like his body was getting heavy, along with his eyelids. He faintly registered a slight stumble on their way, before the ground under his feet disappeared entirely.

"Almost there," Caspar said reassuringly, voice rumbling softly in James's ear. "We'll talk more in a sec."

But that second was about to become a lot longer than a second. Because that was the last thing James remembered hearing before he fell unconscious.

They'd left the door ajar when everyone dashed outside, the minute the darkness lifted, so Caspar was able to slip back in with his arms full easily enough. As he set James down on the couch and began carefully stripping the man of his ruined clothes, he tuned out Lyall and Larrel's concerned rants and upset busy-ness.

They did bring up a valid point, though: this seemed to be a nasty habit of James's, and it was probably going to get him killed sooner rather than later.

Caspar couldn't count the amount of times he'd been on either side of this kind of conversation.

James it seemed had already went ahead and stopped the bleeding. Some of the bite wounds from the aforementioned snake-head were still deep, and so still leaky, but the risk of bleeding out had been taken care of well enough.

"If he didn't actually want help," Lyall said, voice loud as he disappeared into the kitchen, "he should've just said so!"

Caspar pressed a wadded-up cloth over some of the bite wounds on James's chest, listening as Lyall angrily gathered supplies from the bathroom.

Larrel came around the couch beside Caspar, looking down at her brother with her face pinched in deep worry. She bit her lip, like she was trying to keep from crying. Briefly, she glanced up and met Caspar's eyes, but she quickly looked away, studying James again.

"He didn't have all of these the last time I saw him," she said, barely audible.

Caspar glanced back down. The slash marks left by Constantine overlapped with the ones from Aaron Keller, and others that Caspar had only seen briefly before.

"That was only a year ago," Larrel whispered.

With empathy, Caspar looked back up to her. "You said you're a doctor, right?"

Larrel nodded. "Pediatrician," she said weakly.

He wracked his brain for what to do. As much as this clearly hurt Larrel to see, she probably still wanted to help.

"Can you," he asked gently, "maybe check that Lyall is finding everything alright. And that he isn't tearing apart my house."

Larrel nodded quickly, and got up without a word, hurrying to the kitchen.

Hild took Larrel's place beside Caspar now, holding out a clean, damp rag. With a nod of thanks, he switched out the slightly bloodied one, and carefully cleaned away any dried up blood.

Lyall and Larrel then re-emerged. Lyall looked sufficiently calmed now, and whatever upset was left, turned into determination. Poor Larrel's face was still tear-streaked, but she had a look of focus as she carried out a bag that Caspar didn't recognize.

"We'll need an anti-venom," Lyall declared. He shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "Disinfect and dress the wounds. Larrel and I need to gather materials."

Lyall then handed off the first-aid kit to his sister. "We'll be back shortly."

Neither Hild nor Caspar could get a word in before Lyall dashed out of the cabin altogether. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Larrel followed close behind him. Hild helped disinfect, and instructed Caspar on how to properly cover the wounds.

It was maybe twenty minutes before they got back again. From the bag, they set up what Caspar could only describe as a miniature lab on the table.

The sun sank low behind the tree line outside. Hild turned on some lights in the living room and closed the curtains while the other two doctors worked. Caspar was put on watch by James.

Once Lyall declared the cure ready, they injected it through a needle. Caspar had to look at the wall to the side while they did.

"Have you tried to...heal?" Caspar asked. "Recently?"

Lyall glanced up only briefly, then cleaned and covered where he'd poked James. "Yeah," he answered under his breath, "on myself. Best case scenario, nothing happens."

Caspar blinked at the implication. Worst-case, it probably had adverse effects. He didn't ask anything else about it.

By midnight, everyone had either by their own volition (Hild) or unwillingly (Lyall) gone to sleep. Caspar promised that he'd be awake, and keep watch of James.

The Ashlunds took the guest room. With a slight hesitation, Caspar offered Larrel his room upstairs.

By maybe 4 in the morning, movement from the couch caught Caspar's eye. He pulled over a chair and sat closer to where James's head was propped up.

He moved his head to the side ever so slightly, and his eyes opened in slits. He let out a groan, moving an arm to his chest, over the most recent slashing wound.

He said something, but it didn't sound like english, nor did it sound coherent even if Caspar knew the language.

"Take it easy," Caspar murmured. "That was one hell of a fight."

James pinched his eyes shut, tilting his head away from Caspar for a moment before he turned and looked at him, eyes bleary.

Caspar wondered, from the blank, hundred-yard stare, how long it took to fully shake the effects of this kind of venom. James was bitten twice, too, so that wasn't in his favor.

Caspar watched silently as the gears slowly turned, fighting to catch up to the present.

"What time is it?" James finally asked slowly, working each word out of his mouth like his mouth was full of cotton.

"A little after four. Morning."

"What day is it?" James asked soon after.

"Friday."

James stared at him again, squinting slightly.

"Have you slept?" James asked.

Caspar waved dismissively. "M'good." He pointed with his chin. "I'm beginning to think this is a bad habit of yours. I'm okay to help, but I will probably need to replace the whole couch pretty soon."

It looked like it took James a moment to process Caspar's words, and James blinked slowly, turning to look down at his chest.

"...Sorry about your couch," James said distantly.

Caspar let out a quiet sigh. "It's really fine."

Then he kept silent now, giving James room to process and find his bearings. The man, now that he was conscious, had a lot in his mind to turn over.

By 5, Hild padded out into the living room, easing the door shut, as quiet as was humanly possible. Then made a beeline for the kitchen. She brushed a hand to James's uninjured shoulder by way of greeting, and James turned to look up at her with his brows pinched upward. Her eyes softened, and she let her touch linger before disappearing into the kitchen.

Caspar pushed himself to his feet. Admittedly feeling the wear of not sleeping, but that wasn't anything he couldn't drown out with a couple cups of coffee.

"I'll grab you some water, m'kay?" he said gently.

"Okay," James said quietly.

Caspar nodded, then joined Hild in the kitchen.

She had the kettle going, and helped herself to one of Caspar's sweaters. Small woman that she was, she looked lost in it.

Both the Ashlunds, it seemed, did well making themselves at home, no matter where that may have been.

"How long's he been awake?" she asked.

Caspar leaned on the counter across from her. "Just woke up, actually."

He cast a worried glance at the door.

"Is he okay?" she pressed.

"Hm? Yeah, everything's healing fine. Not quite fully alert, but present." Caspar nodded. "He's..."

Not okay.

James's instinct to throw himself head-first into a deadly fight without hesitation was. Understandable. It made sense.

Eir wasn't often in the business of mentoring. She believed that, if others can be kept safe from a fight, then they ought to stay safe from a fight. There were very few throughout history that she ever felt was capable of carrying the weight of two worlds on their shoulders.

And James evidently was one of them. Which was no wonder. This man had so much raw power, Caspar had a feeling that these past two fights? James was only scratching the surface of his full potential.

But the problem here was that James was still only a man. He still had the cares and worries of a man, unlike Eir or Ivar or any other force of nature. He still grew weary, bled, and felt heartache like a man. He was given a giant's responsibility, and had been trying to bear it all alone ever since.

Caspar knew what that weight felt like. He'd been Eir's successor once. He tried carrying it alone, per her instructions. Then he let his family help, to try and lighten the load. And he lost either way.

And James was well along that same path.

It didn't feel like there was any winning. Not for any of them.

Hild tilted her head to study him, then glanced down at the kettle. His silence must have been answer enough.

Eventually, Caspar brought out that promised water. When James noticed his approach, James quickly wiped his eyes before looking to him. Caspar took the seat by the couch again, silently handed him the glass, and stared out the window to the front porch.

7 rolled around. Sunlight poured into the living room through the kitchen door. It illuminated dust particles and the equipment left on the table. With the couch facing the dark fireplace again, James lied quietly in shadow.

Larrel came downstairs. She looked tired, but she went to James first before anyone else.

Bidding her a soft good morning, Caspar got up and headed upstairs. To change, and to give them space to have...chats.

In the loft, he ducked under hanging dreamcatchers as he navigated the mess of art supplies and laundry he'd left on the floor. He sighed self-consciously, then figured it didn't really matter. He shed and tossed aside his stained shirt, then gave a relatively clean-looking from by the mattress a whiff. Good enough.

He perched on the edge of his bed to untie and set aside his shoes. Sighed again, and wearily scrubbed his hands over his face. Exhaustion made his bones feel heavy like concrete, it'd have been easier to list what wasn't sore or achey.

Before he knew it, he was on his back, facing the ceiling. The sun looked down at him through the small window overhead. He slung an arm across his eyes.

Just a few minutes, then he'll be back down for breakfast.

It felt like it took an hour for James to get his bearings, ever since he woke up. He was able to mutter another healing spell over himself when finally left alone, but getting rid of some of the physical pain didn't rid him of the lingering burning sensation in his veins, or the anxiety that wound up like a knot in his chest.

He wasn't used to this: having people to wake up to. For so many years, he faced troubles like this alone. He'd grown accustomed to a rhythm of waking up to a mess he had to clean up by himself. Each dead body he'd had to bury had been another face to add to all the lives he carried with him, but somehow, dealing with corpses seemed far easier than this.

Now, suddenly having to face his sister, it was infinitely more difficult to rationalize away how routine all of this had become. Before she even woke up or spoke a word he could already see and hear the disappointment. The worry. The way his mere presence pained her - and he hated that he felt like a burden she had to bear. He hated that he was a constant source of pain for her, even when he kept so much hidden, and never told her the half of what he'd survived or run from.

He hated that she would blame herself for playing a part in this - as if she could've known she was being tracked. He wished she never even had to consider the possibility. He wished she didn't have to worry about putting him in danger just to visit him.

Sometimes he wished they weren't related at all. Not for lack of love, but because he knew it hurt her more than anything to have him as a brother.

He didn't know what to say to her. He didn't know if he could meet her eyes.

When she finally came down and sat beside him, he couldn't bring himself to look up - too afraid that eye contact alone would make him break. And he didn't want to cry. He didn't want Larrel to feel like she had to comfort him when she was angry. He wanted her to get a chance to say what she needed to say without the interruption of tears.

He waited for her to say something, but the silence between them dragged on.

"I want to be angry with you," Larrel finally said, her voice tight. Quiet.

"But I'm just sad," she said, her voice already starting to waver. "I feel lied to, and I feel like I'm losing my brother. And I'm scared for you, James. I'm scared that one day you're going to disappear, and I'll never even know, because you've pushed everyone away, and there's no one left to know. I--"

His throat grew tight when he heard her bite back a cry.

"I don't want to lose you, James," she said. "But I don't know what to do anymore. I can't help if you won't let me. No one can if you won't let us."

James was trying desperately to keep his mouth in a straight line, but his lips began to tremble despite it all.

"Do you want to die?" Larrel whispered hoarsely.

James closed his eyes, unable to fight it anymore.

So much for not crying. He didn't even last very long.

"No," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

"Then why do you keep doing this?" Larrel asked, and though he wasn't looking, he could hear the pull of tears on her voice.

She was crying too.

"Why do you keep going in alone?" she pressed.

James finally dared to look at her, but when he did, it broke his heart.

Tears streaked down her weary face, and worry creased her forehead. In her tearful eyes he could see the eyes of their mother, and both would look at him with the same look: like they weren't sure he was going to make it. Not because of anyone else, but because of himself.

Tears fell down James's cheeks.

"Because I'm the only one who can," he whispered back. "But now--"

He took in a sharp, shaky breath.

"Constantine," James said. "He's told the others about you. About Hild, and Caspar, and Lyall, and..."

It was overwhelming. James couldn't help but feel helpless.

He felt like he'd ruined everything. In the span of a week, he'd put all of their lives in danger, not just from one person, bur from many more to come. And who was to say how long they'd keep coming?

Constantine's threat echoed in his mind.

As long as you keep running, he wins.

James knew a final confrontation was inevitable.

But would James ever be ready? Could he ever accomplish what Eir did? How would he ever be able to fill her shoes?

He didn't know anymore.

Larrel felt like she was losing a brother, but James felt like he was constantly watching the whole world slip away, out of his grasp. Constantly. Always. Because if he didn't protect it, there were no more sorcerers with power and skill like his who could step up and stop Ivar if - or rather, when he came back again.

Larrel reached in and gently wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. But James found himself too weary to return it.

She held his head against her shoulder, letting him cry into her sweater.

"I'm sorry," James cried quietly, his voice muffled.

"I know," Larrel cried in return, resting her head above his.

"I love you," James said, finally reaching around her to hug her in return. She hugged back tighter.

"I love you too," she said. But he could hear the pain in her voice.

He wondered if it would always be there; if he was destined to be the wound in her side forever.

For a minute, they both cried in one another's embrace - neither making much noise, but getting one another's shoudlers very wet with tears. When Larrel finally pulled away, she met his eyes with a resigned sadness he was all too familiar with.

"Was giving me the gun just for show?" she asked quietly. "Or did you think I'd actually get to use it?"

The question cut deep, like a blade between his ribs.

"It wasn't just for show," James answered, his voice small.

He really was being honest, but the look in her eyes told him she didn't believe him.

Larrel got to her feet with a small sigh.

"I'm still a good shot, you know," she said. And he knew there was no humor in her reminding him.

She was being serious.

"I know," he said, just as sincere, but at a loss for how to convince her.

Larrel looked down at him, resting her hands in her pockets as she looked him over. He could tell she was glancing over the scars that were new. Or... new to her.

"I know you might be comfortable with being close to death," Larrel said. "But you're not a god. And you're not Eir. And you can't keep trying to be."

James didn't know what to say to that.

It hurt to hear, but he knew she wasn't wrong.

He looked down, unable to meet her eyes again at the guilt that pulled at him again.

"I know," he said, barely audible.

"Then start acting like it," Larrel said.

And this time, she waited for no answer as she turned and left to go into the kitchen.

After sleeping off the frustration of the day prior, and lying awake from 7 to 8 with nothing but his own thoughts for company, Lyall replayed yesterday's events with a clearer mind.

He'd only really known James for a little over a week. They connected, built rapport, and already faced near-Death together once. But he had a hard time justifying the way he reacted to James's solo confrontation with Constantine, with just this short of amount of time they'd known each other.

He was only bewildered and even frustrated when James had run off. Lyall was trying to have a conversation, dammit. The moment the darkness descended on the forest, and Lyall completely lost sight of him, he panicked a little. A lot.

Fair, he reasoned, fine. He wasn't sure if they'd crossed the threshold and into 'Officially Friends' territory, but they certainly cared about each other's wellbeings in the way any decent person should. And it was basic human decency that led to those events of Aaron Keller.

Hard as Lyall tried, he couldn't see into Constantine's darkness. There wasn't any hope of finding them until the fight was over. And when he did finally see James, Lyall just. Snapped.

He wasn't angry in spite of or regardless of the fact that the hunter was quite severely wounded. It was because of it. It could've been avoided! Probably easily!

James had four people at his back, ready to help, ready to fight with him, and he just. Ran off. And it very likely wasn't his intention, but leaving them behind felt like...they didn't matter. Even though he was obviously doing it for them--

Look, it's a pickle, and Lyall was only just beginning to make sense of things.

He was mad at James's stupidity. And he hated how familiar it was, to watch someone he cared about and wanted to help, just abandon him. Seemingly without a second thought. "For the greater good," or some such noble nonsense, and he was sick of it. Sick of how it was a constantly recurring pattern in his life.

First it was his own mother, deciding she'd rather die facing witch hunters alone, than stick with her family and try literally anything else. Then it was Caspar, constantly popping in and out of his life for dutiful purposes like 'maintaining balance between worlds'. And latest in the game now was James, taking on the problems of the entire freaking world by himself, without even asking if anyone wanted him to!

It felt like he was surrounded by people with savior complexes. And Lyall was done with it.

Feeling quite justified, Lyall arrived once more to a final conclusion: he and James hadn't known each other long enough to warrant Lyall's outburst, and certainly not to warrant sticking around for much longer than he had to.

And so he rose and got dressed for a new day, ready to simply put it all behind him.

Lyall passed through the living room with a casual, "Good morning," to Hild and James, and into the kitchen. He offered Larrel there a friendly greeting as he helped himself to freshly brewed coffee, then set about to clearing the dining table of his equipment.

Notably, Caspar wasn't present. His car was still outside, and it was too late for him to be out on a run.

"Has our host finally run off on us?" Lyall asked, glancing his sister's way.

"No," she said, "hopefully just asleep. He went upstairs, but hasn't been back down in a bit."

Lyall hummed. As he tucked away glass vials into a padded compartment in his bag, he tried mentally recalling the name of the pilot who flew him into Curio. Andrei...Petrov? He'll know him if he saw him. If he could help it, Lyall preferred to fly back out with a pilot he already knew.

Larrel came up beside him, leaning against the table as she looked at him, watching.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

Lyall hummed. "Quite rested. And yourself?"

Larrel shrugged.

"I was knocked out for a bit," she said. "Still a bit tired, though. All that stress wound up inside of me, you know?"

Pausing, Lyall met her eyes now. "You performed remarkably well under pressure," he said gently. "That said, take care to rest more when you need it."

Larrel nodded. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I'll probably nap later, if I can. I'm... still not sure what's next after this."

She paused, looking out into the living room, gaze lingering on the couch where her brother still laid.

"I might have to quit my job," she said with a small sigh. "Not super thrilled about that."

Lyall straightened and cast her a concerned look. "Why's that? They gave you a week of vacation time, right?"

Larrel hesitated, her brows pinching together as she cast him a sideways glance.

"I guess... he hasn't told all of us, yet," Larrel said.

Lyall frowned a bit. Foreboding.

"Told us what?" he pressed.

Larrel winced, looking away with a frown.

"James, you should--" she started.

"Constantine knew about all of us," James said. "Not just me."

Staring ahead at the window, Lyall finished packing up his supplies. That could've been a bluff. Didn't Constantine come alone?

"More will come," James said faintly. "I'm sorry."

From the chair pulled beside the couch, Hild looked down at her coffee.

Lyall felt his frown deepen. His sister, he recalled, had carved out a life for herself. Maybe in due time, she'd have to leave anyway, but she still had at least a couple decades before then. She should have had that time, anyhow.

He wondered how easily Caspar might be able to pick up his life, too. So far, Lyall couldn't recall the man mentioning any friends in this area. Which concerned him in a different way.

Lyall strapped his bag shut, and set it by the front door. "In that case," he said, "we all best prepare to depart, assuming we want to avoid further trouble."

Larrel looked at Lyall more pointedly.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Standing frozen by the door, Lyall idly pat his hand to his leg. "...Probably a variety of locations," he answered slowly. "Put some distance between ourselves--"

Hild looked up sharply at that. "That's your plan? Split up?"

Lyall huffed. "It's my plan for me." He gestured to Hild. "I mean, you of course are welcome to come with me."

Larrel let out a wry laugh.

"As if we're all not on Ivar's hit list, now," Larrel said. "You really want to split up? We saw how well that went with James."

"Yes," Lyall said pleasantly, and against his better judgement went on, "quite brilliantly. All according to his plan, I'm sure."

Hild's glare turned heated. "Tread lightly, brother," she said lowly.

Lyall looked back to her, betrayed. Was she seriously not on his side here?

"What I'm trying to say is, we should stick together," Larrel butt in. "I know half of us are strangers, but if Ivar's coming for all of us, we all have a better chance if we actually stay together. I know my brother's an idiot but he is good at what he does."

"I'd agree," Lyall said. "And since he's so good at what he does, I'm sure he'll do fine without the rest of us."

"Lyall!" Hild barked.

"Listen, I'm pissed off at him too," Larrel said, hands on her hips. "I just think the last thing any of us should do is run off alone right now!"

"Well, yes," Lyall said, "if we wait any longer, then we surely decrease our chances of successful evasion."

"Then we don't have to delay," Larrel said firmly. "Let's figure this out now so when Caspar wakes up we have a plan."

"We have a plan!" Lyall swept both arms toward the door. "Run! Which has been any and every sorcerer and immortal's plan, at any given point throughout our history."

Hild threw a hand in exasperation. "Do you have to be so pig-headed all the time?"

Lyall bristled, and snapped, "I prefer the term 'opinionated,' and only when it's least convenient for you."

"We already know we're going to run," Larrel cut in. "I'm talking about deciding practically, together where we should go. We have more resources at our disposal if we share them, anyway."

"And I'll be happy to share anything you might need," Lyall answered, trying his best to calm himself now, "and replenish later on down the road. But I'll be going my own way for as long as I can't trust whether we'll be an actual team."

Larrel sent Lyall a sharp glare, her mouth turning into a harsh, pouted frown as she set her hands at her hips.

"You won't have any problems with me," she said.

Lyall paused, then backed down, deflated. He rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced off. "...I misspoke," he muttered, "and I'm sorry. I'm sure you know what I meant, though."

There was a beat of silence at Larrel bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at him. It looked like she wanted to say something more, but just as she went to open her mouth--

"I have something to say," James cut in, his voice quiet, and low.

No one said anything. Larrel crossed her arms. Lyall set his hands on his hips and stared stubbornly at the empty fire place.

"Over the past year," James said steadily. "Ivar's attempts on my life have become unusually persistent. I'd grown accustomed to maybe eight or ten attempts a year as a part of life, but in the past year, it's been more than twenty - and each servant he's sent has been increasingly violent and vicious. For years, I've withdrawn from society and kept limited contact with people I trust in business, but little else. But in the past year I withdrew even more - intentionally so - cutting off all contact with anyone I knew for a time. It was only recently that I opened up contact with you again, Larrel, in hopes to reconnect... before it was too late."

He paused, and a heavy silence followed for only a moment before he filled it.

"Under Eir's counsel, I'd been taught to avoid involving anyone else in my affairs as much as possible. If others could be prevented from harm, it was only right to use every means necessary to do so. She'd convinced me, that of all people, I could bear it, and that it was and is my duty to do so, as it was hers. And I can't say honestly that I don't still feel the weight of that responsibility. I have every day of my life since the Resurgence, and even more so as Ivar's influence over the earth seems to grow with each passing day. I do not think confrontation with him an option anymore. I know it is inevitable - if not in the presence of Ivar, in the presence of another pupil. I cannot say who will have the final victory."

James swallowed, drawing his hands together over his belly. The motion was surprisingly meek, and still, he didn't look up to meet anyone's eyes as he set his focus on his own hands.

"I am grateful for everything Eir taught me," he said quietly, "But it's become evident that not all of it was right. Not only was she wrong, but I've been wrong. Wrong to think that such a burden is meant for one person to carry - or that one person can. Even in her last moments... I knew that if she'd not been so determined to bear the brunt of the cost, that maybe, she'd still be here."

It became evident, at this point, that James was stubbornly holding back tears.

"I always thought it would be too presumptuous to think anyone would willingly bear this with me and too cruel to ask anyone to. It's been in my nature so long to do it alone that it's terrifying to consider anything different," he said. "But I see now that in all of this I've only managed to hurt everyone I care about. Even the people I just met.

"I am deeply sorry. And Larrel, I know I've hurt you most. Beyond what any sister should have to endure."

James closed his eyes, managing to push back whatever tears were trying to come through, and he took in a deep breath.

"I do not expect forgiveness, and you do not owe it to me," he went on. "I only wish to tell you I am sorry for every way I've caused you grief, to every degree, by robbing you of the choice to help. I see now that not only was it foolish and self destructive, but it's insulting to all of you and your capabilities, as well as your will, and your emotions."

Taking in one last breath, James sighed.

"With time, for whoever chooses to remain with me long enough to see it, I hope I can prove myself capable of change," James said quietly. "But I understand if you must go your own way."

There was a small pause.

"That's all," he said, his voice falling to a quiet mutter.

That's all.

Lyall huffed and began pacing in front of the windows.

It wasn't that he didn't want friends. The past decades had been lonely as hell, and maybe that was why he took to James and Larrel's company so quickly. Maybe that was why he'd forgotten Caspar's terrible, hurtful tendency to likewise disappear with nary a warning. Lyall wasn't sure how much longer he could go it alone, but he didn't think he could bear the constant worry that they'd leave again, just to finally get themselves killed.

He couldn't.

Turning back to the room, he finally looked directly at James.

James looked up at Lyall for only a moment, briefly meeting his eyes with heartfelt remorse. But just as quickly, James looked away, back at his hands. The hunter was still mildly bruised and scuffed up from his last fight; and he just looked so damn sad.

Just past the couch, Lyall caught sight of Caspar silently taking a seat on the darkened stairs. Eyes tired, shoulders sloped downward as he leaned on his knees. Watching expectantly, as if Lyall held his very life in his hands.

Glancing down at his toes, Lyall shuffled in place. This was a rare instance where he actually had control over a situation-- even rarer, he was at a loss for how to proceed.

Looking at his bag by the door, all he could really think of was how much he didn't want to be alone anymore.

The Hawkes were probably firmly a package deal. Which he respected. He wasn't sure about Hild nor Caspar, but this was really feeling like an all or nothing kind of decision.

With a deep sigh, Lyall supposed he could bear the 'all', if only for a little while.

"Did you have any potential next steps in mind?" he eventually asked Larrel.

Larrel pursed her lips, shifting her weight to one hip.

"I got the bush pilot's number that flew me out here," she said. "He seems open, friendly, and hopefully morally gray enough not to ask questions. At least, that's what I got out of our conversation. He'd probably be willing to help us out a bit - at least, to get us out undetected. You know, without records of it."

"Promising," Hild said, "if a bit..." She waved dismissively. "Will he be able to fit five, plus luggage?"

"We will be sardines," Larrel said. "But at least secret sardines."

Caspar huffed a quiet laugh from the stairwell. "And if not, I can always drive. We'd just have to decide on a...meet-up point."

"I think you'd fit, Caspar," Larrel said. "There should be space. I mean, it'll be cozy, but. I wasn't lying."

With a second's hesitation, he shrugged. "Make sure to pack light, then."

"Already did," Larrel said with a small grin. "And James lives out of a backpack, so."

Caspar laughed softly again.

"We should wait maybe a day or so," Hild spoke up. Her eyes were fixed on her phone on the table. "Let James fully recover, and allow proper time for packing up and...farewells."

Lyall looked askance. "Right. That would be best."

To give her time to come to terms with...a life here cut unexpectedly short.

"Is there anything left at your home," Caspar asked Larrel, "that you'd want to grab on the way?"

Larrel hesitated.

"I'm... I'll have to make a lot of calls," she said. "But I did come prepared for the worst. Us Hawkes have that in common."

"S'good. In. Complicated ways." Coming the rest of the way down the stairs, Caspar unlatched a door to under the stairwell that Lyall hadn't quite noticed before, and poked around inside. "You guys already have breakfast yet?"

"I had some," Larrel said.

Caspar briefly peeked over his shoulder at her. "Any leftovers?"

Larrel smirked.

"You're hungry? You've hardly even slept, Caspar," she said.

He snorted. "I've hardly eaten since yesterday, too."

"There's some leftover eggs and sausage I left covered on a plate by the stove," she said. "Have at it."

"Thank you." He stood with a shovel propped on his shoulder, and a large roll of canvas under his other arm. "In a bit. I'll be back."

With a slight frown, Lyall watched him head for the door. "Where...?"

At Caspar's pointed look, he recalled their exact situation out in the woods. Oh. Hm. Right, they had another body on their hands, didn't they?

James started to sit up, looking ready to jump off the couch.

"I can help," he said.

Lyall bit his tongue, to keep from making some needless, snide remark.

Caspar glanced James over. "Like that?" he asked.

James, already on his feet, hesitated as he looked down at himself, shirtless, covered in bandages, and lacking any shoes.

He let out a small sigh.

"Can you give me a minute?" James asked. "I want to look at the body."

Caspar inclined his head. "I'll be outside."

James turned, hurrying into the bedroom to get dressed.

Lyall didn't argue as the other two departed. It was fine. He didn't feel like caring too much at the moment, couldn't bring himself to. So he silently swept into the kitchen for another cup of coffee instead.

The percolator was empty. With a sigh, he set about to brewing a new batch. Lit the stove with a small flame of his own making (even as it mildly burned his fingers). Then, while he waited, distracted himself with cleaning down the entire kitchen.

Admittedly, he was still lowkey stewing. The cupboards groaned a bit from the harsh scrubbing. When the black burn marks on his hands began spreading again, he threw aside the cleaning rag into the sink and sat on the floor, back against the scrubbed cupboard. Lyall sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

If the patterns of his previous lives were anything to go by, a falling out later down the road was unavoidable. But he'd already agreed, so he had to at least try and make this work. For as long as it could. If not for anyone in this house, then for...the greater good. As part of some grand scheme where they, a handful of people from whom life had already stolen so much, were all that were left standing between Ivar and the rest of an oblivious world.

Ugh. 'Greater good.'

Footsteps entered the kitchen, and Larrel stepped in, looking down at him. Lyall straightened a bit, and crossed his ankles to appear more...natural. It probably didn't work.

Larrel stopped, shifting her weight to one hip as she watched him, saying nothing for a moment.

"Can I sit with you?" she eventually asked.

Glancing up, he nodded and slid over a bit. "Be my guest," he said, patting the floor beside him.

Larrel drew near and plopped down beside him, leaning back heavily on the cupboard door behind her. She let out a long sigh.

Lyall felt a pang of guilt. If anyone had the right to be angry right now, it was her. For having to deal with not just the roaming life of an immortal, but also a largely absent brother hellbent on saving everyone else.

"I'm...sorry," he quietly said. "Again. For misdirecting my frustration toward you. It was unwarranted."

"I'm honestly surprised you got as upset as you did," Larrel said. "Considering you've only know him for... what, a week?"

Lyall huffed a weak laugh. "I am too." Tilting his head, he shrugged. "I suppose nearly...dying together at least once does wonders for the foundation of a...new friendship."

"Bonding over shared trauma," Larrel said with a slow nod. "It works."

It...seemed so.

He spared a sideways glance at her. "He's always been like this, hasn't he."

"I don't think he makes friends any other way," Larrel said. "At least, ever since he found out he was a mage. Which was forever ago."

Lyall nodded. A small part of him of course wanted to ask more about that.

Another, louder part of him simply didn't want to give the hunter much more thought at the moment, so he asked instead, "What about you?" He shifted a bit, angling himself to face her a little more, and slipped into a breezier tone of voice. "You've a very charming, amicable disposition. People must be drawn to you. No shortage of potential friends, hm?"

"I do have lots of friends back home," Larrel said. "And when I came out here to see James, I knew there was a very real possibility I'd have to leave them behind. I tried to say my goodbyes, already. As much as I can, all things considered."

Lyall's heart sank. Aside from those necessary calls, that explained why she was so ready to simply hit the road.

She looked down into her lap, her eyes weary and full of sadness. It was deeply reminiscent of how her brother wore sorrow.

"This was the first time James told me where he was in years," she said. "He'd always tell me things after the fact, sometimes months down the line. This was the first time he reached out like this in a long time."

She tucked her legs up, bringing her arms around them to hug them.

"He never said it, but I can tell. He's scared," she said softly.

Lyall never would've guessed.

Folding his hands in his lap, he glanced down at the floor. "...Safe to say," he murmured, "we all are."

Larrel looked up at the ceiling, leaning her head back.

"What about you?" she asked quietly. "Are you leaving anything behind?"

He sighed deeply, and answered honestly, "Not really. Whatever connections I had before here?" He shrugged. "Surface level, really. So I was able to leave for 'new solo opportunities', and...be out of their lives. As painlessly as possible."

It kinda of hurt to think, but he was quite sure the last band he joined forgotten about him already. Probably even replaced him by now.

"That sounds really lonely," Larrel said softly.

Silently, Lyall just nodded.

"And you were going to go keep doing the same thing?" Larrel asked. "Before I put my foot down?"

"I..." Yeah. He supposed he was. "I mean--" He shrugged. "I was hoping that Hild would join me this time, and we could. Really reconnect on the way, if she were willing. So, not the exact same thing."

"And if she didn't?" Larrel asked.

"Then...yeah." Lyall sank down a bit. "The same thing."

"That's kind of depressing," Larrel said.

He huffed a wry laugh. "It is, isn't it?"

"I mean, it's really not much different from what my brother's been doing, if you think about it," Larrel said. "Much less risky. But just as depressingly lonely."

He stared ahead at the wall. Before he could react:

"I don't mean to like, come for you or anything," Larrel added, a little softer. "I just... I don't know. It's just ironic, to me, I guess. But I get it. A lot of immortals end up like that. They get tired of trying. Tired of feeling things. Tired of caring. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted, and that's just with my brother."

...That was all.

They were all so exhausted. If he was honest, each one of them had lived far longer than any average human should be able to handle. And short of morbid, tragic endings, they were destined to simply keep existing. Keep closing old chapters, with no foreseeable end to their stories.

Drawing up his knees, Lyall leaned his elbows on them and buried his face in his hands.

"I mean, that's what James says is wrong with Ivar, you know," Larrel said. "He's ancient, and lived so long he's basically gone crazy. Completely bonkers. Unhinged. Kookoo, if you will. So detached from the world that he's forgotten what its like to be human."

Lyall dropped his hands and stared at the chair across from them.

Caspar had described Ivar quite similarly. But mostly put on emphasis on the word 'lost', which sounded quite...empathetic when the giant of a man said it.

"Not saying you'll get like Ivar if you keep being a loner," Larrel said. "But I like to use him as my barometer, you know? I gotta stay connected to people so I don't end up like him. He's like, the tragically evil 'bad ending' none of us want to find ourselves reaching. Except, of course, now he's made all his problems our problems. So I hate him for that. And for wanting to murder my brother. So he gets no sympathy from me. If I ever see that guy I'm going to shank him so hard he wishes his mom was still alive so he could go crying to her."

She made a sudden stabbing motion, despite having no weapon, but then let out a weak laugh.

"Sorry, I'm just... pissed off that that crazy man's ruined my brother's life," she said. "And so many others'."

Lyall mustered a grin. "Rightfully so," he agreed. "He deserves a good shivving."

"So true," Larrel said emphatically.

His next smile was a little more genuine. "He better sleep with one eye open," he murmured, "Larrel Hawke's coming for him."

"Well I'm not going after him alone," Larrel said with a little grin. "And... well, I don't know how feasible all of that is anyway. But... yeah. That's the dream."

Lyall hummed a laugh. They needed better dreams.

"You'll have the rest of us," he said. "Maybe we could stand a chance."

Larrel looked at him with a smirk, raising a brow.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked. "You're in for the whole 'kill the ancient crazy god' quest?"

Though he smiled, he feigned annoyance and huffed, "Since it seems that's the only way we'll ever get a moment's peace again."

"To peace, then," Larrel said, miming as she raised an imaginary glass, as if to toast.

With a laugh, Lyall mimicked her. "To peace, then."

Larrel grinned, and pretended to down her imaginary drink like a shot. Lyall did likewise, then set his imaginary glass upside down on the floor.

"...Coffee's done," he realized. "Could've toasted with that."

"'Cept I don't drink coffee," Larrel said. "Unless you want me talking a thousand words a minute."

"Ohhh, right."

"It's my fatal flaw," Larrel said.

"Well, it's not mine," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "So I'm having some."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky me." He grabbed two mugs from the rack hanging over the stove anyway. "How about tea, then?"

"That would be lovely," she said, getting up beside him.

James caught up with Caspar on the porch. His outfit was a little thrown together, but he didn't want to keep Caspar waiting, and everyone had already seen him disheveled that morning. He'd clean up later.

Together, they walked out into the forest, following the direction James remembered running before the confrontation.

The underbrush outside of the cabin was still overgrown, and the edges of brambles and bushes were still singed, like a small fire had brushed up against them. In the path they followed, James could see a few dried spots of blood dripping along the way.

Probably his.

Caspar's strides were a bit longer than James's, so James had to take an extra step for every one Caspar did. Hurrying to keep up, James walked at his side.

"I'm sorry this has happened twice, now," he said, compelled to say something to break the silence.

Caspar glanced at him over his shoulder. He looked unsure of how to respond at first. "It's, uhm--" He looked back down at his feet as they walked. "I only wish I was better prepared for the situation."

"I understand that," James said slowly, letting a small lull pass.

"I... assume you heard everything?" James asked, a little more hesitant.

Caspar grimaced. "More or less." Quieter, he asked, "You're used to working alone, right?"

"Yes," James said, matching Caspar's volume. His footsteps slowed when he caught sight of the heap ahead of them in the forest.

"Definitely a product of Eir's teachings." Caspar slowed to a complete stop, to face James. "A deeply ingrained mindset," he added. Voice soft, and with understanding in his expression.

James hesitated to a stop, looking up to meet Caspar's eyes.

"How... how well did you know her?" he asked.

"Like family," Caspar answered. "Since...childhood. She was a great protector, but never could accept help."

Ah.

And of course, he'd become just like her, hadn't he?

"It's... unfortunate you didn't get to see her," James offered. "Before she passed."

With a sad smile, Caspar looked down to the forest floor. "Yeah. More so, though, that she hadn't learned by then, it seems." Looking James in the eye again, Caspar lightly patted him on the shoulder. "I get where you're coming from, alright? Unlearning a century's worth of doing things one way, doesn't just come undone in a few days."

"Are you speaking from experience?" James asked softly, looking up at him.

Drawing in a breath, Caspar just nodded.

James nodded slowly in return, turning his head to look out at the corpse not far from them.

"I see," was all he said.

Stepping away, Caspar cleared his throat and nodded to the body. "Verdict? Vampire, or no?"

James glanced up at him, and started walking again, this time a little faster.

"Multiple animal heads," he said. "More akin to a chimera, but with more of a human body."

"Probably not a vampire, then." Caspar paced to the other side of Constantine's charred body. The animal heads were slack-jawed, and the cavernous chest hollowed out by the fire.

"That the nippy one?" he asked, gesturing to the snake head.

James stopped by Constantine's head.

"The snake, yes," he said. "Though they all were... nippy."

Caspar was silent as he looked between the heads, and the clawed limbs. Then looked to James, brows knitted together as if he was studying him too. "He either came really underprepared," he mumbled, "or he wasn't aiming to kill..."

James glanced up at Caspar.

"You think he was just sent here to die? To send a message?" he asked. "Or are you saying you think there are others?"

"Gods, I hope there aren't." Caspar quickly scanned around them. "I...don't really know what to think. But the amount of damage dealt between the two of you is, um. Really uneven, which feels like he might've been holding back."

James hummed.

He'd been holding back too.

While the chest was burnt up, the rest of the body was relatively in tact. Caspar knelt down and cautiously poked at the pockets of Constantine's overcoat.

"Do you have experience with anything like this?" James asked, glancing up at Caspar.

Caspar seemed to be alluding that he could relate to James's situation a lot. James knew Caspar knew Eir, but he wondered just how deep the similarities went.

"Human chimeras are new," Caspar said. He grimaced as he reached into an inside pocket.

James squatted down beside the body, inspecting it alongside Caspar. While Caspar checked the coat pockets, James checked the pant pockets.

Pulling out a wallet, James started flipping through it, scanning the contents. Some cash, a card, and a fake ID that read: "Magnus Briar."

James glanced up at Caspar, then down at the wallet, and he openly took out the cash, putting it in his pocket.

"I suppose you won't be needing this," James said to the dead man.

Perhaps it wasn't in good humor to joke about looting his body, but he had to cope somehow.

"Find anything?" James asked Caspar.

"Yeah." Caspar tossed a phone and a set of keys onto the ground beside them.

"Brilliant," James said, picking it up. He turned it on, but understandably, the phone was locked. "I'll have to break into this later."

He stashed the wallet and phone away in his jacket pockets, turning his attention back to the body. He let out a small sigh.

"Well," he said. "I assume you're not feeling compelled to report this?"

Caspar huffed a dry laugh through his nose. "This one can...stay buried, where people probably hopefully won't ever find it." He pointed to a card on the key ring. "Looks like he booked a room in town. But since you mentioned potential 'others', I'm thinking it might be too risky to check."

James pursed his lips.

"Perhaps," James said.

Were he on his own, he'd probably check. But Caspar had a point. The room could be a setup, or a trap.

It was a depressing thought, though, that Constantine came all this way only to be defeated easily. Ivar had a cruel way of treating his followers as expendable.

"I may be able to get some information from him," James said, looking down at Constantine's face, already losing its color.

Brows raised to nearly his hairline, Caspar sharply looked up to James. "What."

"There's a spell for almost everything," James said. "If you know it."

With a bewildered shake of his head, Caspar gestured to the body. "Alright, go for it."

"It may be unsettling," James warned. "It will reanimate the corpse, but he won't be alive. It'll just allow us to talk to him. But I'm going to ask you to refrain from asking questions. Spells have these arbitrary limitations. In this case, you're only able to ask five questions of the corpse, and then the spell can never be used again. So words must be chosen wisely."

He paused.

"There's also no guarantee he'll be truthful," James admitted. "But it's worth a try."

Caspar scooted back a bit, but asked, "Okay, but what if I think I have a good question?"

"By all means," James said with a wave of his hand towards him. "I meant more... accidental questions. You know, how people can ask something meaningless. Like: 'right?' Or: 'do you understand?'"

Mouth forming an 'o', Caspar nodded. "Okay, right."

James offered Caspar a small smile. "Alright. Prepare to get creeped out."

Caspar gave another, determined nod. "Always."

Already prepared for this, James reached into his jacket and pulled out a stick of incense and a small clip to hold it upright. Sticking it into the ground, he pulled out a lighter and lit the tip, waiting for the smoke to start rising.

"Some things are just for show," he joked, even though the incense was legitimately necessary.

With a small sigh, he sat back on the ground near Constantine's many heads and set his focus, beginning the somatic movements with his hands. Muttering under his breath, he could feel the spell in motion, interacting with the dead body.

Constantine's eyes shot open, his pupils and iris alight with a temporary life. While James turned his attention to him, Caspar jumped back a little, startled.

"Welcome back," James said. "Temporarily."

But as expected, the corpse said nothing - the corpse would only respond to questions.

"Constantine," James said clearly. "Did Ivar send anyone else with you to Curio?"

The corpse's muscles twitched as Constantine's mouth began to move stiffly. "No," he croaked, the beast heads all groaning in unison.

James glanced over at Caspar.

"So he says," James said.

"We should," Caspar said carefully, shovel ready in hand, "maybe try to find out more about contacts in general."

"Good idea," James said. He turned to Constantine again.

"Who did you contact about me and my friends' whereabouts?" James asked.

The corpse laughed, hoarse and wet. "Everyone."

Well. That was unfortunate. He looked up at Caspar, serious, and unamused.

"I don't want to waste a question weeding out specifics," he said. "But I think it'd be safest to assume he's not lying."

Caspar nodded grimly. "Sounds about right."

James sighed, looking back down at Constantine with weariness, not looking forward to the intensity of the days to come, nor the danger they would all be in.

If Ivar was looking to take them all out, going to far as to call on everyone, if that was indeed true, then there was something else James had to be sure of. Ivar had been tracking James down for decades but had never gone to measures as drastic as these until now. So he needed to know:

"Is Ivar still trapped Below?" he asked.

Constantine fixed every eye on James. "No. Says he wants to personally kill you." He then turned his gaze to Caspar and spat, "And your pet. And he's running short on patience."

James sighed. Right. Personally. And Ivar wanted to kill his friends too, though it seemed like Constantine was exlusively picking out Caspar, possibly because of his connection to Eir.

Running a hand through his hair, he looked down at Constantine with exasperation. He dragged his hand to his face, resting it over his mouth for a moment as he thought through what to say next, and what would be most crucial to know.

James didn't think Constantine had reason to lie about Ivar being free again. Sure, it was a scare tactic, but James knew that Ivar would want to kill him personally - he'd known that for a long time. He just didn't think Ivar would actually do it, after all of the assassins he sent after him repeatedly over the years. Apparently his patience was growing thin. But so was James's.

Constantine must've known he was just a dog, sent to bring a message, but not meant to survive. It made James angry to think that Ivar had so much influence over a human soul to be able to convince someone to risk everything just for that. It made James wonder if he even should've killed Constantine in the first place, and if there could've been any other option. It made him wish the man would've been open to reason, instead of skipping right to taunting and violence. He was tired of all of the murders. He was tired of killing. Tired of people losing their lives on behalf of a crazy, ancient man who didn't know when to quit and had some deranged idea of how the world should be.

James flicked his eyes up to Caspar, searching if he had any burning questions.

They only had two left.

Caspar met James's look with understanding, and glanced down at Constantine in thought. Shuffling closer again, he asked, "Where do we find Ivar?"

James had been thinking the same thing.

Constantine stared up at Caspar with a glint of recognition in his eyes. "At the edge of the world," he answered.

"How convenient," James muttered. "I love traveling."

"Also cryptic," Caspar mumbled.

"I'm tempted to have him clarify," James said. "But we only have one question left."

A beat of silence.

"Well, that was all I had," Caspar eventually said.

Fine. He'd waste a question to clarify. James didn't want to sit above a rotting body all day thinking of a better one.

"Where on which edge of the world?" James pressed.

Constantine looked back to James. "In the north," he hissed.

And at that, the spell lifted, and any artificial life that filled the corpse left with a small gust of wind that passed between James and Caspar. Constantine's body fell limp once more, and the smell of death filled the air.

This was really happening, wasn't it? It was the beginning of the end. Either they were going to finally defeat Ivar once and for all, or the world was going to change forever.

But at present, they had to deal with this body first. James hated burying bodies of immortals, knowing there usually were no relatives or loved ones to even notice their absence. And in this case, the only one who'd probably miss Constantine was Ivar. But James wasn't sure Ivar was still capable of that emotion in a genuine way.

"Do you mind if I do the digging?" James asked, getting to his feet.

Caspar looked up at him, his confusion quickly giving way to something sad. Pushing himself upright as well with a grunt, he quietly held out the shovel for him.

James took it with a small nod.

"You know this forest best, and the places that get seen the most," James said. "Where would be the best place to bury him?"

With a small sigh, Caspar scanned the area. "I think...maybe a little farther north. My house is pretty removed from the trail as is, so we shouldn't need to go very far." He looked back down to the body. "...He's going to be bear to move."

"Between the two of us," James said. "We could make it work."

Caspar nodded. "Alright." He studied Constantine's faces and many arms. "You," he said slowly, "take the feet, I'll take the heads?"

James set his hand on his hip for a moment, and then tucked the shovel under his arm.

"Sure," he said.

And so they began their slow march through the forest.

Caspar carried the brunt of the weight with Constantine's multiple heads in the front. James tried to compensate for as much as he could, but with their height difference, and Caspar leading the pace, James felt like he wasn't doing enough, especially when he knew Caspar was exhausted. The poor man hadn't slept, so far as he knew, and now with the whole of Ivar's army soon to be on their tails, Caspar would need rest more than ever.

It was about a twenty minute walk, going north through the trees until they reached the spot Caspar seemed to have in mind. But James had a feeling Caspar may have merely grown tired, and settled on it being "far enough."

They dropped the body to the ground, neither exchanging any words as Caspar stepped back to rest and James quickly took up the shovel, rolled up his sleeves, and started digging.

Caspar went to the nearest tree to sit down and lean against it while James kept himself busy shoveling dirt. James noticed that, at some point, Caspar closed his eyes, so James made a note not to make more noise than necessary, and not to engage the man in conversation until the work was done.

It took about an hour to dig up a grave large enough for Constantine and his many heads, and by the time James finished, standing in the hole, six-feet deep, he was covered in dirt and sweat.

Lyall and Larrel would be irked that he'd exerted himself so much so soon after a near-death experience.

Good thing they weren't here.

Tossing the shovel out of the hole, James climbed up, noting that Caspar still seemed fast asleep, and he took it upon himself to pull the body in, managing to drag it to the edge and then lower it steadily, dropping it at his feet with a thump.

Now that Constantine was in the grave, James had to bury it all back up again. Fortunately, that took a little less time, since he could push some of it back in larger portions. It still, however, took about thirty minutes to fill the hole, and another five to do a small spell to restore the foliage and undergrowth of the forest over the grave, so it wouldn't be found.

Finally done, and thoroughly drenched in sweat, James leaned against a tree with a sigh.

Caspar looked so... peaceful. It felt wrong to disturb him, knowing that Caspar probably had trouble sleeping as it was, what with all the dream catchers in the house. It wasn't like he didn't notice.

But James knew Lyall, Larrel, and Hild would be expecting them back at the cabin sooner than later, and if they were gone for too long, they might start to worry. James had a feeling Lyall might've taken Larrel and Hild in to town to get their things, and for Hild to do what she had to, cutting ties.

When James paused to take out his phone and check, he found a text from Hild confirming what he already assumed. But it seemed like it had been written by Larrel, since it was... less gramatically correct.

They'd gone into town, the three of them. So maybe James had more time to waste than he initially thought.

Shooting a quick text back, he said: "I'll see you in the evening."

Vague, but sufficient enough.

With a small sigh, he looked at Caspar again, and then out into the forest. What were the odds that Caspar would fall back asleep if he woke him and they went back to the cabin? He couldn't be sure.

So he made the decision to let Caspar sleep, at least enough to get a full sleep cycle in. And what did James do in the meantime?

Fortunately, he had plenty of things to do while waiting, and he had enough of a signal on his phone to do it.

He started looking up travel routes, looking at maps, hotels, motels, and places they could stay that would take them nothward. He looked at flights, pricing, and started calculating the costs of travel for five people. Would it be better to drive Caspar's car, or would it be better to fly? A car might last them longer, but a plane would get them farther, faster, and if they drove, they'd have to stop more frequently, which meant higher risk of running into less-than-friendly opposition.

Slowly, he was able to come up with a plan. It was still loose, considering he'd have to run many things by the others before committing to anything - and, of course, he still had to break the news to them about Ivar. But at the very least, he was able to come up with something more concrete, and he didn't feel as lost for what to do next.

The edge of the world was still a vague location, but they were already in Canada. If they just kept going north... they'd get there eventually.

He didn't look forward to the mind-numbing cold, though. And fall was already in the works, meaning winter was a minute away.

Of course the ice giant would draw them north, into the freezing cold.

With a small sigh, he checked the time again, noting that about four hours had whizzed by as James paced the forest, lost in thought and research. Finally, he decided it would be best to move, and he came up to Caspar, standing beside him.

"Caspar," he called out at a regular volume, testing to see what would work to wake him.

Caspar started, and quickly scanned their surroundings with bleary eyes.

"It's almost 3pm," James said.

Caspar tilted his head with deep confusion. "Already?"

"You fell asleep," James informed him. "And I let you sleep."

"I did?" Rubbing his neck, Caspar glanced up at the sky, as if to tell the time from the sun himself. "Sorry about that," he mumbled. "Is...?"

"Buried, yes," James said.

He gestured to himself, still covered in dirt.

Caspar looked from the mound of dirt to James, and huffed a dry laugh. "You're filthy," he said plainly.

James spread his arms wide.

"Thank you for noticing," he said.

Caspar laughed again. "Yeah, it's a good look for you." He rubbed at his nose, then grimaced as he looked at his own hand. "If I can smell us, then we must be pretty bad."

"Do you have a bad nose?" James asked with a tilt of his head.

"Uh, generally, yeah." Caspar shrugged, then twisted around to look at the back of his coat. "We should wash off before we get back."

James raised a brow, catching on.

If they weren't going to go home to wash off, then Caspar must've meant the lake.

"I'll finally get to meet Evangeline?" he asked with a small smirk.

Caspar looked back to James with a slight grin. "Yeah, if she's around. I'll introduce you two."

Smiling wider, James offered Caspar a hand to help him up.

"I'd quite enjoy that," he said.

They reeked. Despite Constantine's body being practically half-cooked, there was a lot of rotting. Particularly of the heads, which were skinless? Bared muscle, which meant more raw surface area was exposed to the elements and stuff.

With a total of five heads to carry on his end, Caspar supported the bloodied body on his back for most of the way. And since shoveling for who-knew-how-long and having to drag the body into the grave on his own, James looked less like a man and more like some sort of mud creature.

Thankfully the lake was only about twenty minutes away on foot. And the sleep Caspar managed to steal had rejuvenated him enough for that distance.

Caspar briefly peered over his shoulder at his companion as they went. He hadn't meant to fall asleep on James, and actually wanted to offer to takeover halfway through, just to ease that burden a bit. Regardless, a part of him was appreciative, and frankly endeared, that the younger man didn't want to wake him.

The lake came into view as they stepped out from the tree line. Shrugging off his coat and draping it over his arm, Caspar paused to breathe in the cool air that hung over the water. In the distant mist, he spotted the small islands of trees in the middle of the lake. Then, nearer to where they stood, his boat, which he'd anchored by a line of large boulders that he liked to use as a natural dock.

Ever since the Aaron Keller breakthrough, Caspar hadn't been able to visit the lake in what felt like a small eternity.

Caspar looked to James. "Water's probably really cold."

"Is this where your cabin gets its water?" James asked beside him, hands in his jacket pockets.

Turning back, Caspar started for the boulder dock. "Probably."

"Then it's probably just as cold," James said as he followed.

"Fair enough." With a nod, Caspar began unbuttoning his flannel as he led the way out to the boat. He murmured instinctively, "Watch your step."

"Are you leaving your clothes on the beach? They stink just as much as the rest of you," James said, shrugging off his jacket.

"Well, I don't want to stink out the boat." Crumpling together his outer layers, Caspar tossed them a few feet from the water's edge behind them.

"Ah," James said. "Freeze our asses off it is, then."

Caspar chuckled. "You don't have to."

"Too late," James said, pulling off his shirt and tossing it to the ground along with his jacket. He threw them next to Caspar's clothes and kicked off his shoes and socks.

"I assume we're going swimming," James said. "So it's inevitable."

"Yeah, true." Caspar hopped a bit as he tugged off his boots, and chucked them one by one back to the growing pile. With a moment's hesitation, he took off his own shirt. Since they reached the boat by now, he just dropped it on the edge of the vessel.

"How many times did you come by the lake?" he asked.

"Quite a few," James said. "But I never went in, and I guess Evangeline was shy."

After taking off his own socks, Caspar dipped a foot in the water. Yeah, not too bad.

"You comfortable diving a ways down?" he asked, glancing back to James.

"So long as Evangeline isn't into live bait," James said casually.

Caspar snorted and waved dismissively. "She's too lazy for that."

"Good to know," James said, and he walked up to the edge of the boat he reached down to the ground, pulling up a reed of grass. As he did so, he made a circular motion around his chest, muttering a spell - again, in a language Caspar didn't know. Within a few seconds, there was a glow that seemed to seep into James's chest, briefly outlining the shape of his lungs.

The glow faded as quickly as it came, and Caspar realized the reed of grass was gone. He faintly smiled in open awe.

"I keep forgetting you can do stuff like that," he murmured, welcoming his friend into the boat with a sweep of his arm.

"What, magic?" James asked with a small smirk.

"Yeah."

James chuckled.

"Well, if we're going to be stuck together for a while, I imagine you'll get used to it eventually," James said, stepping into the boat.

"Maybe," he mused, "but probably not."

Caspar wasn't often in the company of magic-users. He could recall that, when he and Lyall were still first getting to know each other, he never really could get over how amazing it was whenever the younger man explored the full breadth of his abilities.

Stepping in after James, Caspar picked up the oars from the flat floor of the boat, and rowed them out somewhere in the vast middle of the lake. Once it felt they'd ventured out far enough, he dropped anchor and set the oars down across the bench-like seats.

Caspar nodded to James and quietly asked, "How're you feeling? With the, uh..." And he gestured vaguely to the hunter's healed wounds.

He wasn't entirely sure how it all worked. But in his experience, healing spells didn't always fully relieve pain. He wondered if the same generally applied to self-healing.

James looked over to Caspar, eyes flicking down to the already scarred-over areas on his chest and shoulder.

"I healed myself some more while you were asleep," James said. "I'm fine."

A pause.

"Maybe a little tired," he admitted hesitantly. "But I recover quickly."

Caspar nodded, reassured by that. "S'good," he said earnestly. "Nothing you can't sleep off at this point, right?"

James offered a small smile. "That'll help, for sure."

Not a resounding yes. Deciding not to press now, Caspar just nodded his understanding. "Alright."

Another beat of silence.

Caspar awkwardly patted his knees and eventually said, "Welp. This feels indecent, but we're all friends here." Then stood and tugged off his jeans in preparation for the deep dive.

James snorted at that.

"It's better than being half sopping wet for the walk home. But you know, I have a spell that could dry you off easily," James said. "It doesn't even expend much energy to do."

Brows raised, Caspar nodded. "Very handy." He folded his trousers and tossed them onto the seat behind himself. "Still easier to swim without all the drag."

James rolled up his pants to his knees.

"I'll work harder instead of smarter, today," James said.

Caspar grinned. "Fair enough."

Without further ado, he stepped up onto the seat and fell back, arms out, into the water.

It rushed past his ears, distorted the pastel-colored sky above as he sank. The cold was shocking at first; if he wasn't awake before, he sure was now. Swimming a little deeper, he quickly adjusted.

Turning over again, he spotted James not to far behind. The hunter had taken a moment to tie his hair back before jumping in, it seemed. Sure enough, he didn't even have to bother holding his breath as he kept a steady pace.

The emerald water around them grew murky the deeper they went. Caspar began to suspect that maybe he dropped anchor a little too soon, until a log far down on the lake's bottom began to shift. Mud clouded about the shape, and a low rumble reverberated through the water.

There she was!

Muck and algae slowly fell away as Evangeline shook her massive head. Errant rays of light caught on her scales and open maw as she yawned. Then, catching sight of them above, she waved her wide flippers and began to ascend.

The ridge of her back and long tail closely resembled a sturgeon, but the rest of her looked closer to a prehistoric reptile--long neck, sharp teeth, and all. Kelp was tangled about the sweeping whiskers under her chin. Recognition flashed in her dark, wide-set eyes, and she opened her long jaws in what looked like a smile.

Caspar swam deeper to meet her in the middle, and gave her nose a gentle rub in greeting. Then turned and subtly waved James closer.

James swam up beside him, his eyes bright with curiosity as he stopped, turning to Evangeline. She paused, staring likewise with interest, before giving him a small, experimental nudge to the chest with her nose.

James gently responded with a friendly pet along Evangeline's nose, and Caspar caught his broad smile, and the bubbles that escaped his mouth as he laughed. She slowly blinked at James, looking quite pleased. Then she turned back and gave Caspar a less gentle nudge, upward to the surface.

Caspar held back a laugh as best he could. This was either a friendship ended, or her being conscious of his personal inability to breathe water like them. Either way, she was right to usher him along. The air in his lungs was nearly spent.

He must not have been going fast enough for her liking. She eventually poked her nose at him until he grabbed hold of a ridged scale on her back, and she propelled faster until they broke through the surface.

Still clinging to her with one arm, Caspar pushed his hair from his eyes as he watched for James. He came up a few moments later, throwing his head back with a small splash as he surfaced. Evangeline floated along at a leisurely pace, with only her back and the top of her head peeking out from the water in typical lake monster fashion.

Caspar cast James a wide, out-of-breath grin. "What do you think?"

James looked over a him, practically beaming.

"She's marvelous!" he called back.

Caspar laughed and beckoned him over with a pat to Evangeline's side. "She took to you a lot faster than I thought she would!"

"Maybe it's the magical gills," James said, swimming over to them, close to Evangeline's head.

Caspar smiled at that. "She sensed a kindred spirit."

Evangeline blinked her acknowledgement to James, then ducked her sand-colored head back under the surface. In search of food, probably. She stayed afloat, though, since Caspar was still holding on.

"As mentioned," he said, now that he'd caught his breath, "she's in part a scavenger. Not as much as I made her out to be, though, for our dear friend's sake. She prefers the smaller fish that come around in schools--easier catch, I guess--and isn't against greens."

"I see," James said, poking his head back underwater.

Caspar laughed as he watched. James's amazement with Evangeline reminded Caspar of why he was so drawn to the edge of the Wilds in the first place. The excitement of new discovery, the hidden, natural beauty of the world.

Evangeline eventually lifted her head again, spurting water from her nostrils before swallowing a mouthful of kelp and fish.

James's head popped up beside hers with a wide smile.

"She's so tame," he said. "How long have you been interacting with her?"

James's joy was just so infectious.

"Just a few years," Caspar answered.

"A few years?" James asked. "That's a lot of history between you two! No wonder she's so comfortable."

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Believe it or not, she was pretty friendly to begin with. If a little elusive at first, but." He shrugged. "I'm assuming that was because she had a small one with her at the time."

"She had a child?" James asked, his smile fading a little. "What happened to it?"

"Oh! Nothing bad," Caspar quickly said. "It just came time for him to strike out on his own. I think he prefers the bay out east, because he doesn't come back here as often."

James let out a long "oh," nodding to himself.

"Well... that's good, then," James said simply, reaching out to pet Evangeline's head again.

Caspar let silence settle around them now as they swam in each other's company. Eventually, he let go to allow Evangeline to do her thing. And to get moving again to warm up.

Once she had eaten her fill, she took them around the floating islands of the lake. James would disappear beneath the surface every once in awhile, and Evangeline would follow his lead. When they were close to the surface, Caspar could see their silhouettes following each other, like a dance, or a game of tag.

At one point, Evangeline lifted her head while directly under James, and rose to her full height with him on the wide bridge of her nose. James held on, laughing like a little kid. As she twisted back around for their boat, she swept a broad fin over Caspar, splashing buckets of water on him. With a short, huffed laugh, he took hold of her tail and let her drag him back.

He'd actually lost track of the time. But, judging by the mild burn in his muscles, they'd all been swimming in eights around the lake for a while.

The small boat tipped steeply as Caspar hauled himself back in over the side. Evangeline ducked back below the surface, leaving James afloat on his own as she dipped under the boat.

Floating on his back, looking up at the sky, James let out a long sigh.

"Well, we should head back now," he said.

Caspar tried shaking the water from his hair, but just ended up mildly disoriented. "Probably," he hummed faintly.

Lyall, Larrel, and Hild were probably wondering where they were. He actually couldn't recall contacting them at all before heading here. He just figured they'd be back way sooner. Maybe the three were still out on their own duties.

It was only a few second before James turned onto his stomach and started swimming to the boat. Caspar sat on the side opposite of him to keep it balanced when he climbed in.

The air was a good bit chillier than the water by this point, despite the evening sun that still lingered at the treetops. As he waited to dry off, Caspar closed his eyes as he tilted his ears to a bird's song out in the distance.

He heard a faint clatter and looked over to see James, picking up both oars. Positioned in the middle of the boat, he started to row them back to shore. In the depths below them, Evangeline's shadow trailed behind. The water lapped quietly against the sides of the vessel; a comforting sound that took him back to fishing off the coast of a small isle. In the quiet company of someone he considered close family.

Cutting through the quiet, James turned around to glance at Caspar over his shoulder.

"You never went into detail about your encounter with Aaron," James said quietly. "But I assume those marks on your chest... are from him?"

Only briefly meeting James's eyes, Caspar scratched self-consciously at his chest, nails catching a bit on the raised scarring.

"Yeah," he murmured in response, "that was him. It...it's a bit of a blur, really. He caught me by surprise, you know?"

James hummed, looking away.

"So you don't remember much of what happened?" he asked.

Caspar slowly nodded. "A recurring thing as of late," he mumbled. "Though it's all broken up, I can remember that he still looked like a person at the time. Albeit, a very unwell person."

"It looks like... dark magic, to me," James said quietly. "If he had no magic of his own, I think that'd be the only way he managed it. Hence the skin carving. He had the same one on his chest too."

After the restoration of Aaron's body, the markings were made clear. They brought back scratchy images of the darkened cabin. Of being trapped inside with only the madman for company. Of intense eyes lit with morbid fascination as Aaron slowly carved into him.

Caspar picked at the edge of the boat, to keep from picking at himself.

"It felt like dark magic," he said in agreement. "Like...when ice is so cold, it actually burns to touch." Quieter, he added, "...Nothing like yours."

James was quiet for a moment, staring out at the dock as he continued to row.

"Like Ivar," James said.

Lifting his gaze from the boat to the floating islands in the distance, Caspar halted in his thoughts.

How would James know that?

"...Like Ivar," Caspar echoed in confirmation, casting the hunter a searching look.

Eyes fixed ahead of them, James didn't even notice.

"The markings were probably to help him with the life transference, since he's not an immortal, and doesn't have magic as far as we know," James thought aloud. "I assume he had you subdued long enough to give them to you."

Caspar stayed quiet for a long moment, hoping that was answer enough.

James knew a lot about Ivar, from Eir and apparently many encounters with multiple followers. But that one comment suggested he knew Ivar beyond the accounts of others.

Maybe. It was also likely Caspar was reading too far into it. But James was so careful in general.

Looking down at his hands, Caspar eventually said, "It was after Aaron that I put runes around the house. It didn't feel safe. For a while."

So he'd done everything he could to make the cabin feel like a home, full of warmth and comfort. Took every measure he could as someone born without magic to protect his corner of the woods, for anyone visiting, and for himself.

"Understandable," James said quietly. "I wouldn't feel safe either."

Caspar's attention drifted to the mess of scars on James's back. Most of them mementos from a century of monster hunting; others he assumed to be gifts from unsuccessful witch hunters. The snake bites, still faintly inflamed around the edges, from just yesterday.

"If we're being honest," Caspar said, "we still aren't."

James glanced over his shoulder again.

"Yes," he said. "Hence we're trying to get out of here by tomorrow."

Right. Probably by plane. Though maybe, if they talked it out more, they might agree to drive instead.

At that moment, the tip of the boat bumped into the dock. Setting the oars aside, James reached over for the rope and began to secure the boat. Though still damp, Caspar hurriedly tugged back on his trousers, before stepping out.

"Still got stuff to clean," he mumbled, trying to tousle his hair dryer as he made his way back to their gross-smelling pile of things.

James balanced himself as he stepped out of the boat, and once he got to his feet, he waved a hand over his pants, muttering a spell. Turning to see as the movement drew his eye, Caspar watched as the water lifted from James's clothes, collecting in the air like a large bubble, and James "threw" it back into the lake with a wave of his hand and a splash.

Incredible. Caspar couldn't help but faintly grin as he watched.

Out past the docked boat, he caught a glimpse of a large disturbance in the middle of the lake.

"Oh!" Grinning wider, he patted a hand to James's shoulder and pointed out to the water. "She's heading out early this year."

James's eyes followed Caspar's finger.

"Where is she going?" James asked.

Caspar shrugged. "Probably to the bay, or an ocean. She's a migratory creature."

Evangeline swam in a tight circle as she grabbed her tail in her teeth. Birds drifting on the water took off as the lake's center slowly sank inward.

James slowly looked over to him.

"It's a lake, Caspar," James said. "How is she getting to the ocean?"

Eyes still fixed out on the water, Caspar just gestured back out for him to watch. James looked back with a sigh.

The very center of the whirlpool was so deep, it looked like a giant drain.

"It's a good thing we tied the boat," James muttered.

Caspar huffed a laugh.

Green light streaked down the rough ridge of Evangeline's back, all the way to her tail. When she let go, she twisted and dove into the middle of the whirlpool. In a big spray of water, she was completely gone. The lake surface rebounded. Large ripples swept outward, turning into waves that rocked the docked boat near them.

Grinning at James, Caspar gestured to the water again. "She teleports!"

"Of course she does," James said flatly. "A teleporting sea serpent. Why does that explain everything?"

Shrugging, Caspar looked back out where Evangeline used to be. "I thought it was neat."

"It is," he said. "Very much so."

Turning to walk off the dock, James reached down to pick up his still-dirtied clothes.

"We should probably hurry up if we want to be back before dark," he said, putting his shoes back on. "I told them we'd be back by evening."

Caspar nodded. That was wise.

Pausing, he stared back out to the lake one last time. Evangeline was most likely headed for wherever her small one had gone. A thought that warmed his chest.

The past few years, he watched with a pang of jealousy as she left for a reunion. Now, with a faint smile that he couldn't contain, Caspar was able to turn away, bundling together his own things, and start the way back to his own people.