Ashed Nadir

"Hazel wasn't taken," He tells the stranger like it's the truest statement that could exist, despite having no evidence to the fact. "She's coming back, but if anything like that had happened to your aunt you would have heard about it." Listening to Ashed's words about the town, about things in Hexmore. "People like to tell tall tales, tourists make up things about Hexmore all the time. It's easy to believe in the fantasy when you're here, don't you think? I promise you, your great-aunt, I'm sure you'll find her." Then he mentions Rory, not by name but Benji knows who he's talking about. His lips pursed closed, carefully considering his next words.

How much did the hunter know?

Benji doesn't heed his warning as the accusation bites between them, his dark eyes fixated on Ashed. "And you're a hunter," a softly spoken tone, making another gentle movement closer, carefully resting his hand atop the one that held the knife. His mind races to how easily it would be for the hunter to drive the knife through him, to slice him as a warning or a threat to other witches. Had he already done it to others? But Benji showed no fear in his movements, no desperate reach for power. Just a gentle plea to take a deep breath like approaching a scared deer. He'd never been this close to a hunter before, it made the hairs on his arm stick up. He didn't know what Ashed was capable of, or what he was hoping to do to the witches of Hexmore- let alone the others. "I'm not hiding anything, but why do you want to find her?"

He looked aghast though, at Benji's response about Hazel. Almost everyone else he'd mentioned Hazel to looked sad, disinterested, or sketchy (sometimes all three). A lot of hemming and hawing when it came to Hazel Mora, a lot of 'I don't know'. Even from her own niece, who was naturally the most concerned. But Benji. With his sudden brazen certainty that Hazel wasn't missing. It surprised Ashed so much, he wryly retorted, "Coming back? What, piece by piece? Finger first, then maybe an ear next week?"

Ashed said it meanly, maybe just to see if Benji's golden glow would dim slightly. Even then, the other man tried to give Ashed some kind reassurances about Aqsa; Ashed only heard it as yet another vague deflection.

Benji pursed his mouth (attractively; everything the blasted man did was attractively), and seemed to make a similar decision as Ashed had. And in a big way, Ashed respected the other for it. Dropping the pretenses, sweeping that all away so they saw each other, real and raw. Ashed almost smiled at Benji identifying him, a weird relief. Like a reminder: yes, goddammit. You are a Hunter! His tiny smile came out wolfish and predatory.

"Now we both know," Ashed breathed, voice so low it was like a whisper between them. "You're hiding everything. You all are. You're hiding in plain sight and it's disgusting. It's so wrong and you can't even see it, can you." Ashed backed up to the barred door.

"I'm trying to help her. If my great-Aunt's being kept here against her will, then I'm here to save her. I'm close aren't I. You're the only thing standing in my way..." He looked at the door, then at Benji. Maybe that was what his mum wanted! She knew Aqsa was banished to Hexmore, and now it was time to Aqsa to be redeemed, by her great-nephew.

(And in truth, Aqsa should've been dealing with her only living relative directly, rather than relying on the good graces of her favourite protegee Benji to deal with this mess. All her warnings and pleadings were that of a scared old lady, depending on the young golden boy of Hexmore to do this inconvenient task on her behalf. She would probably bake him a rummy fruitcake as a thank you.)

Ashed motioned to the door. "Right. Open this door for me, and I'll spare your life."

IF HE CONTINUED TO ADDRESS HER casually with the affectionate pet name, she was sure she would get used to it. Just not yet. Her teeth gnawed absently on her bottom lip as she tried to keep the smiles to a minimum.

❝ Coffee! Of course, ❞ she yipped, turning her back to him. Although, with her senses, not being able to see him was hardly a helpful enough distraction. The way the word 'kind' rolled off his tongue she was sure that facing away from him only heightened her other senses, and it wasn't a helpful thing. ❝ Just drip or something a little fancier? ❞ She grabbed a mug just for something to do with her hands.

Run in her family... Now, there was a question. She faltered a little, the smile slowly slipping into something a little more forced. ❝ Oh. Uh, I don't think so. My mom was never much of a homesteader and uh, well, I guess I don't really know anything about my dad. ❞ He could be alive or dead, she wouldn't really know either way.

Her only stall came when Ashed asked about Autumn's parents. He couldn't see the falter in her smile, but the way she responded was enough for Ashed to infer something more personal that normal chatter. And when Autumn mentioned her adoptive family, Ashed made some baseline assumptions and nodded.

"That's..." Ashed wanted to respond with something sour and cynical, after Autumn shared her opinion on Hexmore with the same conviviality she did everything. But he couldn't find those bitter words. "...actually really nice. I don't think I've ever stayed in one place longer than six months, if I'm honest. Definitely not longer than a year, in any case."

"You shouldn't go anywhere with me - that would be the last thing I would recommend, but I offered it out of a sense of ... concern. You seem to be having a hard time with Hazel's disappearance and you're dangerously close to doing something that will cause me to regret. I am asking you -- please, don't." The strange part of having no working organs was the inability to have that bubble of mirth in his chest. When he laughed, it had to be a conscious effort. Every part of looking and acting human was just that -- an act.

So, he stopped pretending.

No longer did he have the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift and sway that came with the need to move. Still. Stiller. Until there was nothing human left in his posture. He was a statue until -- he wasn't there.

Fucking hell. If Ashed believed him, that he wasn't a witch...if he was another type of supernatural, who reasoned so calmly with Ashed like a civilised being and not the brute monsters that Ashed understood all his life? What was Hexmore, that it was populated with such strange anomalies as this?

(The other possibility being that it wasn't that Hexmore was strange, but rather that all his life, Ashed had been ignorant about the real truth of supernaturals. And his parents had kept him so, like veal raised in a dark stable.)

Ashed felt something he rarely felt anymore, but seemed tripled since he'd come to Hexmore. He felt fear. He hoarsely yelled, "What are --"

But the other man was on him, a split second of movement that made the witch gasp and made Ashed blank out, leaving only one realization beaming into his mind: vampire. A vampire. This man was a vampire. He was close enough, Ashed couldn't see but could sense the fangs lightly tapped against his throat, could feel the strength and the hideous lacking of the other's proximity. Lacking in heat, or static energy of someone alive.

His words no longer held multiple truths, the appeal sinking deep into Ashed's flesh even if fangs never did. Slowly, Ashed exhaled and released the witch. He was in complete control. Like the rest of his family, he bore a tattoo meant to ward that baseline of vampire compulsion gifted to these vile creatures. Ashed was convinced he was in complete control, and chose to relinquish the witch. Decided of his own accord that he'd follow the stranger out of the silly little hobby shop. "I'll come with you."

The first question Ashed uttered, was more plaintive than anything else. "Why. Why do supernaturals in this blasted town act like they're humans? What's the bloody point?"

“It is if my heart belonged to another.” The truth was there was only one he had truly loved. He had not felt that before nor since. And he wasn’t going to be making a habit of allowing his feelings to show. Alden chuckled. “No, I can’t say I am one for romance. Far too busy… and I think you are the same.” He looked up.

Alden glanced as Ashed touched the handle. The explosion of heat barely made Alden flinch, instead he lifted his coffee to his lips before stepping over Ashed. He took another sip of his coffee, before discarding it in a nearby bin. He then finally knelt down, lifting Ashed with ease and pulling him to a nearby bench. He flopped the man’s body down, sitting down beside him. One leg crossed over the other as he lifted his own pastry to his lips. A few moments had passed when Alden looked down at his watch and sighed. He moved closer to Ashed, gently slapping his cheeks. “Hey bud… you still with us? You took quite a shock. I was worried. I’ve been calling your name for a few moments.” He lied, feigning concern in his voice. “You should be careful what you go about touching. We’re lucky it was you and not some kid.”

“…. I wonder if there’s a back door.”

In his unconscious state, Ashed dreamed; and in that dream, he saw his great-Aunt Aqsa. Her face wrinkled, dentures chewing, and her myopic grey eyes magnified behind coke-bottle spectacles. She peeked from under her hijab and whispered something at him. It wasn't in English or Urdu or even Latin - it was some other language.

"What... what?" Ashed called out in his dream, and then Aqsa's little gnarled hand swiped out, struck him across the face --

'...you still with us?'

Alden's tempered dulcet tones clung to the edges of Ashed's consciousness, then filled in his visuals as Ashed opened his bleary eyes. "Mmm, what..." he groaned, struggling to sit up on the bench, place himself. It was still day, Alden was still there, looking unperturbed as always. The library looked similarly undisturbed.

Ashed glared at the library as he rubbed his brow. "I didn't touch anything. You saw what happened - the lamps blew up, the handle turned red. Bloody sparks everywhere! Knocked me clean out and you was just stood there." He threw his accusing look to Alden. "What, just put me on a bench? Didn't even call the paramedics or nowt? Suppose I should be grateful you even stuck around..."

He half-expected Alden to call it a day then and there. Hexmorians seemed to be experts at giving Ashed dead ends at every turn. But then -

"A back door? Really?" he blinked in surprise. Was Alden really suggesting that, or just horny? Either way, Ashed was game. Alden had stuck around, sarcasm notwithstanding. "That's rather naughty of you, Mr Upstanding Citizen Museum Curator. You want us to sneak in? I'll...I'll take you up on that. But first-"

“What do you mean is my aunt…. Of course she is. They’re my family. We all are.” Her breaths were heavy and she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Had she just put her entire family in danger? “Are you what happened to her? Are there more of you?” She coughed, still regaining her breath.

Ashed threw question after question at Rory and her head was spinning. She wanted to be sick. No she was going to be sick. She did her best to hold herself together, although she was going pale at the thought of the things Ashed had done. She let out a sob as Ashed released her, scrambling back from him as he did. She managed to put a few feet between them before they spoke. “Of course… I’ve never hurt anybody. I’m just… I work in a shop. I went to school here in Hexmore. I like… to craft and play video games. I don’t… dance under the moonlight and put curses on people.” She couldn’t say the thought had never crossed her mind. But her own average skills put her at a disadvantageous. “Christ! Even the tarot cards. I was just… messing around. I never thought anything would happen. I’m fucking bad at divination.” She shook her head. “Why would I lie to you?”

Living and working in Hexmore, going to a normal school (was the Academy normal? Now Ashed didn't even know), playing video games. It all sounded so twisted and perverse to Ashed. "Honestly I would rather you danced in the moonlight and cursed others. Then at least you'd be true to who and what you are." A monster. But Rory was the farthest thing from a monster. "And to think I was starting to like you. Made a fool out of a Hunter, like you have every other human who likes you. Are you proud of yourself, you little witch?"

A random thought occurred to Ashed as he tried to process everything Rory answered. "I'm the monster to you, aren't I. Please tell me your family warned you about humans like me. The ones who see the reality behind your pathetic little facades. Who try to protect innocent humans from your trickery." A shuddering exhale, as Ashed shook his head and almost (almost) lowered his knife. "If there were other Hunters here actively Hunting in Hexmore, I would know. My family are well-known." Were. The Nadirs were all dead now, save him.

But the past wasn't relevant. For whatever reason he believed Rory didn't hurt her Aunt. The whole Mora family, witches. Right now, Rory and Ashed stood metres apart, at an impasse.

"You didn't summon those worms..." he slowly surmised, carefully thinking this through. "If you had, you would've just left me to get swallowed up." But Rory's hand had shot through the darkness, extended down to help him escape up the manhole. "If you knew I was a Hunter, would you have let me die?"

"You aren't a big fan of Disney Princess movies are you? Every Disney Princess has an animal companion that helps get her out of - and into - and back out of - trouble," she said. Though, she was no Disney princess. The rats she had for pets - now skeletons who had passed from old age - and the cat with the torn ear and matted fur that lurked through the graveyard - were hardly the sort of animals that a Disney princess would be seen with.

She laughed when he asked about her great-aunt. "My aunt was the only person who cared about what I was going through. Everyone else was worried how it would look to the family. When my aunt was dying, she wanted to be put with the rest of the bones deep below the city - all save for her head. I have used it was a prop before, which she didn't enjoy -- but really, it keeps us connected. I'm always worried that someone will try and steal her, so her actual skull is at home, safe. I carry a plastic skull around -- it's the intention that matters,.

Wisteria was getting the suspicion that perhaps this man wasn't actually her client - as he was asking questions that made her concerned for her own well-being. She sunk her hand back into her bag and touched upon the satchel of grave dirt. She could protect herself if needed -- yet, like the ragged cat whose curiosity got the better of him time and time again -- Wisteria wanted to know just what this man needed.

"I can scry. Though, my scrying involves contacting the dead to determine what they have seen and heard. It's easier in a graveyard, battlefield ... or the local waffle house - strangely enough - though it's not necessary that I be in any of those places. Of course, the person you're looking for could have a reflection spell set up, or a hiding spell. Scrying is easy to fool."

He asked if she was a witch. "And if I said I was -- would you suddenly decide that you don't want to be my friend, Mr. Nadir? That would break my heart." She said with clear sarcasm but just a note of hurt, as if something was being reaffirmed. "I am a person ready to help you because you asked for help -- and because it's part of my job. If my skills bother you - you can pretend that I'm simply a well-invested, incredibly skilled, mentalist capable of pulling the wool over your eyes."

Fucking vampires.

When Wisteria shared her own family tidbits, Ashed listened hungrily. It was nice, hearing about this bond between niece and great-Aunt. "Seems Aunties play quite important roles in Hexmore," he pondered aloud. A nod of understanding about the plastic skull. "Ah. I understand. It's still bloody morbid and a tad overly gothy, but I understand." A brief smile. "I'd imagine it helps with your vocation's allure as well. Certainly tricked me."

Wisteria listed her skillset, which contained enough caveats and limitations to lead Ashed to believe her. A grifter medium would claim to do anything and everything. Conversely, they might warn Ashed of vagaries and lack of ability. Wisteria's caveats were specific - especially about counter spells. It made Ashed's hackles rise, but he remained calm as his dark gaze remained intently studying her face.

"We're not friends, and I'm sure your heart can manage," Ashed replied dryly. "I'm hiring you for a service, so. Right." Ashed chewed his lip, pondering her coy response. "You know about witches, clearly. Experienced their resistance spells and the like..."

But was Wisteria a witch or not? Did it matter in this instance? She was useful, and Ashed was willing to use her. Just as his parents used witches - to Hunt. In this case, Ashed had no wish to kill his great-Aunt, just find her.

"I'm not a witch," he stated clearly. Calmly. Now that he knew there was a threat to a witch, a strange calm settled over the vampire. His hands that always trembled became still.

He knew that if he had to - he would be bound to remove the man's head from his shoulders no matter how much he would rather stick to his long-held vow of pacifism. His vows meant nothing to the spells carved into his flesh and chaining his the remnants of his soul - tattered as it was.

He took a step back to see if that would help elevate some of the tension, truly worried for man in front of him. Was he in some sort of mental break? Had something happened that caused him to tip over the edge and attack a witch who had done him no harm? He looked to the cashier, a promise in his eyes. He wouldn't (couldn't) let her be hurt. He'd sooner rip off his own arm than allow a witch to be injured.

He could feel the spell beginning to activate, urging him to protect and guard.

The pain would come soon.

He didn't have much time to save this man.

"Hazel has disappeared - that is all I know. That is all she knows." Now, his eyes were locked on the stranger's. "You and I can leave together, and we can discuss anything you wish. I will answer freely and honestly with what I can -- but you need to let her go. Please."

Hexmore was slowly dismantling this. In Hexmore, witches roamed freely, and seemed to eschew their magic in some perverse pretend of living like humans. For Ashed, it was the equivalent of animal farm; a ridiculous parody of another species, trying to masquerade as human.

The man before him claimed not to be a witch, yet there was something bewitching about him. Ashed growled in warning; the man took a generous step back and made a rather succinct offer.

"If that's all you know, then why should I go anywhere with you? You've got no answers. And she knows nothing - fine. But she's a witch. And you don't even care. You don't even care that you live amongst witches...! What kind of people are you?? This mad fucking town." Ashed shook his head roughly, trying to weigh his options. Every move he made was diminishing his thin margin for finding his great-Aunt, or understanding what happened to this mysterious Hazel Mora.

"Why don't you leave now, and pretend you never seen any of this. That's what humans are good at in this town yeah? Pretending." Ashed prepared to drag the witch into the backroom. She might not have information about Hazel Mora specifically, but she must have a coven, or some affiliation. Ashed would get answers of some kind from her, hopefully before the Good Samaritan called the authorities.

Still she finds herself at the same bar, owned by the same pack of werewolves she'd refused to join with since day one, ordering the same gin and tonic as she does most nights. The conversation is easy, "You wouldn't believe the mess of a night I had the other night, don't tell the big man though." Cordelia prepped to tell a story to the bartender, one mostly superficial as she leans across the bar to divulge her with the tale of her awry transformation. Not using as many words of course, and not daring to mention the amount of pain she found herself in after the fact. "It's been a rough few months, the nights- well you know how they get. Don't get me wrong, the tourists are great for business but sometimes I just wonder if they know what they're walking into."

She takes a moment to look around the bar, taking in the faces around them as she sips her drink. Some familiar, others fleeting in the crowd. "Business is alright though, but your lot have to stay away from my cabin. The one of the guests the other day came in for breakfast telling stories."

More entertaining clues like 'your lot' and 'guests'. The bartender belonged to some rowdy bunch (witches??) who confused tourists...did the woman own a camping ground, or a motel? Ashed wanted to leap over the counter and drag the bartender to the ground, with threats and demands. Ashed was itching to kill something, to alleviate his own shattering worldview. Killing a supernatural might help put the pieces back together, make sense of this all. He was a Hunter; this was his job.

But the bartender was doing nothing wrong. The bartender just leaned against the counter and chuckled with the woman, made excuses for 'their lot'.

And the woman...she knew. She knew she was living amongst witches, and god knew what else.

"What kind of stories?" Ashed suddenly piped up, and forced a pleasant look on his face as his voice carried and he tried to meet the pretty woman's gaze. "Sorry - I've been eavesdropping. And as I'm a tourist as well, I'm wondering after these other stories." He tilted his head, feigning an innocent curiousity. " To corroborate my own stories, if nothing else."

Still his grin remains, eyes taking in the man before him trying to work out what it was he was missing. What could have made him so dangerous that Aqsa would be sending such warnings. Still he has to laugh at the way Ashed claims he doesn't appear to be an academic, the truth was it was just the thing he said to Hazel when she got him the job at the academy. Still she insisted, after all there was always something Hazel saw in Benji that he never quite understood. "I promise you, my reasons for being here aren't nearly as interesting as yours seem to be." Perhaps that's just because Benji knew one and not the other, and he was always one for mysteries. "I'm Benji," he offered rather surprised that Ashed offered him a name. Reaching out his hand to offer a handshake, was when the other gust of wind caught him. Sharp and shocking in the moment.

Great-Aunt Aqsa Rahman. The words dawn a realisation on Benji, listening to the other speak against the quiet of night. Not only did he know exactly who she was, but with those words he knew exactly who the man before him was as well. A human. A hunter. Aqsa had warned Benji of him before, told stories incase he was ever in town, and now here he was. Face to face with such a dangerous man.

The book falling to his feet made him jump, perhaps it was the sudden tension knowing just how close he was to someone so threatening. The word circling on the page all but confirmed what he'd already come to realise, he'd kick it closed with his foot as quickly as he read the words on the page. Not knowing what Aqsa would crucify him for more, standing here talking to Ashed, or touching a book with his shoe of all things.

His eyes focused on the knife in the other's hand for a moment, glinting in the dim moonlight that streamed through the windows, before carefully drawing back to Ashed's eyes. "Has anyone told you that you come across as high-strung," Benji tries to make it light again despite the way his eyes keep dancing to the knife- wondering if he knows that he's stood here before a witch. That his great-aunt is one as well. "It's just a book, must have knocked the shelf or something. Relax, okay. Is that what you came here for? Concern for your great-aunt?" He can't help the way he inches a little closer to Ashed, he's not sure if he's trying to put the man as ease or if curiosity was leading him to find just how close he could get to the other's knife. Just how close to danger he could step. "I don't think there's anyone else here tonight if that's what you're worried about."

He almost blurted, to ask if Benji had family. Did this smiling, pleasant, unafraid Benji know what it was like? To have family; then to lose them so quickly it spun his entire world on its end? What would Benji know, with his convivial nature, harmless but oddly ominous (to a Hunter's instincts, at least) at the same time?

The book, the wind, the manifestation of Benji all culminated, twined into Ashed sense of frustration and latent grief.

"Yes! All the time, in fact," Ashed tartly replied at Benji's amused(!!! he found this amusing?!) query. "Among other things, far more unkind." 'High-strung' kept Ashed alive all these years, at least. But then, Ashed had never been in a town like Hexmore.

"I will not relax. Not until I've found my Aunt, safe and alive and well. People - you people in this town. You know her too. And you're hiding her from me, is that it? Was she taken too, like Hazel Mora? I know what sorts of things...live here." Ashed thinned his eyes, peering at Benji. "I've seen it. Hazel Mora's own niece proved it to me."

Benji swayed closer, still in that calming tone as if he was speaking to a spooked racehorse in its stable. Ashed had come prepared. The knife had its own protective sigils carved into the pearl hilt (hypocritical, perhaps; but it was a heritage Hunter knife) and imbued with vervain. A useful repellant against bad magic.

"Don't come closer," Ashed warned, and then decided to lay it all out on the table. "You're a witch too, aren't you. This entire town is infested with bloody witches." A rueful laugh. "Bloody town's name is Hexmore. What was my Aunt thinking, choosing to live here? She must've known! She must known..."

But great-Aunt Aqsa wasn't a Hunter; she was purportedly the black sheep of the Nadirs legacy. So why live amongst these witches? Witches who seemed to cut themselves off at the knee, to forego their power and magic, and live regular, tedious lives like any other human. Secretive and cowardly, the lot of them. Ashed winced, wanting to shut his eyes but too wary of Benji. "I'm so fucking confused."

"Don't worry about it, I wasn't having much luck focusing anyways." Fighting an eye roll she sighed, of all things to be distracted by, she just had to have been dwelling on the past. Goddess knows nothing good comes from that train of thought, this man's appearance might have actually been needed. "...Yea, this is a favorite spot of mine. No buildings around, little foot traffic, plenty of nature, it's a good place for inspiration," she mused, gesturing towards the painting with a wispy smile. Looking back to the hiker Zoe's eyebrows knit together with a small show of worry, shortly followed by a light hearted jest, "Are you lost? Not looking for the Tower of Dreams are you?"

He circled a wide perimeter to get a better view of her canvas. Whoever she was, he knew better than to approach a lone woman in the isolated woods. "What're you trying to paint?" he asked, squinting in the distance, hoping to see her view. "Are you a landscape artist?"

And then she said it: the 'Tower of Dreams'. Ashed's expression showed his sudden surprise as he pinned his gaze on her pretty face. "You know about it? I know this town's all about the tourism, but having a hidden location with no provided map is certainly guaranteed to get a few tourists lost, isn't it. Is it real? Or maybe I'll eventually stumble upon some old mouldy plastic tower, disappointingly neglected."

Ashed cleared his throat. "Sorry - my name's Ashed, by the way. I've bene in Hexmore for a couple weeks now. I'm at the Old Town Inn."

He rubbed the back of his neck, he felt like his head was spinning. “Maybe both. Because I don’t actually know… what, what am I saying I agree with or know? And I am not making sense. None of this makes sense.” He shrugged. “Don’t call me ignorant. The people around me have treated me like an idiot. And I know something isn’t right. It’s just all a lot to take in.”

"It might sound it, yeah. But I've grown up with it my entire life," Ashed said grimly. "They hide and live in shadows. They kill in secret, because they can get away with it. Some claim to live in fear, but they're the ones with all the power, aren't they. Magic, and super-strength, and immortality...I suppose being outnumbered makes them consider themselves victims rather than perpetrators. But I've...I've seen what they can do. They destroy innocent lives and then they laugh about it."

Ashed shook his head. "It will start to make sense in time. Once you see this town with your eyes opened to it. It's not paranoia, it's the truth." He clucked his tongue. "Calm yourself, everyone's ignorant of something, Doc. But you're right - you've been lied to and betrayed, in your own hometown. Treated like a fool by them, not me. I'm the one who told you, because I believe humans should know what they live amongst."

A pause, and then, "Hazel Mora's disappearance takes on a whole new sinister light now, doesn't it."

She wasn’t close to his great-aunt, but she respected her, and the young witch would always be protective of her kind. That was only natural… well unless they hurt her and currently, she felt suspicious of a lot of them… but that was not Ashed’s business.

“No, not everyone knows about it. They make sure, not everyone knows about it. So someone like you… nosing. You’re putting yourself in danger,” she said simply. Maybe it was a warning of sorts, but who was he, an outsider of their world to put his nose into it all?

“I have plenty of knowledge of this world I am warning you from. That is how I can show you,” she shrugged, eyes glancing up at him. “Some people are perfectly bland and normal. And besides, there’s definitely some dull supernaturals,” she gave a small laugh.

Though her tone became more serious. “She does, yes. I know that much. I think my own coven, are trying to cover something up. Maybe. I don’t know. I just don’t trust any of it.”

Ashed sighed. "My great-Aunt knows I'm here and doesn't want to see me. That's what you're telling me, isn't it. Oh my days..." He rubbed his brow in consternation. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, and both were in Hexmore.

Connie spoke plainly now, dropping the pretense. She knew that he knew...things. When she used the word so blatantly - 'supernaturals' - Ashed looked up at her in wide-eyed surprise. Eventually he spoke, breathlessly. "There...there are some enclaves that consider the term 'supernaturals' to be derogatory. Not wanting to be grouped in all together under one ugly monolith..." Ashed remembered replying something so witty (he'd thought, at 28 years old) to the witch, before he ran her through: 'take it up with your senator'.

He winced slightly at the memory. Could he run Connie through right now, in the middle of a cafe, with little proof but her own admission? She wasn't wild, she wasn't harming anyone. He'd killed young werewolves before, vampires of all ages, but...bloody witches. Always the exception to the rule for his family.

And then Connie solidified the truth: her coven. She was a witch, and she spoke freely about it with him, now that there was no point in hiding. There was a simple question he could ask Connie then: was great-Aunt Aqsa...a witch?

But the question stuck in his throat. Instead, he mulled over what she said about her suspicions. "Have you ever, erm...been suspicious of your...group, before Hazel Mora's disappearance?" Ashed distracted himself with a different angle, dropping his voice with confidentiality. "I have a knack for eliminating those who need eliminating. And I think you probably know more than you're willing to admit to yourself, Connie."

AUTUMN COULDN'T HELP THE LAUGH that tumbled from her lips. Something about the question was so simple and so suspicious, she couldn't help but find it funny. ❝ Yeah, the owners. There's another couple people that do the work up front. ❞ She gestured behind her shoulder then down again. ❝ I'm more... back end. ❞ Another chuckle, softer this time.

If colour could still fill her cheeks she was sure that she would've been turned into a beet. She could tell the pet name was universal, but something about it made her feel so young & shy. She was still inexperienced, much like her youthful appearance would make it seem despite her true age. No one had called her much other than her own name. It made her chest fizzle & pop the way it often did when someone attractive was nice to her. ❝ Oh! Oh gosh, no, I mean, um... It's fine! ❞ Her voice peaked a little as she finished tripping over her worlds.

Pop. Sparkle. Gosh, he was a charmer. Or was she just sort of pathetic? Autumn tried not to think about it. ❝ Well, how about this then. For your rough night, a pumpkin bun on the house and I'll get you the focaccia right away. ❞ She immediately moved to the cabinet, grabbing tongs.

"Back end, right," Ashed thought about being witty with that, some playful turn of phrase to hear Autumn giggle again; but all he could drum up was crassness. The last thing he wanted was to offend Autumn. So he swallowed those words and instead asked, "Could I also get a cup of coffee, love? I've got a proper head on me. I'm hoping the old cure for a hangover is still the same - caffeine and buttery goods."

She wanted to give him the bun for free, and Ashed nodded in acceptance. That American generousity he'd allow, but he'd just leave a big tip for her anyway. "Aren't you kind..." he said gratefully, watching her bustling behind the counter.

Autumn led him on a merry tale of her experience, of lack thereof. A talent more than anything. "So you just...love baking. It's sort of a passion for you?" Ashed gandered, mulling this over. "Did it run in the family?" He quirked another amused smile at her adorably mixing up 'superstitious' with 'serendipitous'. If only she knew, Ashed smugly thought. (If only he knew what she knew.)

"Serendipitous isn't exactly the word I'd used either, for ending up in Hexmore. Unless you're also a local, and I've gone and stuck my foot in my mouth."

Picking up a modest bouquet of the pink flowers Beck found himself admiring their beauty, he use to think flowers were silly and frivolous but the past couple years had changed him in many ways. He wasn't expecting to hear his name, being so new in town it was assumed few people knew who he was. Turning around his face changed from curiosity to stunned revelation. "Well fuck me..." Beck was twelve— no, he was fifteen— it had been so long he couldn't remember when he first met the man in front of him. "Ashed? What... Do you live here?"

At least, Ashed didn't think Beck hated him. But he put on a smile and approached cautiously nonetheless. "Bloody hell, look at you. You're all grown up, haven't you. Still with that babyface though," Ashed deadpan teased.

Beck's question eased Ashed's backburner dread. If Beck was a Hexmore local, that meant Ashed would be suspicious. But Beck seemed newly arrived, therefore likely just a human like Ashed. But...why was Beck here?

"No, man. No, I've only been here for...damn, it's been a couple weeks now hasn't it. I'm - I'm travelling alone, my parents passed." When Beck and Ash met that fateful summer in Sioux Falls, Ashed fed Beck a story of the Nadirs, travelling salespeople for pest control. A story that stuck for the next few decades. "I've got, erm. I've got a great-Aunt in this town, and I'm trying to find the old bat. She's somewhere, apparently, but..." Ashed gave a hapless shrug.

"What're you doing here, man? Doesn't seem like the sort of town you'd be in. It's, erm, rather touristy, isn't it."

"If this wasn't you and some...I don't know, elaborate scheme, some type of Punk'd reality show then..." What was it? He filled the silence from her trailing off to question whether she had experienced weird things here in town. Izel wanted to scoff and simply wave off such a strange and unnecessary question. As if he knew anything about the town she had spent more than half her life in. "Hexmore has always been a little strange. But it's a tourist town. We live off of things being a little off." She explained as if it was as simple as that. Because it should be as simple as that, a funny little town built off the occult town history that they so confidently and proudly showed off.

But there was at least one weird thing that she didn't admit to Ashed. Her brothers sudden desire to leave town without a trace. It could always chock up to a hidden disdain for his family and Hexmore as a whole, something he kept secret even from Izel, but ever since he "left" four years ago, there was always doubt. She kept silent though, because that weird wasn't the same type of weird as this.

"You don't have to do that." She weakly attempted to reassure as Ashed offered to help clean up. But it did remind her, in her frozen state of confusion that he had come here, under a fake name, with a curious reason and an interest in the town. "Why are you here, Ashed? Here in Hexmore."

Speaking of...what the fuck happened in this room today? A question Izel posed, an answer that Ashed would like as well. "I'm asking the same question. It wasn't either of us, so what was it and why was it here?" Ashed twisted around, trying to reset the scene. "It's not a haunt. It seemed like something that was...sent here. Dispatched to...to find something or..."

Or watch something. Ashed looked down at the floor; his room was right below. Caught up in this spine-chilling realization, Ashed flattened himself to the floor, pushing himself under the four-poster bed. His flashlight clicked on to look around. And eventually... "Oh fucking hell. Oh fuck me, this bloody - " It sounded like Ashed scrabbled up too soon, and knocked his head against the bedframe. "Ow! Dammit!"

He called out. "Izel! There's a hole in the floorboards, between this room and the one below! My room..." Ashed pushed himself back out, and stood up. "Someone -" Something - "Burned a hole into your floor."

To spy on him. To watch him. He tugged his collar, genuinely feeling terrible for being the focus of this disarray to Izel's Inn. She'd been nothing but pleasant, the Inn was a lovely place. And he'd brought trouble to it. "Erm...I'll pay for the damages. And I've got to leave tonight."

He knew he was behaving rather eccentrically, rushing to put some cushions back on the chaise. Ashed paused at Izel's plaintive questions behind him, and turned to look at her. "If I told you, you'd think I was mad. I - my entire family, in fact - have dedicated our lives to...supernatural investigations. It's not ghost-hunting," he added, knowing Hexmore likely attracted a lot of the hokey ghost-hunter and medium types, with their youtube or network shows about the paranormal.

"I really am here looking for my great-Aunt Aqsa Rahman, that part is true. I've yet to find her though, and I'm worried. Especially after learning about Hazel Mora's disappearance and...maiming. I'm sorry for getting you caught in the middle of all this, truly I am. You've been an excellent host."

“To an extent,” he repeated. “I mean, yeah. Never been my kind of thing. I wouldn’t go out of my way to watch something like that,” he said with a shrug.

Dexter let out another breath, his dark eyes staring out at the water for a moment. “I mean, I haven’t done Shakespeare since high school… but like, there is more in the world than I currently think there is?”

Let Dexter mull that over and read between the lines. Dexter was a big boy, he could extrapolate, Ashed hoped.

Then another comment focusing on his lack of Shakespearean education rather than the meaning of the quote. Ashed looked at Dexter and spoke plainly. "Are you asking me, or are you telling me? I already know the answer. Now it's time for you to either realize the truth, or go back to your blissful ignorance."

Only Ashed knew, there was no going back in this instance. Once a human's eyes were open to the world of supernaturals, they couldn't shut them, ever again.