House of the Rising Sun

“Sorry. Journalist.” Darcy reassured, following his lead and sitting beside him. She was still trying to get a read on him. The best way to approach the situation. He wasn’t as receptive to the fact that she had information as she was hoping. “I don’t want your money but I want to show you some other stuff that’s been happening. Here’s the catch though; the cops won’t do anything about it. They cover it up, they’re in on it. And if you write an expose, there’s a good chance you’ll entice a panic in the people.” 

Alistair frowned a little at Darcy, reading her features as best he could. If he wasn’t stubborn, he may have realized she had a small point, but he shook that off, “Seriously? You think I care about a panic? It won’t be published until I get back to New York, anyway. I’d be insane to stay in a town I wrote a piece about.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, then?” Monty resisted the urge to prod further into his mind, to pick around to find reasons. “It’s a boring as shit place in a shitty part of the country.” The words made the fae laugh, shaking his head. “Actually, no.”

“I’m writing a story?” he snickered, like it was obvious what a journalist like him would be doing. “There’s a story everywhere.” He leaned forward a little on the bar, “Hmm. What are you doing here, then?”

“C’mon, you’ve been working on this for ages– you’ve gotta have something? Don’t tell me you haven’t been busy with all this shit?” Because knowing him, the moment he heard multiple deaths, he’d have come running to the scene of the crime, ever curious and ever diligent about getting whatever facts he could right away. “I’m surprised your editor hasn’t come down to give you a kick in the ass yet, Al, maybe you’re overthinking it?” Looking for something deeper that he wouldn’t find despite it being right under his nose, a fact that Georgie pushed from her mind to avoid any feelings of guilt at keeping a secret like this from her friend.

Henryk couldn’t really blame the guy: thought he’d gone through the town’s series of strange events relatively unscathed, it didn’t mean he had fond memories of them. The Trickster’s curse was particularly unnerving and if he ever came across the guy, he’d make sure to pay him in kind. “It’s alright, you’re not wrong, this place’s kinda bullshit. Though most of the time I enjoy it.”

He kicked back his shot, planting the empty glass back on the table. “A New York man, huh.” Or faerie, his senses outed him. He didn’t seem drunk enough to miss the fact that Henryk was a vampire, though he remembered a few faeries who were foolish enough to befriend vampires. “Let me repay the favor,” he said and flagged the bartender down, wordlessly asking for another round. “So… what are you doing in this town you hate?”

“Someone has to,” Alistair mumbled, figuring a town like this would have some perks to some people. He simply shrugged his shoulders, tapping his fingers on the bar.

Oh, he was in a mood, and not the kind he could appreciate either. “It radiates from you.” The bartender slid his drink across the wooden surface, he smiled back and took a sip. “All of what?” 

His personal problems weren’t of much interest to Henryk, but he found himself drawn to that scent; lured by the prospect of a perfect drink. Couldn’t he tell what he was? Maybe the man was drunker than he looked. “There’s enough bullshit in town to pick and choose from.”

“This fuckin’ town,” Alistair looked back down at his glass, shrugging his shoulders before he forced himself to lighten up. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been too confused a few days prior to know which way was up to be content. 

“Don’t humour me asshole, believe me,” Ivy insisted, scowling. A splash of water shot at him, like an imaginary mouth had spat it out, wetting his collar and narrowly missing his face. She had thin patience to begin with, and the feeling that Alistair didn’t believe her was weighing heavily on it. “This is real Alistair, and it’s nothing something you can take a fucking pill for.” Her expression softened as she recognized his genuine confusion. “Not a magician, a…” she trailed off, teeth grit before finishing the sentence, “Witch. Think of it less like Harry Potter and more like, I don’t know, energy manipulation?” The brunette eyed him, gauging how well he was following along, “We’re all different,” she agreed, “But some of us are even more so. Do you think I’m nuts?” 

Alistair met Ivy’s gaze, trying to remember the cute neighbor and not the....witch. How long had they been friends? “What the fuck, Ivy.” He felt the anger settle into his chest, and he took another step away from her, “Fuck you. You let me fuckin’ rave and rant and tried to discredit half the shit I told you. Now you expect me to just be....I don’t know – fucking okay with this–this magic shit?” Alistair must’ve sounded like a complete fool at one point, or at least he was convinced she saw him as such, “I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more pills to get over that, Ivy.” How many therapists had called him nuts? Too many. He’d tried every pill under the sun, just short of being put in a looney bin so he didn’t harm himself with his delusions. “This is great. This is fucking fantastic. I’m gonna be thrown in a padded cell for this shit. Just wait. Just fucking wait ‘till I publish this and it all goes downhill. Were you gonna let me get that far? Watch me crash and burn?”

“This is not a date,” Monty said quickly, with the same lack of grace a frat boy would shriek out no homo. He reached back, opening the door to the building, gesturing for the blonde male to enter before he did. “I’m just curious about what you’re in town for.”

“I’m a journalist from New York,” he answered easily enough, wrinkling his nose to hide a smile at the guy’s earnest attempt to correct what they were doing. “It was a joke, pal. You seem uptight. Anyone ever tell you that?”

An invitation, it was what kept thee mortals safe, something Damien learned early on as he tried to terrorize small villages, because of it he had gotten creative through the ages. Blue eyes took in the lay out of the place and the vampire nodded gratefully at the drink.

“Do you live alone?“ he asked.

Alistair nodded, giving a half smile, “I want a cat,” he admitted, “but I don’t have the time to take care of them. One of those things, ya know?” He set down his own water bottle, “My mom lives back in New York. Eventually I’ll go back, I guess.”

She paused a moment, upon clearly seeing his face. It ignited a memory of another one of the town’s…events. Wasn’t he the one who was snooping around for a story? The hunter silently cursed herself for not thinking of him during her search though their interaction had been brief, her own stand-off nature leading her to resist fully answering his questions. “Yeah…someone did, must have been someone you’ve interviewed before?” Through gritted teeth she held her smile, hoping to win him over quickly and lose the painful curve of her lips. “Emmeline. You’re a reporter, aren’t you? Didn’t I meet you after the town’s bonfire?” A misleading cluelessness written into pulled eyebrows. “You know what happened on Halloween was pretty fucked up….and, uh, I think I’ve seen some weird stuff going on. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around everything that happens in this town.”

Alistair only gave the woman a strange look, though he remembered her from when he had originally came into town. “I’m not a reporter, I’m a journalist,” he clarified, trying to make sure the difference was known. “Okay....and your point? I’m–” he cut off, taking a deep breath as he moved to sit down on the nearest bench, “Fine. Tell me what you know, then. I’m not paying you for your information, by the way.”

“When you put it that way,” she said, leaning her hip flush against the surface and offering a wider smile, “I don’t think I could find myself wanting anything more.” He was a beautiful boy, it gnawed at her that if she stepped away, another vampire was likely to step in. Lena nodded, feigning interest in a town that she knew quite intimately was steeped in the strange and unusual. “I hope it has pictures, then.” Magdalena stepped back, “Good luck, Alistair.” It was strange, how much she meant it.

“I guess so.” Lena found herself revelling in his smile– mismatched eyes made up a beautiful boy, it was a shame that he was likely the source of far too many vampire’s appetite. His throat was a myriad of bruises, poorly covered; she almost felt badly for him. He was more human that fae, she could smell it in him, igniting both hunger and a desire to protect. She turned, catching his expression with her own grin. “It depends on what the town has to offer.”

“Good. I mean, I’m here – what more could you want?” he joked, flashing a wink in her direction as he picked up a book that had been sitting on the counter. “There’s some interesting stuff in this town, too, if I’m not a good enough reason. Crazy trees and crazy people.” Alistair looked down at the encyclopedia, figuring he’d find most of the town’s history in it, “Wish me luck – this is gonna be some boring ass reading.”

“I’ll make sure to look for your work when it’s all done,“ Damien relented with a smile. Taking Alistair’s cue, the vampire also looked up and at the building and then at the faerie, “Sorry, this might be imposing but, do you mind sparing me a glass of water?“

“I think everyone thinks the same of most small towns that they find themselves stuck in.” The question almost made her pause, but she smiled when she passed through the door, turning to face Alistair. “Right now? Nothing. I’m looking into an investment property, but I’m not really in a rush.”

Alistair glanced over at the woman, giving a bashful smile, “Investment, huh? Nice. You got plans to stick around then?” Pretty women always managed to fluster him, despite the fact that he was trying to keep it cool. They were going to part ways momentarily, anyhow, now in the corner of the library.

“Not necessarily,“ he countered, “It could be an origin story for something big,” Damien offered with an easy smile. Alistair was once again being cryptic though the vampire no longer mind, he would keep an eye on the half-faerie just to satisfy his own curiosity. “Are all writers usually this secretive or just you?”

Alistair gave a half smile, “Most writers, if they’re smart. Can’t give away the ending, right?” He looked up at his apartment as it drew near, relaxing slightly since he was still so nervous about forgetting half of what he had seen. “Anyway uh...thanks for waking me up.”