The Apothecary

His room swam into focus, slowly. The light from his window painted long bars through the fire escape over his floor in oranges of waning dusk. Nothing seemed out of place and all was quiet besides the usual noises of the city sidewalk wafting up through the walls. Casey struggled to breathe as his tongue felt too thick in his mouth, his throat too dry. Another pang from his shoulder had his fingers seeking out, finding gauze wrapped over a sore wound. He was home, but how had he gotten here, and what had happened?

Casey wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and took a few more beats to breathe, his heartrate slowing and black spots of panic fading from his vision. He gingerly pushed himself from his bed, the shoddy mattress creaking, and wasn’t that surprised to find himself nude, save for a handful of dressed injuries. He bit back on more groans as he shuffled slowly to his dresser and pulled on a pair of pants; his body throbbed like a bruise. Jack Casey certainly felt his age.

As he padded towards the stairs Casey caught sight of himself in the mirror on the open bathroom door that stopped him in his tracks. He looked like death. Though he was clean and his wrapped wounds were not bleeding through, he still looked particularly haggard and pale, almost unrecognizable even to himself. He grimaced at the sight.

“You’re finally awake, human.” Casey’s eyes snapped towards the sound of that sultry low voice, cooing at him from the dark. Kiiryon’s peeked at him from over the stairway banister as he stepped up to the landing silently, golden eyes twinkling in judgmental amusement.

Casey’s voice stuck in his scratchy throat. He cleared it to try again and it sent him into a fit of coughing that wracked his aching chest. His hand moved to stifle it came away bloody- the taste of iron on his lips. Casey’s eyes went wild at the sight and he started shaking, visions of disease dancing in his mind’s eye. Was that why he felt so sick? Before his imagination could get carried away and the shudder of worry could travel to his knees, Kiiryon put a hand on his shoulder.

“Here,” he said, pushing a steaming teacup and saucer into Casey’s field of vision. The warmth and the smell that wafted were comforting and distracted his attentions. “Drink,” Kiiryon commanded.

Casey’s hands were shaky but held firm as he complied, scooping up the cup and bringing it slowly to his lips. The heat made Casey realize just how cold he felt as it soothed his throat and spread out through his belly to his limbs. A few more gulps and he could breathe evenly again, the taste of blood chased away by herbs and citrus. Kiiryon’s hand didn’t move from his rough shoulder, and Casey felt embarrassed by his own weakness and how much he appreciated the kindness. “Thanks,” he said, his voice weak and boyish. He averted his gaze and licked his lips, looking at anything else but that unmoving handsome face. “ ‘Ow long was I out?”

“A few days.” Kiiryon’s hand curled against Casey’s skin, then finally pulled away. Casey let out a sigh.

“When… how’d we get back?” It finally dawned on him that they were in his apartment and not in the last place he recalled: Louisiana. The moments that slotted together past that were hazy and his tired brain not yet equipped to recall them.

“You brought us back.” There was no particular tell in Kiiryon’s tone, only placid fact.

“I did?” Casey huffed out through his nose then took long sips in silence, struggling at recollection. He finally swallowed the last gulp of the concoction and the stray tea leaves settled in the bottom of the cup reminded him of ash. He almost dropped it, but the shudder returned to his limbs.

He could almost smell it: burning wood and moss and flesh. His recollection came only in flashes, blood and fire intermingled. Casey scrunched his face and struggled to place together what was before that. A boat, a girl, a graveyard. But beyond the concrete memories dipped in the constant throbbing pulse of fear, he couldn’t procure the memories of how they’d gotten from a Louisiana swamp back to his apartment.

“What happened…?” Casey’s voice was a wavering whisper. It took a moment for him to look at Kiiryon again, and the amused half-lidded look on his face made Casey taste metal. He had to change the subject. “Did… the kid…?” He knew they had been looking for the client’s brother, but nowhere in his memory surfaced what had become of their actual case.

“The boy is sleeping downstairs,” Kiiryon replied. He plucked the empty cup from Casey’s shuddering hands and turned on a heel to descend the stairs. “Waiting for you to return him.” Without another word he floated down the stairwell, red hair flowing behind him. Casey hesitated, then sought out a clean shirt before following.

❧

Kiiryon recalled it fondly.

Their traverse back into the northern society, back to New Jersey-- to the detectives home. The child still asleep and deposited upon the couch, whose red upholstery was stark against the sullen theme of the office. Face innocent and matted with blood from the massacre just minutes before, and now back closer to his sister whom hired them to return Thomas home.

He stole a glance to the Barghest. Eyes roving along flesh and fur, taking mental note of the wounds accumulated. Kiiryon had work to do, and it was best the work be done while the child slept. Thomas had known what the apothecary looked like; he would never see Kiiryon again.

It had been a handful of days since the trio returned. Meals hot and left behind on a table for the young boy to eat, the office left unattended except for notes of direction, and Whiskers to guard over. And the few times Kiiryon dared to make himself a known entity, he did so with a call from the top of the stairs, telling young Thomas there was clothing for him to change into or a book left to be read. At times while hiding, the apothecary heard music playing and those radio shows. More often than not he avoided the young boy with spells of sleep or requests for Atlas to drop a drug into the boys drink. Memory loss spells and potions could only do so much. The office was littered with property that would jog the boys memory to the hired detective and potentially the apothecary with him.

Nevertheless, Kiiryon tapped the metal spoon against the laid towel to drown out his sound, his presence. Jack Casey would wake soon from his own healing slumber.

Carefully, to the stairs he ascended, dressed in his robes of black. His hair down and free, allowing his tipped ears to peek through. Pace careful to not spill a drop, Kiiryon swiftly became aware that the detective was awake.

“You’re finally awake human.” he hummed, his golden gaze glimmering in the shadows of the stairs hall. Observing and drinking in the form of the man covered in bandages, lips pulling into a small smile at the mans need for modesty with pants now worn.

To have blood and ash mixed with magic in his throat, Jack Casey found speech was hard. A normal repercussion Kiiryon surmised.

The apothecary observed those dark eyes tumultuous and wild. Fevered with fear and uncertainty as to what happened, why they were here in the detective’s own home, the boy, and what was the fate of the occultists, of even himself. And so Kiiryon reached for Jack Casey, hand on a broad shoulder to ground the man to the present. “Here,” commanded the apothecary, tea cup and saucer extended, with aromatic steam to dance between them, “drink.”  

Throat now salved, the detective began his questioning. And with mirth, Kiiryon responded to each in truth, just enough to not be a lie; just enough to not satisfy.

In between the lulls of silence filled with Jack Casey’s drinking, the apothecary kept his voice low as to not wake the child downstairs; but for all he knew, the child was already awake.

The detective expressed a single fear in question; the fate of the young Thomas. “Did …the kid …?” trembled Jack Casey, reeling in on himself and hands shaking.

“The boy is sleeping downstairs,” plucked was the mug from the detective and Kiiryon offered a steady exhale and nod, “ waiting for you to return him.” he bade.

Turning heel and descending to the first floor, Kiiryon left no room for argument, or implication that he would join Jack Casey for the return. Perhaps he could offer Atlas as company and a watchful messenger, but he only did business with humans, not for them, nor to reunite their families with intentions lacking a deal.

He paused at the base of the steps, his head turning to glance up to the detective who clutched the rails and wall for support. There was no effort or intent made to walk past the door frame into the office. The child was awake, and Kiiryon refused to make his physical appearance known. A child was a sort of fair friend for the apothecary. Useful for his bidding and brief company, walking a thin rope of walking away back to family, or whisked away to the unknown to never be seen from again. But Thomas had dabbled in the darker side of magic, and Kiiryon wanted nothing to do with him, even if there was a sort of innocence left.

“He’s awake, human.” he announced. Stepping aside for Jack Casey to take the lead and offering the empty mug back to his weakened grasp. He was met with a curious and sort of pleading gaze from the detective, but Kiiryon offered no remorse and shook his head, ‘no’.

“You’re not gonna join me?” pressed the detective taken aback, in surprise versus offense.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” again Jack Casey pleaded.

“I will not set foot in there.” demanded the apothecary.

“But I’m not fit to go alone.” panicked the detective. Again, Kiiryon noticing that reclusive behaviour after having allowed the Barghest to run free.

“You will have Atlas accompany you. You will not shut yourself in fear.” he commanded to Jack Casey, betraying whatever veil he had attempted to shroud over the detectives thoughts and assumptions.

“But Kii I can’t go out there.” protested Jack Casey in a panic.

Silence was the apothecary’s response, taking to just staring at the detective with his slender brow raising in question to his behaviour. Kiiryon would not be denied his pay.  So with a simple side step behind the detective, the apothecary braced hands carefully to those bandaged shoulders and briskly pushed Jack Casey out into view for Thomas to see.

Pivoting on his heel and hissing in pain, the detective shot Kiiryon a withering look and one that was heated in his minor pout of being exposed alone, to which the apothecary grinned in mirth--he would not budge.

“Um..hello.” a meek voice rose, breaking the silent glare that Jack Casey had seemingly made to no one in particular.

Cautiously, Thomas moved from Jack Casey’s desk chair. Hands busying themselves to a worn and dirtied yet still clean compared to the prior set.

~~~

Blood. It called out, beckoning from the darkness with its sweet deep scent. His blood. The barghest could not soon forget the smell and taste of that man’s blood, the secret power it contained, and the promises of more treats it whispered within.

The blood was the first thing it sensed, and the first sensation it experienced in that shared body: blood on his tongue, and more, lapped and slipping deliciously down his throat. It made him feel powerful and strong, senses honed and snapping into focus. The heat and crackle of fire surrounded them, and within throbbed the warmth of living bodies, writhing and screaming, their words and faces obscured by potent fear and those lingering on the brink of mortality.

That fear coalesced in a most potent spark that was close, and drew the barghest’s attention. A human was running over a patch of fire, murderous intent in his chest, towards That Man at his side— the one who gave gifts and whose blood sung so sweetly. Without a moment’s hesitation the barghest lunged, pinning the man to the ember ground and tearing at his face with sharp claws. The human lashed out with a weapon, and distantly the barghest could feel a bloom of pain in his shoulder, but it was no matter as his teeth gladly found the fragile flesh past insignificant cloth and bone armor. The stabbing and flailing stopped, prey growing weak and weary— the barghest thought he might savor the kill to fill his empty stomach, but the voice of that special man drew his gaze back.

Red eyes found their target and moved in a flurry of hazy black mist to pounce, laying out the leader on his back. His face was ruined by burns, mouth screaming wordlessly, and the barghest sought his throat to tear out with his jaws, freeing the delicious blood— though not quite as savory as what had awakened him.

Blood painted his chin as he gnashed and tore at the flesh, blood spattered over his naked chest coating the necklace there, blood seeped into the clothes that barely contained his furred and muscled body. It was hard to tell where the mess of gore that was the leader’s ruined form ended and his red cloak began, so marred was it all by fire and rending. When the human stopped burbling blood and lay silent, still and dead, the barghest finally tired of him, and turned back to face the rest of the chaotic scene.

Fire burned his sensitive retinas, the smoke itched his nose and the back of his throat, but most potent of all was that overpowering fear still permeating the space within the circle of flames. It scattered his gaze back and forth, distracted by pulsing heartbeats and flickering frantic energy. The only one without fear was Kiiryon: his inhuman spirit gleamed bright and center, his voice rose in peals of laughter that contrasted directly with the shrieks and yells of the scattering cultists. The barghest felt pulled to him, taking a few steps towards his burning energy. One human dashed himself at the fire to escape and was consumed, and the remaining fled from his ignited outstretched arms grasping at them for help.

A cloaked woman had the unfortunate luck to run past the barghest, and he did not let such prey go past him unabated. She screamed as he grabbed her then went silent in deathly fear as he forced her face towards his. She shivered and tried to pull away from the black smoke that writhed around the detective’s form, like a miasma of cold fingers plucking at her robes. The barghest stared into her wide eyes, looking at the soul underneath.

She was an older woman, but not yet elderly, who had seen many in her life be taken from her and from such fear had apparently found solace in this macabre group. So much death the woman had seen, even some by her own hand, and yet she had never locked eyes with a harbinger of oblivion. Had she, the barghest would not have hesitated a moment to take her from this world, such was the calling of his kind. In his hesitation it afforded the woman a moment to grasp at an amulet around her neck and mutter a few words- the crest shone in dark light and having it so near scrambled the barghest’s thoughts.

Frustrated, he threw the woman to the side, and looked up just in time to see another running at him wielding a sharpened pole. The barghest snarled and bellowed as he narrowly avoided the blow, smacking the weapon aside with one hand and raking across the face of his attacker. She screamed and dropped to the ground, seemingly comforted by the woman with the pendant as they both lay in the mess of gore that was once their leader.

The barghest sneered and the hazy black around him twitched and shifted, considering. The women’s sniveling turned his stomach, and his mind again returned to what had called him here: the sweet taste of Kiiryon’s blood. His crimson gaze returned to the center of the fire and its master, and the barghest was drawn back step by step to his side.

👁  He stood watching the massacre, the feast with a beast in man's skin and clothes. 

Blood falling to the earth and trees that roots so eagerly guzzled up. Unfazed by the cries for forgiveness and help, Kiiryon continued to stare with little sympathy. His crimson hair bellowed in the heated breeze that the flames danced in; a fire of its own that danced and dared others to touch it. Steadily his chest rose and fell, quickly did he hear the whispers of the fires tell him secrets of the humans and their sins, fanciful tales of their brief existence as heated guests to the slaughter. Kiiryon himself on occasion would whisper his own snide remark of their foul dalliances in black magic.

And only when the Barghest brushed his hand, did the elf come back to himself and out of his distant gaze and mirth. Eyes alight and peering inhumanly to his companion shrouded with inky mist. His pale hands brushing against heated and abysmal flesh to brush aside blood and grime. Idly, the elf groomed the Barghest while the remaining humans quivered. “You left some alive.” he cooed like a mother to her childe.

Briskly, Kiiryon removed himself from the dark creatures embrace and approached the two elderly women on the floor. Looking down upon their crumbled expressions, he sneered before glancing to the few who remained. Continuously the fire crackles and snickered with bated hums, waiting to see what else would befall the humans. Languidly, Kiiryon tilted his head to glance over his shoulder to the flames. The frightened and curious face of Grace watched eagerly to what was occuring, his small hands fisted onto her robes-- tis a shame such youth knows such horror.

“This is the punishment for your kin, human.” said the elf in a whisper, his head bowed in mocking remorse. His voice being swallowed up by the screams and cries of the remaining occultists. Their bodies gobbled up by fire and their voices extinguished along with their lives.

Rightening himself, and meandering through the flames like a spectral of his own, Kiiryon approached the leader of the cult once more. Kneeling before the remains, he pulled out a tiny jar from his pocket, and glanced to the Barghest wearily with a small huff. The creature had gotten to the soul before he. One to the Otherside, and none for his dear lantern. He sighed.

Raising up once more and patting his knees clean of earth, the flames yawned and began their descent from which they came, and back into restful sleep to their torches and lanterns before fizzling out. The forest was mostly quiet, only the whispering trees who mourned and gossiped amongst the branches of what they had seen, chattered away. And only when the chill of the nightly breeze tickled their leaves and moss, did they begin their conversations once more.

“Come creature,” beckoned Kiiryon, “we must bring the little one back home.”

How Kiiryon mused at that moment, they he would be the one to bring a child home, versus the usual of charming and taking a child away. And in his moment of musings, he pondered on how they would depart. His limbs still tingled and thrummed with magic being tucked away as to not call attention to them. And Jack Casey was no longer a human detective, but a harbinger of death. “I will need your assistance creature.” called the elf. Wisely, the barghest knew they would need to make their escape. As well, it was nearing time for the creature to slumber with its belly full of blood and souls.

Again he knelt to the boy who napped in the middle of bloodshed, the Barghest coming to pick the child up. They could spindle their web of lies later to the sister, and to why the boy should never dabble in the dark arts. More specifically, Jack Casey would. Kiiryon doubted the young boy would forget who he was, and what he looked like.

“Misters!” cried out Grace running from the edge of the fire scorched circle. “W-wait!! What about our deal!” she cried in both fear and worry for being left behind and for not getting her share of their bargain. As before her eyes, the trio were slowly pulled into the seeping embrace of a fog that had slowly crept in with the rising moon. The swamps that easily birthed the haze.

“You have your bottle, human.” chided the elf rather cockily, in that tone in which they had bickered in only moments before, when he was but an odd man.

“But what if it doesn’t work!” demanded Grace with suddenly ignorance to her fears as she crossed the circle throwards Kiiryon, Jack Casey, and the boy.

“A pity.” was his ghostly whisper as the tender glow of amber and red eyes were the last of their presence. They were gone. Taken by the fog to someplace else that she did not know.

“But… That’s not fair.” came her defeated voice to a crime scene left behind.

Grace was left alone to bring herself back home, and gone was her sense and purpose with the members of the occult, slaughtered by her direction.

“He nevah was fair ta begin with.” announced Esther. A curvy woman with her arms crossed over her bosom. Her skin supple and dark, touched by the dusk sky itself, speckled with paint of her own. Her eyes were deep but wise, knowing that caused Grace to shiver, her hair braided and pulled into a wrap of silks so beautiful. And though her smile was warm, she shivered in the presence of this woman. It was similar to that of the red headed man that called her ‘human’ so distastefully, but it was also deeper in a warmth that alluring like cinnamon and just as spiced.

“What is he?” she pressed with a thick swallow, “what are they?”

The woman, Esther, remained silent to answer her question, but kicked her skirt idly in finding comfort in posture. “Mah name’s Esther childe.”

“Grace” she replied in whisper. “I see you have a gift.” Esther pressed with a nod to the bottle Grace so desperately clutched and hid eagerly like a hungered beast. “Neither of them are human, girl.” she quipped impatiently.

“Are they demons my cult summoned? Will I be able to do that someday?” pressed Grace, wiping her sweaty palm from the bottle to her robe.

His mind reeled, at first trying to slot together the rest of his half-baked plan, but even that flitted away as his shirt was ripped open, held between madmen and a knife descending. Even the necklace of protection did nothing from real steel and muscle that was entirely of this world. All he could do was call for Kiiryon.

Only finally, as he was about to utter a full-named command, did he hear an angry reply from that all-too familiar voice. Casey let out the barest of sighs before his breath stuck again, pulled to his feet with arms wrenched painfully behind him, knife hovering nearby. He strained to look over his opposite shoulder, to catch a glimpse of the firey hair and glowing eyes stalking from the dark woods that had drawn everyone’s attention.

“Who the hell are you?!” One of the bolder men asked as Kiiryon slowly stepped into the clearing, each footfall silent and self-assured.

“One unlike you foolish humans,” Kiiryon’s voice purred as he approached their group. The humming crackle of magic in the air strengthened, like a needle stuck on the radio between two competing stations. Pressure ratcheted between Casey’s brows, a headache forming behind his eyes. The others around seemed to feel it too; the hands on Casey’s shoulders and arms gripped harder, Thomas swayed and moaned around his gag from the center of the congregation.

The expressions surrounding them were equal parts confusion, anger, and fear. Casey watched Kiiryon with his breath held, heart thundering in his chest as its owner drew closer. The tension in the air hovered like the knife still held above Casey’s breast, and snapped as the pointed blade was turned towards Kiiryon instead. The cult leader rounded on him, grabbing at Kiiryon’s slender shoulder with his free hand while the knife slotted under Kiiryon’s chin. It seemed more hatred than pain that contorted his elven features.

“Your blood will be an even better sacrifice,” the leader growled as he leaned in, his girth and large stature making Kiiryon’s frame seem even smaller. Casey’s eyes scanned between all of the people crowding around, his body tensed but unable to break free, staring wide-eyed as Kiiryon’s slit golden gaze turned only on him.

“More than you know,” Kiiryon agreed as he finally looked at his captor. His hand slipped between his neck and the knife, palm toward the edge; startled by the movement, the leader bore his strength down and sliced into his flesh— only the barest curl of Kiiryon’s full lips showed it caused him pain. His fingers curled tightly around the blade and blood welled forth to spill down his wrist. Casey could smell it. His mouth watered. “I, too, can create powerful beings.”

Unnerved, the leader wrenched his blade back with a growl and Kiiryon relinquished it. He placed his freed, bloody hand on Casey’s face, swiping at his cheek and over his mouth. Instantly heat sprang into his face, the pounding at his temples increasing as the scent filled his senses: coppery, heady, and with a hint of something else hidden underneath that was at once familiar and not. Casey’s tongue flicked out through his parted lips; the taste of Kiiryon’s blood in his mouth made his knees feel weak.

The leader pulled Kiiryon away, swinging him by the shoulder against his chest and trapping Kiiryon’s arms down with one of his own. “You dare to mock us?!” he snarled against the side of his face. The knife found Kiiryon’s throat again, pressed into the skin where his jawline met his neck. What seemed like a hiss of pain as Kiiryon’s head craned back revealed itself to be the whisper of a chuckle that quickly became a cackle of self-satisfied laughter.

The man’s cloak burst into flame, fire licking up the shoulders and along his open hood. His expression was hidden in shadow and smoke, but his confused bellows became painful shrieks as he jolted away from Kiiryon and flailed, attempting to staunch the flames. The other cultists erupted in panic.

Like ants the humans panicked and screamed in terror of their leader caught aflame--flailing and crying for help as he stood still. Kiiryon’s heart raced and his eyes remained lively embers like the ones whom danced around them. The fires who were nestled in their nests of metal shrieked and slithered out to hinder and trap those who attempted to flee. 

No one would escape.

The rich melody of laughter erupted with the fire joining together in a dancing ring. They were all trapped within the growing and intimidating walls of  flames. The apothecary was amused, his wound though throbbing and dripping with blood, forgotten in favour of approaching the burning man. Firmly, Kiiryon grabbed the hand that barely clutched to the dagger as flesh melted against the stone and metal. “Look at me human.” whispered the elf harshly. Tugging at the man with both wrists in his hands, blood smearing on the burning clothes of the leader.

“Look at me!” roared Kiiryon with a shake. The low hymn, or strings that filtered into the heavy air began the tender melody of macabre death; the wandering flames, the choir.

Silence consumed them, the forest once more falling into submission of a presence that was once unknown, now made present. The distant panting and withering huffs from Jack Casey melded with the snickering crackle of fire--the remaining occultists whimpering and some begging in low whispers of mercy and awe of what they witnessed.  Muffled panting with hiccups spilling beneath them from the frightened and still mute Jonathan who swiftly fell unconscious from the fear and horror.

Shyly the man in Kiiryons grasp opened his eyes, his lashes singed and flesh bubbling, gazed to the elf with a great suffering and wheezing beg for it to end. “Look at your leader, humans.” Kiiryon paused as he glared at the man. The look bringing an all too familiar sense of dread that he had once endured, and the power of his rebellion to freedom that still lingered yet.

“You disgusting creatures..how I loathe you.” hissed Kiiryon, his voice dripping with distaste.

“How I detest your existence, yours especially. You want to make an offer to something for magic?” he scoffed, “You don’t even know what you try to summon.”

“Worry not human, I will summon something for you.” he said with finality, dropping the man on the ground. The fires dissipating from the leaders body.

“Wake up my dear companion. Let Jack Casey sleep.” beckoned Kiiryon with a comforting smile to the hunched and withering form of the detective.

Leaving behind the barely alive leader, the elf approached Casey’s hunched form with a slow walk. His eyes trained on the humans huddled against the farthest edge of the ring--some with their robes pulled back in their haste, revealing their guilty eyes and scared expressions.

Kiiryon appraised each one, determining their weight and worth, weighing their conscious. Slowly, the elf turned his injured hand back towards Casey as he stood next of him. Thought it seemed he was offering a helping hand, Kiiryon’s intentions were to only beckon the Barghest further from its slumber with a promise of more blood.

“None of you will leave alive.” said Kiiryon matter of factly.

“No!” cried a woman as she turned and readied to brace herself through the wall of fire to escape. But it was upon her leap to the fire, that she had suddenly become encased in flames and fell abruptly in a panic that the others scrambled to escape. Again, the occultists had to watch another one of their members burn before them. All the while the detective clutched to the earth and to the edge of Kiiryons shirt groaning and screaming with his own muted begging for solace.

“Stop! Stop it you mad man!” yelled a man.

Kiiryon pressed his lips thin narrowing his eyes to the man who stood in defiance.

“Is the weight of your guilt and sin too much for you human?” implied the elf with knowledge to their sacrificial ways and manners of conduct. Jonathan had been lucky that his dear little sister was concerned for his health and well being and pulled into an investigation. “So be it. If you can stop me, I’ll relent. ” he said with a hum and lull of his head, the sensation of a warm tongue on his palm  not forgotten to him.

With confidence or foolishness--the elf could not decide-- the man brandished a dagger of his own. Charging towards Kiiryon, he hesitated the closer he got, closer to seeing those inhuman golden eyes, closer to seeing his leader barely left alive and charred. Closer to witnessing Jack Caseys panting and struggle--it appeared the detective had seemingly suffered an injury of sorts, all the while feeding from something in Kiiryons hand.

Licking his lips and shifting the stance of his weight, the man held the dagger in both his hands and was poised to stab the man who could control fire. “What beast are you?” he whispered in threat, swallowing thickly in courage once more and pursuit.

“None at all.” responded the elf coyly. Fire slithered before him, separating Kiiryon from his attacker. How the flames moved to his beck and call caused a sort of revelation to the man with his dagger.

“What are you.” again he demanded.

Kiiryon only smiled once more in that mischievous manner. He didn’t need to answer, the proof was all around them, encompassed them, that he was something other than human. The gasp and faltering step of his attacker caused him to chuckle, the flames curiously bursting and combusting against the toes and heels of the mans shoes to surprise him.

A yell in the distance broke his attackers focus. Another one of the cultist members had succumbed to Kiiryon’s punishment, in which the elf only chuckled in mirth once more.

“I said stop!” cried the man with a lunge of the dagger.

He braced himself, Kiiryon was sure he would be fine, but the dramatics of it all and the entertainment of death has his blood boiling in a manner that was not appropriate. But the pain never came and instead, more screams and cries of fear filled the swamps.

Jack Casey had lunged at the man that dared to attack Kiiryon. His face pressed into the mud as claws though human, were still sharp and sunk into the cheek of the man, holding him down. Whilst teeth, sharp and jaws, powerful bit into the tender flesh of ribs and threatened to break them.

Kiiryon didn’t dare to remove his gaze from the detective now Barghest, extinguishing the man before. Those horns curled and tipped looked more demon and devilish than he did, and those eyes were so vividly crimson--a more hellish sight and closer to what the humans had eventually tried to conjure. It was hard to tell what was smoke, and what was the abysmal fog that follow the changed detective.  But it was a treat to see the harbinger of death, summoned.

“I suppose he failed.” quipped Kiiryon rather nonchalantly, “Barghest--don’t fatten yourself on him alone. There are more.”

He watched the pair ahead of him chat, Kiiryon having to look directly down from his height at Grace’s dimunitive form. Once they looked back at him, and his brow furrowed, concerned at what they could possibly be plotting or talking about regarding him. Casey couldn’t help but find it strange to watch Kiiryon chat with her so breezily, and his mind wandered: did Kiiryon have any friends? He wasn’t sure why the sudden sentimentality crept in, but he found himself curious: did Kiiryon have anyone to talk to so casually, besides those he intended harm to? It gave him a shiver and he increased his pace to catch up, imagining creatures nipping at his heels.

It didn’t take long to catch up, and the pair slowed and looked ahead through the trees to a clearing. Casey scrunched his nose as Grace announced she wasn’t following, or allowed to enter. Wasn’t she already abandoning her group, asking for Kiiryon’s help in learning magic? They couldn’t approve of both, right? He was about to say as much when Kiiryon instead interjected, and, feeling that was enough, just let out his breath in a sigh.

He followed Kiiryon’s gaze to what lay beyond, and couldn’t help but cringe.

“Aw, Christ,” Casey said, realizing after it passed his lips how this situation was the furthest thing from. He thought again of his late-night radio plays and horror imaginings; first black dogs and now black cloaks. He bodily shuddered, fingertips prickling as anxiety clenched his heart. Low rumblings of mutters and the sound of earth trampled underfoot turned to chanting that carried through the trees and drowned out the sounds of wildlife.  Casey could feel his heartbeat in his temples and filling the space of his chest. His eyes scanned over the grim scene before them, the painted symbols and bowls for God-knew-what. That pressure thrummed at the back of his head, even more sharply with the treble of every shouted word that Casey couldn’t even understand. He pressed his hands to his cheeks, feeling as if he might come apart.

“Nghh, tha hell?! What do we do?!” He looked wild-eyed to his companion, but what he found there gave him no comfort. Kiiryon took in a hissed breath, eyes wide and pupils thinned to slits, his skin shivering where it was exposed from his suit. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to, as Casey recognized just how difficult it was for his friend. Protective instinct gripped him, pushing out the fear as the adrenaline flooding his system distinctively changed wavelengths.

Before he even thought through his course of action, Casey was on his feet. He stepped over the brush and shoved through a line of short trees to the clearing, the noise of settling leaves immediately attracting the attention of the two hooded figures closest to him.

“HEY!” His shout turned more heads without faces, hoods silhouetting them to obscurity. The chanting leader’s tone softened, but did not stop entirely. The air was thick and made Casey’s teeth sting; the gazes locked on him electric. That smothering presence billowed up behind him and he pushed it back with each heartbeat, licking his lips.

“I ‘eard you all lookin’ for real magic,” Casey started, hoping he sounded intimidating, even as the words he spoke felt foreign to him. “You don’t know da first thing about it.” He pointed to the man standing in the center, poised as sacrifice as far as Casey could tell. “Let ‘im go!”

The hoodest figure closest to Casey scoffed, a voice that sounded masculine, but still young. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jus’ someone who’s made a deal with tha Otherside.” The necklace against Casey’s chest and the charms against his wrist flooded him with heat, almost burning in warning. He sure hoped he could talk them down, otherwise his backup of Kiiryon’s fire and his own hidden nature would have to decide things more permanently.

Casey had burst through the tree line.

It was a moment of stupor for Kiiryon--he knew the human to be brash and thoughtless at times. But to be rather frankly put, stupid to run in with no plan and no thought to the consequences made the apothecary writhe and roll his eyes. It was such behaviour that both caused great amusement to him, and a great sense of loathing.

He held his breath. Kiiryon would not act like the detective did. The elf was a careful predator, waiting and observing when to strike. Casey would have to do on his own for the moment being--there was no merit for him to expose himself. The human was expendable. He was not.

“The Otherside? “ croaked a voice with a cackle. “The otherside of what? Trees?” teased a robed figure with a gesture to the silent treeline.   The low muttering of a guttural chanting continued with the mixture of low chuckles to the invasive presence.  

“Thomas wouldn’t want to leave with you.” said one voice. “Yeah! Not when he’s so close to becoming a powerful being.” jeered a womans voice.

“Not when he’s the chosen one” sighed another.

Yet Thomas remained silent and unspoken for-- mute but, that was such with mouth gagged and hands bounce. The young man simply withered.

“He came here of his own accord, stranger.”  threatened another occultist

“Don’t strip him of his glory!” cried a shrill presence. At once, the voices rose with anger and frustrations, of humiliation and threats towards Jack Casey for interrupting their otherwise peaceful evening.

All the while, Kiiryon continues to hone his composure with lips pressed thin, and jaw clenched to the stinging embrace of black magic present. It was best to ignore the human bickering with the foolish robed people and find a bit of peace within himself in the cover of bushes.

“Nat goin’ ta help your dog?”  Kiiryon sighed to the playful question. His eyes narrowed with annoyance glanced to his left wo which a frog perched contently. It’s flesh moist from the swamp waters and throat bobbing in excitement.

“Come come elf boy, tha poor ‘ting fed himself to da wolves.” croaked the frog’s voice.

“Esther-- a pleasure to see you beneath me again,” smiled the elf sarcastically to the  roll of large amphibian eyes before again he faltered into his rather annoyed expression, “the human is fine.”

“You are too cocky y’know.” chided the frog.

“I didn’t know that witches in their down time enjoyed skinny dipping in swamps and pestering me. Or is it just you missed me for so long.” snipped Kiiryon with a hushed growl.

The bushes rustled with a hiss as the frog found mirth in jumping upon the apothecary’s cheek and whispering sultry words into his ear. “Look here ya ahss’. Dat man is special to me too.”

“Oh?” pressed the elf in threat. His hand swiping at the frog and clutching it firm between his fingers with the temptation to take the little creatures life.

“Yah, he will be mine--there is only so long he will resist me--an’ if you dont do sometin’ I’m gonna go in dere and make my reign as masta.”

“Esther? Threatened by humans and their thirst for magic again are we?” pressed Kiiryon with a sneer.

“Aren’t you?” she said before puffing into a heap of smoke. Not by his hand but, by the will of her magic. Soot stained his palms, and again the elf’s heart ached, for she was right. For what they both endured once before and how it still haunted them.

“Was that a frog!” wailed Grace with eyes wide. She too had joined in the front line.

His heart raced as his lips trembled.

The pull and call of magic was unstable and Kiiryon writhed in the agony and annoyance of his own foolish emotions once again. Static consumed the forest in which the humans held their ritual, the fire swayed and snapped. It crackles and hissed as the leader of the cult gasped and praised himself and his fellow members for their job well done. For their strength in magic and for their coming new era of becoming something beyond human.

Casey whom was in the fray already was wrestling with a few of the robed humans. His hands grasping for purchase on one while becoming subdued by another--yet he had been victorious in partially granting Thomas, his vision to view what was to become of him.

“Sacrifice them both!” roared the man with blade in hand. “The more we give--the more we shall receive!” he announced.

The detective shuddered with the familiar pull of threatening magic being called and beckoned to. Fear gripped at his heart, confused as to whether it was the occultist succeeding in summoning a demon or if it was perhaps Kii. The elf had after all left him alone to his brash plan.

“No!” cried Casey.

“N-not if you value your-uh… lives.”

“I toldja, I made a deal!” bargained the detective, something to buy them time. Licking dry lips, Casey shifted his hips kicking himself back in hopes to stand himself up, but he succeeded in only a kneel from assistance. This was their intended posture for him.

“Give his blood up--they always demand more blood for their insatiable thirst.” Commanded their leader. His eyes cold and hollow with a far away look.

Swiftly the detectives shirt was ripped and pulled open. His broad chest rising and falling quickly in nervous panting. “Kii..” he whispered with eyes prickling and wide. One of the robed people approaching him with the dagger in hand whilst Thomas, still muted, shouted as best he could to the horror of what was to be a simple ritual.

“Aargh shit--uh..Kii!” shouted Casey with the distance growing shorter.

“Kiir--”

“Silence you foolish human!” seethed the elf's  velvet and commanding tone. From the bushes Kiiryon glowered with an intent glare to Casey and no one else. His eyes glowing and pupils cat-like with a promising punishment for having almost given up his name. The hat was abandoned into the bushes and his hair was pulled free from the braid. Coat shrugged off with care to be left behind in safety with Grace hidden.

Casey had been shut up when he offered to row, Kiiryon’s remark of his lack of direction making his arguments die in his throat, but he truly wished he’d pushed more. He would feel a lot better working with his hands and doing something, than having to sit and wait uselessly as the land stretched on. He watched the girl row and guilt gnawed at his bones.  Her slight form paired with her pale hair and dark circles around her eyes reminded Casey of a muddy ghost.

Finally they hit shore and all three got out onto soggy land– Casey none-too-gracefully. His poor footing on the muddy earth was made worse by the reminder of the deal that Kiiryon and Grace had made- their handshake in his mind’s eye giving him a chill. So distracted was he that he didn’t even notice that Kiiryon pulled a vial from his coat- not until the waning light caught it, the liquid glistening as it tilted it back and forth. Casey’s heart jumped into his throat.

Grace reached out tentatively to take the vial, and Casey’s nails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. That pulsing thrum at the back of his head returned fiercely, like a beast breathing down his neck. His mouth watered and he swallowed hard. Kiiryon’s eyes flicked to him with derision and Casey pulled a face. Grace’s fingers relinquished the treasure from Kiiryon’s grasp.

“Y-you should wait, ta drink dat,” Casey blurted, his voice unsteady. Grace looked his way with confusion, even a little cautiousness. “At least until yer back somewhere safe.” She stowed the vial in a pocket of her dress without another word.

Forcefully Casey stepped past the two of them, not trusting himself to stand there with temptation so close and the phantom sharp tang of drug on his tongue. The cabin’s siding peeked out from between the trees in the direction Grace pointed, overgrown in patches and seemingly abandoned. He started walking towards it, slowly but determinedly, hoping that distance from the drug cradled in Grace’s pocket would clear his head.

Assuming the other two would follow, Casey approached the cabin from the side, listening for voices or other footfalls. The softness of the ground meant his own steps were quiet, but he couldn’t make out anything from the house. Even boosting himself into a windowsill and squinting against the glass, it was dark inside. He was beginning to get the sneaking suspicion that Grace had led them on a wild goose chase, before she appeared to his side, startling him. He let out a breath.

“They must have gone to the ritual ground,” she said, giving Casey another chill.

“Dat so?” He cleared his throat. “Maybe we can jus’… ah, wait ‘em out.” He followed the length of the building to the front to inspect the door that was left unlocked. Feeling like he was walking into a trap he slowly opened the door and peeked in, but even as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of its interior, no figures stared out from the small sparse interior.

Knowingly he stared.

Kiiryon was familiar with that longing stare of want for the vial in his hand. How many of his victims had that same hungered look, or that frail fight of defiance to the drug that he cradled with a fragile grasp. Willing and hoping for it to be taken away. His lips curled into a mischievous smile, his impish tendencies shining through the narrow of his eyes as he watched Casey swallow so thickly and persevere with a warning to the young woman.

But then again, the detective never had the honor to try the elfs drug. He was given a copycat and became addicted to it’s taste--the human even had the honour of tasting his own poisoned blood; never the drug.

They approached the cabin. It was a rather entertaining treat to see the detective using his well earned experience in the field.  Casey being the one whom was most cautious while Grace interrupted the mans sneaking tactics with an announcement of her fellow coven members at another location. Though stress was present on the mans dark gaze, Kiiryon only observed and waited with patience. Grace was only hurting herself--shortening the length of her lifespan as they were given no reward for her interrogation--their mission would survive if she were to suddenly burst into a fiery death.

“We will not wait.” said Kiiryon rather matter of factly. He wouldn’t wait for the cultists to have their way and folly with the rules of magic. Perhaps it was judgmental of him towards man, but the elf couldn’t fathom that the humans would understand the laws of magic, thusly why few wizards and witches even began to exist. Aside from the innate fear humankind had harbored towards the elements of both good and bad.

From his opposing posture at the doors entrance once Casey was inside, Kiiryon bore his golden gaze onto the man.

“You will not waste my time.” hissed the elf with a sneer, the detective was stalling.

Steps echoing out from the sodden floor boards, Kiiryon stepped back into the chorus of frogs and crickets. “Human.” quipped the elf to Grace whom flinched with attention. “Bring us to those defiled grounds.” “”It’s Grace,” she huffed, “and they aren’t defiled they are ritual grounds. Your friend would know what I’m talking about!”

“The soiled grounds--now. Human.” Kiiryon leaned in, towering over the young woman with his shadow to embrace her. And were his hair free from its braid to hide his tipped ears, would curtain the glare that was meant specifically for her.

“You’re gonna have to use my name at some point-- demon.” said Grace with her own clipped tone, which earned her a smirk from the elf.

She sighed with a sag of her shoulders, the vial heavy in her pocket as a reminder, before she rolled her eyes with a turn and beckon, “C’mon then.” Kiiryon followed obediently with a sniff and nose tilted up into the air, a smile worn proudly on his lips whilst they left Casey to traverse through the trees. Their pace slowed down and hindered by the soft earth and clinging mud. The detective would catch up he was sure.

But in their moment of silence, Grace sought to break it with interrogating the elf; Who are you? What is it like? How come you answered his call? She asked in a flurry. How tempting it was to feed the hungered and hidden reptiles that stalked them, how hard it was for Kiiryon to fight back such a desire to be rid of the woman.

“Everything of my being is of no concern to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“Oh I get it,” she said with revelation. “He won’t allow you to.” answered Grace with a nod toward Jack Casey. Kiiryon simply took a slow and deep inhale with lips pressed firmly shut. There was no merit into correcting the woman, he’d simply let her believe her romanticized follies. Momentarily, he wondered if the one witch he was familiar with would be embarrassed by such people walking this realm. Perhaps, he’d enlighten her.

“And why can you not use Magic?” preened the elf with all intent of flaunting and humiliating the girl.

“I can!” she bellowed, her cheeks red with shame.

“Oh you can--can you?”

“Yes, I can.”

“And, what pray tell does it whisper to you, human?”

“Secrets!” bolstered Grace with losing patience. Her attitude reminding him of the other Casey children; dear little Charlotte and Cora. But she was a woman, not a child--her eyes were ignorant and blind. Blind to the creatures that watched them; hanging from the moss and slithering in the weeds, fluttering in the shadows behind the trees. Eager and waiting, chanting is maws and lips licked for the blood that she and her fellow cultists were to needlessly shed.

Kiiryon scoffed with a chuckle, “He hears more than you.” gestured the elf to Jack Casey once more, “you would simply call it haunted and be off on your merry way.” Said Kiiryon with a hiss before continuing on through the trees.

“Come along--this swamp land of yours is hungry.” announced Kiiryon with a flourish to the land, and a command to rush Grace and Casey to follow.

Past the next body of trees, they were guided to a clearing some distance away before Grace paused with her hands sliding into her pocket. For a fleeting moment, Kiiryon wondered if she hid a gun in her clothes.

“They are just beyond that tree line.I won’t go any further--I’m not allowed to.” she swallowed thickly, shifting her weight and licking her lips, “I’m not a chosen.” she said breathlessly glancing between the two men.

“But you can watch.” pressed Kiiryon with a raise of his brow.

There were few magics and spells that required someone to be absent, and he doubted what she and the fellow cultists were doing was hardly any of such.

“I’m not allowed to.” she said hesitantly with a clear of her throat.

Kiiryon narrowed his eyes and tilted his head with a languid lull to drag his golden gaze to Casey.

“Pity. You’ll miss out.” said the elf after a pause with his eyes intent from Casey towards the treeline.

Just beyond the breech stood men and women in hoods and capes, cloaks and robes. Faces painted and bodies embellished with stains and art, stones and scripts. A rune and spell circle etched onto stone buried into the earth with torches lit and flora burned. And in the center stood a young man, blindfolded and bound with runes painted on his flesh, on the fabrics that held him. Rusted and aged bowls and jars upon the ground. A mans voice bellowing in chanting with a dagger in hand.

Kiiryon seethed an inhale, his flesh growing with gooseflesh and a shudder running down his spine. The stones on his body humming and hugging him with assuring embrace and warning of what they were witnessing.

He shook his head. “Nope,” he confirmed, the follow up that he wasn’t sure he was entirely, either, anymore left silent. He was glad she didn’t press the subject, and seemed she was going to relinquish the information until she switched to bargaining.

Casey internalized a groan, but didn’t miss more than one beat. “Sure, sure,” he said, a sudden bolt of inspiration rolling off his tongue as he patted her shoulder. “Dat’s what ‘e’s been doin’ f'me. Little scary, but 'e’s a great teacher.” The fear started to abate, replacing the look in the girl’s eyes with a twinkle of wonderment, and she licked her lips.

“But first,” Casey reminded, letting a hand drop to grab up the photo again, “information.”

“Of course,” she said, and plucked the image from between his fingers. She looked at it warily, her eyes sliding to catch Casey’s, then back again.

“He’s new here, but everyone… spoke'n highly of him.” Her words were whisper-quiet, as if every one loosed made her feel more nervous and regretful of spilling secrets. Casey filled the silence between with hums of understanding and nods to comfort her. “He’s gone from here now. On a retreat. Where we… we commune… with the deities. If he’s… seen as worthy, he can continue with us, but…” She looked over her shoulder at Kiiryon. “Your power is even more than… than…!” She shoved the picture back to Casey. “You don’t need 'im! I’d be a much better pupil! Please, sir, teach -me- instead!”

Casey scoffed and attempted to draw her attention back. “We’re not lookin’ for 'im for -that-, jus’… Where’s dis retreat? How long?”

“However long it takes.”

Casey didn’t like the idea of wandering around in the swampy woods looking for some sort of ritual, or what they might find there. He thought he caught Kiiryon curl a lip from the corner of his eye. With the lengthening silence, the girl looked between he and Kiiryon, nervous energy radiating off of her.

“So, how do we start? Is it, do you have a symbol? A charm, to use magics?” She barely contained an excited giggle. At the words the weight against Casey’s chest of the necklace there felt suddenly heavy. She knew at least some things, more than he did, of how these things truly worked.

Casey’s back creaked when he stood straight, looking askance at Kiiryon. “Whattaya say? I’m sure ya can make some kinda deal wit’ dis little lady?” He wasn’t about to kill her in cold blood, but perhaps the apothecary could work out some kind of beneficial situation for himself- Casey knew how those deals tended to conclude. It wasn’t like they could take her with them, or otherwise let her warm her people that they were nosing around. His expression was heavy as he regarded his partner in crime.

   He sneered at how the woman was held. The detective was far too kind and gentle with those whom surely deserved a deeper punishment--who deserved death. 

The elf thought to make himself comfortable, and with little debate, found himself nestled against the tomb and arms crossed over his chest. The woman spoke of the boy, of how her fellow cultists worshiped deities like those of the olden days. Picking one soul from their gaggle to sacrifice for a higher sort of ascension. And what luck that it was, that their chosen prodigy was the same bastard that they were hired to find. Humans were terribly complicated creatures.

Kiiryon wasn’t opposed to being worshiped. Such attentions were something he was familiar with in his old life. A man of medicine was always a bit cherished more than the typical member of his home. Nevertheless he sighed with eyes narrowed to a slender glare and lips pulled downcast into a sneer. “Human, you are not answering questions.” said the elf with distaste.

“You are a foolish creature--rude and incompetent.” he continued with his voice carrying an obvious tone of disgust for the young womans behaviour. Kiiryon was losing his patience. The woman turned in Casey’s grasp, and he adjusted quickly to keep her within reach. There was one rule the elf stuck firmly to: ‘Never to be tricked in trade.’ This was followed by other rules of the Otherside; names were sacred. And the debts were to always be paid by the one in debt or those of blood to follow through, lest their blood be shed. Kiiryon seethed, and whether or not Casey knew it, the old man whom started their partnership too endured the harassment from the elf. In fact, it was with great relief that the old man died, lest he be tortured and haunted by Kiiryon.

In a flutter of fabrics that seemed to flutter and follow with Kiiryon as if he were fog itself, the elf stepped with quick and long strides to stand and tower before the woman and Jack Casey. “You want a deal human?” growled the elf in a seething whisper. His golden eyes simmering as coals dared a curious glance to the detective in which he stared at the man, “You will not hinder me.” threatened Kiiryon. Pupils thinning into a cat-like state, the elf bowed his head to acknowledge the woman in the detectives embrace once again. His glower he hoped would keep the little canary of a human quiet, instead of her fluttering excitement which he had fondly grown scant patience for.

Of course the woman was filled with wonder and awe in her wide eyed stare. Her lips parted with breathe quiet before she nodded swiftly in agreeing to whatever it was that the taller man had wanted. Her heart raced, she had met something inhuman and near to what she assumed their deities would be, though the man appeared human despite the teachings of their animal like appearances of horns and hooves. Fur and tails, feathers and claws even. But her skin crawled and prickled with tiny scampering feet which could only mean that despite the humanly appearance of the taller man, there was a fear she could acknowledge. Plus the detective agreed and seemed to understand and know the company he was in.

Again she licked her lips before swallowing thickly, “Are--are you, were you summoned by him?” she nodded to the man who the taller man seemed to obey. Her voice quiet and mousy, “Is he from another masters coven?”

“Silence.” hissed the taller man, whilst the broader man behind her babbled with an answer. Lips pursing to bite at, the woman hushed herself from more questions. She didn’t want to lose her chance of becoming something more, something different.

Whomever the taller man was, he was oppressive in every form when she became violent, she could acknowledge. He was ominous and threatening, and yet there was still something beautiful in his aggravation towards herself and even the man who held her. Despite knowing that it was dark magics and covens that brought him, she noticed how the man tensed and writhed with anger if he was compared to the likes of herself or her fellow cultists. It was all so very overwhelming. And with curiosity, she pressed her back against the broader man behind her, and felt something firm and small pressing between her shoulders and neck. He was wearing a token of sorts, she assumed and declared it to be truth. She wanted whatever was happening to be real.

She was wanted to be stronger and more powerful.

“I will give you the power you seek. But you must bring us to where the human in that picture is.” purred Kiiryon.

“Anything” she said breathlessly. And with a hand that stretched out with fingers waiting, did Kiiryon wait in silence. No word to fall further from his lips, but there was a whisper and lull in the seemingly stagnant air. A hushed beckon to accept, to take his hand, to shake and agree upon their deal. His eyes were glowing intent, clearly inhuman, and his smile was faint but welcoming, calling to the woman to follow through and continue with their trade.

👁

It was with faint afterthought that Kiiryon pondered whether or not Jack Casey was comfortable. The man had watched a woman far younger than he, fall into the same fate that was pushed onto him from the old man.

Nevertheless, they floated down the dark and abysmal swamps. Stumps of trees poked out and the Spanish moss hung from their weeping branches, reaching to touch and tickle those who passed them by. The smell was heavy and thick with the fresh scent of rich mud, algae and floating debris clutched to the edge of their boat and oar.

“Worry not human, the young woman will be fine.” said Kiiryon with another sigh.

Kiiryons new contract was currently rowing them through the swamps. And though Casey insisted on doing the work himself, he was of little help in the directions in which they needed to proceed.

Frogs and crickets sang in their melodies, birds gave their dying chirps as they feld. Most grew quiet and watched with curiosity of what the three intruders were doing within their territory. “Human.” Called Kiiryon as the boat coasted with a butting stop into the thick mud and the fallen trees resting in their watery grave. “Grace.” called back the woman. “We made a deal--you call me proper.”

To which the elf answered with silence, and the woman, Grace, rolled her eyes and climbed out of the boat with a quibbling balance before jumping off onto shore. “Jus beyond the clearin’ here theres a cabin. “ she said with a point over her shoulder in confidence.

The mud was slippery and sinking, Kiiryon hopped to not have to traverse back on foot to the hotel if something were to happen to their boat. The Boogy man would take kindly to the place here and find home happily--he would make note to tell him once they met again.

“As we agreed upon.” hummed Kiiryon with a grin, “You will consume this, human.” he said with rebellion.

And as eager as Grace was for the bottle, the elf retracted his hand with a tut-tut, “You would do well to fight temptation. Take more and you shall gain what you desire--take less and so it too shall happen. The consequence is yours to determine.” he lectured with his gaze sliding toward Casey with mirth in his eyes. “You wouldn’t want to be like him.” he preened with a purr.

After all, it was the very same bottle that Casey found in the mans death bed beneath the tavern, that he fought the elf for so beastly. He seemed human enough.

But whether or not, it was the man whom died to a nightly beast or to the overdose of Miles replica, was left to be determined.

She screamed and flailed and Kiiryon’s magic crackled again, and Casey felt himself sway with confused nausea. He had no choice but to push through.

“Hey!” he said, garnering the girl’s attention. He moved to grasp her by the upper-arm and pulled them both to their feet, forcing his own to obey. “What’s yer name?”

She only paused momentarily, lips curled back in disgust, before she continued in the same piercing tone, leveling all manner of accusations at both Casey and Kiiryon; some were pure madness and grasping while others seemed more on the mark. The near-shrieking of her frightening rambling dug itself between Casey’s temples; that same rage that was growing uncomfortably familiar to him bubbled up in his chest.

“STOP.” he yelled, his voice far more loud and gravelly than even he expected and he flinched as it echoed in the confined underground. She went silent and pale, her eyes wide and regarding him with that same wide-eyed terror that he recalled from the bartender before. He couldn’t tell if the tremor in his arm was from her shaking or his own unsteady grip. “Stop,” he said again, gentler, as if it made up for his outburst. With his free hand he rifled inside his coat and pulled out a photo. The woman winced away from him as if expecting a weapon.

“Dis man,” Casey explained as he faced the image towards her. “We’re lookin’ for ‘im. You know 'im? Seen 'im?” Her gaze flicked between the small photograph and Casey’s face nervously, but he saw recognition in that first glance. Her fearful expression quickly hardened back to annoyance and mistrust, and she tugged at his grip and shoved.

“I don’t gotta tell you nothin’!” She shrieked, and Casey finally acquiesced, as there was no where to go but stand against a wall dotted with guileless skulls.

“Yer… gonna tell us somethin’,” Casey said, licking his lips uncomfortably. He looked over to Kiiryon. He was used to using uncouth methods to retrieve information, but harming a presumably innocent young woman to get what they wanted gave him some discomfort. “We’re not leavin’ empty handed. And this magician can do more than jus’ tricks.” He raised the photo again, they two standing between the woman and both exits from the small enclosure. “ 'Dis man, information, now.”

“STOP”

Casey’s voice echoed underground in their pleasant palace of death and decay, waking potentially any wandering or lost soul to them. Kiiryon stood to the side, masked in shadows and the little twinkling embers of the gentle flame lit moss. Observing what is dearest human companion would decide for their rather energetic new found friend. His lip twitched with amusement, and his laughter was silent and yet filled in the silence of the fading command.

Nevertheless he sighed when the young woman refused to answer the kinder questions that the detective tried to pry from her. In most cases, human were never willing to help others or themselves for the matter unless it solely benefited them and their needs. The elf clicked his tongue with a tsk towards Casey; he should have known the terrible nature of the common human being.

And with the detectives grip relinquished and the young woman free to roam once again with agitation, Kiiryon felt himself grow tense. Human or not--she dabbled in black  magic, and the elf wanted to prevent any happenings if he could; killing was always the easiest solution.

Stepping in with Casey to corner the woman, Kiiryon tilted his nose just a fraction in the air; Magician, he scoffed. Hearing it from both humans was still as distasteful. But he supposed such was the human way to thinking of having ones soul plucked from them. “Girl,” commanded Kiiryon with a cool lilt, “it was to be wise of you to give the human what information he sought.” a pause “But you are indeed a foolish little human, hiding behind your cheap street tricks.” Though the manner in which Kiiryon moved was calm and fluid, his words grew darker and promising, the air humming once more with magic though it like Kiiryon, seemed upset. “You are taking away what doesn’t belong to you. You are not asking to use what isn’t yours, you are a little thief parading with the name of witch” said Kiiryon with a firmness, his eyes glowing and words seething, “You are better dead--but before I give myself such reprieve, I’ll be kind enough to grant you one last wish.” And as he spoke, the flames simmered and coward before his words, the light seemed to slither and hide into the darkness that threatened to swallow them all whole. The young nameless woman tried to shrink into the wall.

But the man with the long hair and eerie eyes refused to let her go. Though his limbs no where near her--she was being suppressed, and the exact moment she felt her leg twitch to run. His hand gripped at her hair. Everything was becoming a blurring mess, voices echoing in the mausoleum; the shouting of two men. The one whom tackled her, and the other whom took little care to her well being in order to subdue her. She was yanked into paying attention by her nerves screaming, the taller man--Kii she assumed by the other man's shouting, pulled at her hair. Had she insulted him so deeply with a threatening shout? And with a sigh and kinder glow of those coal eyes, the man softened his tone. “Tell us what you know human--and I’ll give you something in return.” said Kii with a predatory smile. The other man, whom called the taller man,  ‘Kii’ gave another pleading whine laced with frustrations that had her stomach rolling and coiling with fear and anxiety. The more dangerous of them, was ‘Kii’ she learned too quickly and too late. She stumbled looking for words to say, yet her throat felt too tight and as many times as she licked her lips and bit her tongue, nothing was to come properly. “Look at ‘er--you’re scarin’ da poor thing!” huffed the broader man. “Then perhaps I’ll influence her.” purred ‘Kii’ and with wonder before her very own eyes, he plucked a flame from thin air that nestled so happily in his palm. And with growing horror brought the warm ember to her face and towards her lips which trembled, and how deeply she wished her tears would drench the flame. And oh how woefully, she wished that she could remember the words of warning and spells from her fellow coven members. “Wait!” she was finally able to scream with sobs, “wait--just, just don’t kill me please!”

The flame paused and yet remained so near, drying her tears for her in false pity as it was clear the master was the one called, ‘Kii’.

“I’ll tell you--just please don’t kill me.” she begged.

“Kii!” growled out the broad man in warning. Yet the taller man ignored him.

“You humans and your precious little hearts.” he seethed before relinquishing the flame just as suddenly as it came.

“What are you.” she quaked. “Tell the human what he wants to know.” he demanded quietly and shamefully. Kiiryon didn’t want the detective to slip in his moment of antihero-ism and say his name in the clumsy manner that was Jack Casey.

She was plucked from the wall by her hair and then shoved into the embrace of the other man her clutched to her with little concern but more of a warning to behave. And as she dared a glance back to ‘Kii’ , she saw those glowing eyes once more and understood that the man who paraded with the detective was not human. It gave her heart a little spark and twist to know something other than the normal existed in the world, but it also gave her fear to know that she almost died to such. Those eyes that stared back at her were patient--waiting for the knowledge she knew and the silent promise of keeping to his word of giving something in return.

Swallowing thickly with trembling hands clutched to a warm and thick coat, she looked to the broader man whose expression was turned with a anxious fight of his own. “He-he isn’t human, is he.” she said.

He stood there a few long moments more, but the growing dread stopped emanating only from before him, but all around him. Without Kiiryon’s company and presence, the dark pressure from the graveyard pushed against his back. His stolen bauble seemed to hum in his pocket. Casey’s teeth went on edge, and the chatter from another shiver forced his legs’ momentum.

It seemed to be going fine even with Casey’s staggering gait, until his heel landed firmly into a nestled circle of moss, which loosed from the step and with a shout sent him along with it. His fingers couldn’t find purchase on the wall, the stonework old and smoothed with time, and he couldn’t stop himself as he slid the last dozen steps towards the landing. Moss and a few broken steps followed him down as he scrambled, shoes scuffing on the stone and coat dragging against the wall in loud scrapes. Before he could lose his balance and start to tumble down the remainder of the stairwell, Kiiryon broke his fall. Heels dug in, Casey managed to slow himself and not take Kiiryon off his feet, but he did grasp the back of his shoulders, still quaking in fear and adrenaline.

Casey panted with effort as he clung, shrinking under the annoyed stare Kiiryon fixed him with. He brought a single finger to his lips requesting silence as his glare intensified, and Casey held his breath, eyes adjusting to the dark.

Not alone, Casey heard without hearing, deep in his bones. The quaking in his knees returned, and he stared around at the room they had found. The walls were lined with tombs: most silently tucked away in their hollows blanketed by spiderwebs, a few were lidless and empty, and a few were overturned and spilling bones. Casey’s stomach turned, screams of distress coming unbidden to his imagination at the sight of their splayed-jaw skulls. He thought he could hear their bony fingers scratching at the coffin lids, his eyes seeking out the sound along the far wall anxiously, until he noticed that Kiiryon was tracking his eyes in the same direction. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he realized he hadn’t imagined the sound: there was someone else down there.

Someone else who was very alive, whose scratches and shuffles gave way to footfalls against dirt and rock, and who was fleeing away from them. The thought of the chase spurred Casey suddenly, and without a word he relinquished his grasp on Kiiryon to dart through the room down to a connecting corridor– it was as if his body moved without him, only instinct. There he saw the flash of a small figure turning past a corner and he chased. It didn’t take long to close the distance.

Before he realized it he had the person pinned, their figure finally coming into focus as Casey held them down: a young woman with stark blonde hair framing a terrified expression. She was grunting and shoving at Casey’s arms over her shoulders, shoving her into the dirt. He tried to speak, to offer soothing or reassuring words, but he couldn’t get his lips to work around his teeth.

It was a very familiar and slow, drawn out, inhale. Jack Casey, the human detective--or so the elf felt him to self proclaim--fell with a clatter and wail before catching himself with a firm grip upon Kiiryon. Their cover was blown and their presence revealed. Kiiryon couldn’t help but offer a glare towards the human with silent threat. It was with brief wonderment that the elf thought to question and interrogate Casey on his talent of being a man whose life was to live in the shadows. And as he was gazed upon with pleading innocence, Kiiryon gave a second thought take what was his--the eyes-- and burn whatever remained of it with his aggressive fires. He could only hope the faint ember glow of his eyes would enlist such fears of punishment for later and the gesture of silencing the human would do for now. Nevertheless, the room was occupied with something aside from the dead. The dead in which Casey found himself too focused upon and preoccupied in thoughts of potentially terrible, and terribly false fascinations. Kiiryon was compelled to offer his advice in telling Casey to calm his thoughts--it was a bit obvious that the detective was nervous. The faintly wild look in his eyes and the manner in which he panted or twitched with heavy gulps of air to swallow. Yet he was swiftly released. Casey darted off in the direction that shadows danced in. Kiiryon swore he saw the shadow of a beast and not that of a curious man as the detective ran off. His lips curled, the elf couldn’t fight off the amusement and sudden invasion of pride to bloom from his chest. This was the element in which Casey was best left to be nurtured in--the beast that shared a soul with him would be thriving within him.

He heard the shrill cry in the distance, Jack Casey had found his prey.

Pursuing through the Corridor, Kiiryon approached the rather oppressing sight of a young woman pinned beneath the detective. It only momentarily offered the detective a reprieve from his lecture he would receive later.  Again, Kiiryon couldn’t hold back the purr of laughter that had so swiftly consumed him. The sight of the writhing figure beneath a rather beastly Casey was a sight that the elf hoped to never forget. “My my, what do we have here?” purred the elf. His figure still steeping in the abyss of shadows, the tender glow of golden eyes giving away his location. “What a good human.” he praised. The sweeping and heavy caress of darkness moving to trail its spindly fingers in a pet against Casey’s cheek. A flowing disturbance of chilly air announced the elf now suddenly pressed against the disfigured detective, consumed by his own smokey shadow. The young woman was silent, trembling with hesitation, but it was curiosity that spurred her to speak. “A-are you a demon? The guardian of these sullied ground.” “A guardian demon?” pressed Kiiryon with insult. Their prisoner shrank within herself--it seemed Kiiryon’s response was all the answer she needed. “You humans and your foolish romanticisms.” spat Kiiryon with a glower.

Kiiryon rose with a scuff of his boot to the dirt, kicking some with intention towards the woman and detective. Ignoring the whimper and beg to be released from her offender, the elf huffed with a show of magic. The familiar wave of static consuming the corridor as a tuft of moss snapped with a hiss--the sudden explosion of heat from a newborn flame, consumed its otherwise moist body. “Wake up human,” paused Kiiryon, “seek your evidence--this is your case.” he seethed with distaste, for it was humans practicing black magic that Kiiryon despised the most and wanted death for as swiftly. And it would not do for them to unfortunately have killed their only current lead. Glancing down to the whom whom spied up to the elf with worry in her eyes, Kiiryon sneered, “You will do well to help us, death is too kind for you.” he said with finality.

While he lingered Kiiryon padded off through the moss in his laced boots and Casey watched him go, hesitating. His eyes drifted back to the grave-marker at his feet and he felt that tug again. As if from outside himself he bent down, grasped the bracelet of black beads, and slipped it into the pocket of his coat in one smooth motion. He glanced back to see if anyone had watched, but the graveyard was empty save the two of them. Kiiryon called after him. “Comin’,” he said, bounding up and putting his stolen trinket from his mind.

The closer he got to the mausoleum Kiiryon knelt before, the more his nerves returned, shooting up from his feet to his legs. The entire place set his teeth on edge, and he clenched and relaxed his jaw nervously. He startled as Kiiryon summoned flame, never quite at ease with his shows of power, and those nerves crept up his spine. He was struck still as Kiiryon burned away whatever strange symbol had been marked in blood, the smell of it stinging his nostrils, his gaze faraway.

Kiiryon nudged him, suddenly at his side, and reassured him. He swallowed hard, but try as he did to be brave, an awkward low chuckle pushed past his lips. “Izzat right?” He smirked though it was weak, but at least his mind finally caught up to him. “Battleground? Looks more like a slaughta’.” Another deep breath and he finally had the guts to move forward, his hand tracing the stone near where Kiiryon had burned it. It still felt warm.

“My domain, huh,” Casey mused under his breath, his eyes searching across the cracked and overgrown surface of the stonework. He took a few steps, glancing behind the large mausoleum, regarding the length of the graveyard, when something caught his eye. Along the corner of a stone were swipes of blood, most likely from the same kill, browning in the hazy afternoon. They would be easily mistaken for mud soon, but that wasn’t what made Casey look twice. The swipes were messy and curved but stopped abruptly as they disappeared into the mortar where two bricks met. That certainly wasn’t normal or natural spatter. Relying again on instinct over intellect, without another thought Casey dug his fingertips into that crease and tugged with all his might. The rock easily gave way– not expecting it, Casey’s braced weight sent him off his feet and onto his ass in the dewy grass as a door with a fake flagstone face swung out towards him. It led down very steep steps covered in moss and dirt, curved, and disappeared into darkness.

Casey’s heart was suddenly pounding, not from the fall, but the gaping underground maw and the feelings that crept to the back of his mind from it. He slowly, cautiously got to his feet, and glanced back to where Kiiryon stood.

“Whattaya make a that, Kii?”

The crashing sound of stone followed by the grunt of the humans fall startled Kiiryon, snagging his attention in its direction swiftly. Casey was on his butt with eyes fixated to his own discovery. Kiiryon’s concern withered away as quickly as it came. The detective was fine if not more dirty than he was before, and such occurrences were a common event for him it seemed. Boots crunched against the ground of broken stone and moss disturbed. Looking down upon the human, the elf purred coyly with a proud grin; he hadn’t yet helped Casey up. “I say that you did a good job creature.” preened Kiiryon, his hand moving to pat the top of Casey’s head, purposely curling fingers to ruffle up his hair as if he were a household dog. Chuckling under his breath, the apothecary meandered past the man and crouched to pick up the fallen hat. Not raising from his posture, the elf hummed in thought with his cat-like pupils to peer into the gluttonous abyss. There was something pulling to him, slithering in his veins and calling to the magic that breathed life into him and coursed through him. “Come along.” he said softly, distantly before depositing the hat onto the detectives lap.

Kiiryon approached the entrance, his eyes glancing to the smeared blood on both stone and splattered on the stone and steps descending into the darkness. His charms vibrated with warning, their subtle cries warning them both that something lived below. Whether Casey followed or not listening to his instinct, Kiiryon began his descent to leave the man behind. His canter slow and steady in the depths, his fingertips glowed leaving an smoldering glow of coals trail for light to follow where they caressed the walls. He did not want to call attention to their presence more than they had already, there was no flame in his palm that he would so fondly cradle.

Stairs gave birth to a cavern of tombs. Bones, forgotten stones, old blood, old magic, air, residue--all of it old--all of it overwhelming. Kiiryon paused in his step. The slithering caress of nails dragging down his neck and back, leaving him breathless, and he knew there was nothing there but the old memories of dark magic greeting him in its domain. Whomever was here, was here with purpose and potentially with the task they were given. Momentarily, the thought of them betrayed to be fed to those desperate to make covens with dark and old magic had him angered. But would the little girl know her brother was meddling in the company of such pathetic people? Shuddering, Kiiryon licked his lips that he seemed to press thin, the flood of blood returning from his relentless nerves being pushed brought a cold kiss to him--he was greeted. Not alone, his instincts cried.

Don’t disturb the kenku druid at night.

Without another word Kiiryon took off, and Casey had no option but to follow. He moved with purpose and grace, and Casey’s shorter legs had to work double-time to stay in step, dodging pedestrians that didn’t part for him like they did Kiiryon and his intense aura.

Questions of where they were going and why played on Casey’s lips, but only made it as so far as the first few sylabbels before he gave up. He’d just have to follow and see– save his allotment of Kii answers for the important things he couldn’t let go. He braced himself let himself be led by Kiiryon’s upturned face.

They swept down streets and around corners, the hair raising on the back of Casey’s neck with the suspicion they were being followed, but just as he looked over his shoulder Kiiryon stopped shortly, and Casey barreled into his shoulder. He covered his embarrassment with a questioning eyebrow, managing not to fold beneath Kiiryon’s withering stare. They stood a beat, and as Casey opened his mouth to fill the uncomfortable silence, Kiiryon turned towards his destination, pushing through a wraught-iron gate into grass beyond.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the slight tingle of nervous energy settled into his stomach and took hold stronger than ever. Grave stones peeked out from behind trees and overgrown moss, tucked away in corners as if peeking out shyly at the intruders. Casey’s mouth was suddenly dry and licking his lips didn’t seem to help.

“Kii,” Casey’s voice came out as a harsh whisper, his heart suddenly pounding. “Whatta’ we doin’ ‘ere…?” It smelled earthy and floral with that hint of otherworldly quality that hadn’t abated since they’d arrived in the city. Kiiryon didn’t respond but even in his suit seemed to float, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine those abyssal cape wings cascading from his back, as when they first met.  Casey steeled himself and followed like something was nipping at his heels.

Time seemed to slow, each moment punctuated by Casey’s thudding heart as they picked their way down a line of gravemarkers. Suddenly a new scent, sharp and overwhelming, met Casey’s nose and his eyes scanned to find the source. At the bottom of a sad stone, the name and year worn by the elements to obscurity, was a pile of flowers and a stone bowl with a stick of incense in it, hazy smoke still drifting lazily from its tip. Just above that, small enough to miss unless one was looking, the same symbol from the other locations was scrawled in ash, as if the tip of the incense had been used to draw it after burning.

The dryness in Casey’s throat started to taste like the scratchy beginnings of bleeding. He gulped and knelt to inspect Kiiryon’s find. His fingers pushed at the flowers, some fresh and some dried, not enough knowledge to help him determine their type or purpose. Within the pile revealed a bracelet of black stones that he felt drawn to, but he closed his hand into a fist and stood, backing away.

“Aiight, so dis is less 'investigatin’ as it is, dealin wit’…. whateva dis all is. Dis… deity or cult or whateva. Right?” Casey longed for a drink, and removed his hat to scratch at the beading sweat at his temples. How could he help find a missing man, if he was tied up in all this?

Kiiryon only offered his distraught friend a smile. As cunning and coy was the creature that resided in the human, Casey too had his own knack for finding the oddities, even if they found him first. While having observed the detectives curious touch to the brunched ashes and petals, the elf huffed a faint breath. Something fresh to tickle his nose and senses versus the fading embers and trickling strain of smoke.  There was little breeze in the Louisiana mornings, fog still crept upon the carpets of grass and and twigs. 

The atmosphere overall had every right to cause them to be on edge. They were in a sanctum were spirits rest, Othersiders too frolicked here, and then there were creatures summoned and spurred to life within these hallowed grounds. Nature touched the canvas of tombs nestled above the earth; the land demanded bodies be buried in a non traditional sense to a Northerner like Casey.  Moss decorated stone, and rain licked away at the once pristine of angels and flora. Mausoleums stood mixed in the man made park of eternal rest, some crafted with stone and marble, others with brick and mortar; their sizes and number of eternal mourners varying in the extravagance of money. Trees were rare and sparse, their roots keeping some of the inlaid stone at bay, but their shade welcoming to the weary souls.

Boots with line stitching and lace crushed gravel beneath graceful steps. Kiiryon was not satisfied with the ash and flower alone. “It’s still an investigation human--we search for another human, do we not?” hummed the elf. Skirting about the beds of rest, the elf seemed to fit right at home, and yet he seemed all the more a hunter that mans clothes could not shroud.  And despite his face forwards into the deeper darker horizon of lined tombs, Kiiryon kept an ear on his companion behind. 

The air was still chilled and a bit heavy from the moisture. His breath was steady and step slow. Fingers twitched and curled at the need he would have to defend himself, and there was still only so much he could do to not cause such great unrest with the dead.  Around a mold stone he turned. Another mausoleum embellished with vines and weeds, yet unlike the innocent burn of spices and flora, there was the smeared and stained blood of a sacrificed creature painted brashly upon the stone. The faint stretch of fingers to show the motion in which, the being whom did this acted.  “Human.” he called.

If it were not for the elves familiar presence of Casey, he would have felt something was coming to attack him from behind. The man’s steps trembled and staggered with nervousness but and eagerness to seek out whatever it was that the apothecary beckoned him to.  Kiiryon was knelt to the stone steps, his palm opening up to the heavens as the flesh glowed and embers peaked from the crevice of his flesh. A young and gentle ball of flames burst and shuddered to life as the elf reached forwards to singe a part of the smeared design. His eyes casting down with their eerie glow to find the carcass of the  poor creature that gave its life for a petty spell.

And before the detective could press as to what happened or, ‘who blood is dat’, Kiiron stretched his fingers. His fingertips ablaze before he ugly stench of burned blood and mineral faded away.  Hand withdrawing and caressing the stone as if it were a babe, the elf trailed his thumb in the same inspecting manner to his fingers as Casey did with the ash and flora. The elf sighed once more, “This is a battlegrounds. How cruel and chaotic.”

Standing and glancing to the terrified expression of the detective, Kiiryon scoffed with a low chuckle and nudged the man awake from his stupor, a rather non typical gesture from the elf. But, it showed perhaps how much the detective was rubbing off on him, “No need to be afraid human. You are something far worse to summon here.” he paused with a flourishing sweep of his arms. “This is your domain after all.” And what a fine guardian of death a Barghest was.

And with an easing exhale of mirth, Kiiryon shifted his weight to give the man his full attention, as the ready. Eager to answer any curiosities the detective would have. 

Casey yawned though he tried to supress it. He ran a hand over his face, fingers pressing above his brow, trying to shake off the weariness of the morning. He needed to be firing on all cylinders or the investigation would surely stall. The humid air and the -something- in the air just made it worse.

Kiiryon was on edge. Casey caught himself staring, trying to discern what was going on in his mind, what each sullen look and glance about meant. It only earned him narrowed eyes as they ate breakfast sandwiches in silence. The day had started quite pleasantly, but quickly took a turn for stuffy and uncomfortable. Casey couldn’t put his finger on it, there was just something wrong about this place.

He felt like they were going in circles; the scant few leads they had dried up quickly. The few business addresses and scribbled names given by their young retainer were curious. One place was boarded up and not recently. Another was a shop he and Kiiryon walked around, but no employee appeared. He did notice Kiiryon bristle a few times, and tried to follow his gaze to the offending objects without success. The last place was another hotel– small and in disrepair– though the front desk clerk was helpful in a roundabout way. He was jovial until they started asking questions, and he completely flinched when Casey showed the small photo of the missing brother, though he denied knowledge besides that.

Somebody knew something. It would be difficult to press without his safety net of police connections, but a plan was beginning to formulate. It promptly fizzled as he saw Kiiryon’s shoulders go up again, a few steps from the exit. That time he saw it: a little carved mark, blackened at the edges, nestled in the doorframe. After a moment’s hesitation Kiiryon swept through, back outside, as if nothing had happened at all. Casey’s mind sped back, and suddenly could recall seeing similar at the other locations. His eyes traced the symbol in the air as he committed it to memory.

They got another block away before Casey grasped Kiiryon’s wrist to slow him. Great swooping trees that bent over into the edges of the road afforded them a bit of privacy and reprieve from the sweltering sunlight. He pulled Kiiryon’s hand to him and craded his palm.

“Aiight.” Casey huffed out a sigh as he began. “Only connection,” he said. He used his finger pointed to trace the shape into Kiiryon’s open hand. “On the door heyah, the floor deyah, an’ lightpost of tha otha place.” He quirked a wide eyebrow, trying to catch Kiiryon’s eyes under the shade of his hat. “Mean somethin’ to ya? What ah we dealin’ wit ‘ere, Kii?”

Casey had never worked with someone on an investigation. If it were to be anyone, Kiiryon and his irreplaceable knowledge would be his first choice. It would be easier if he actually spoke up about his thoughts.

Their adventure in searching for clues was growing more frustrating as the day stretched on. The comfort of the morning faded into the discomfort of the clothing that Kiiryon was often forced to wear to not bring attention to their presence--to his presence.

Each establishment they found some sort of pointed lead, fizzled up in smoke. He was becoming tired of entering and leaving all these places empty handed and bristled with irritation to the little warnings and blessings of old and dark words.

Inhaling sharply with the sudden grasp to his hand, amber eyes usually calm and cool like a simpering coal, ignited in a glow and narrow of the pupil, a hiss even slipping from him in surprise. Sharply he glowered at his hand held and the design drawn into his palm that trailed and lingered so defiantly against his flesh, searing him in a manner that seemed inappropriate for him. With patience the elf willed his muscles to relax and listen to the humans discovered show and tell.

Pausing, Kiiryon regarded the human and found himself consumed with a fond hatred. How often it was that Casey would do such little things to make his life difficult- but the elf supposed it too made his life a bit more eventful. Of course things could be different should the human try to listen to the other soul he harbored within him.

Withdrawing his hand from Casey's grasp calmly, Kirryon spoke in that usual calm and matter of fact manner, “Human, what you saw was an apology.”  And that was all he had to say on the matter of excitement withering off from Casey's face in favour of confusion.

“What?”

A slow and steady sigh.

“C’mon Kii! You know you gotta explain dese things!” beckoned the fraught detective, a large hand moving to scratch at sweaty locks of chocolate hair.

And as tempting as it was to keep Jack Casey lost in confusion, Kiiryon too had found himself wanting the game of chasing phantoms to end. Deftly he poked at the humans forehead once and square where the humans resting third eye remained hidden. “Those places are marked with an Apology. They are being humble in declining the compliment of good and offering acceptance in blaming of their existence,” again he paused.  Kiiryon wanted to be sure the human understood.

“They apologize for existing to gods.” huffed the elf rather bluntly to his companion. Hand raising with his rings to glitter in the sun whilst ripping his hand off to expel some steam that stewed beneath it. “There is a deity here that the local… humans, worship. Perhaps if we play along in their little game we can garner more insight as to where our goal is hiding or hidden.” implied the elf  that the boy they searched for was kidnapped.

“Come.” commanded Kiiryon.

Again they ventured out into the streets ignoring the sights and sounds, and divulging into smell. The elf knew were they must go, and purposefully he kept his thoughts silent once again. He knew the human wouldn't agree, and he knew Jack Casey would defy him and call into his youthful prickling habits of being a good little boy. And while it was truly endearing to taunt and break, Kiiryon was ready to take a break from the day and get their little journey further along so he could return back home.

Pausing amongst the midday shopping crowd, the elf rose his nose pointedly up towards the heavens and inhaled. Perhaps it seemed rather canine given the pair and whom was the actual expert on scent searching- Kiiryon knew what he searched for and perhaps would be something he could teach the dog. Never mind the odd stares from the locals and even the human detective. Inhaling slow and deep, he concentrated; filtering and sifting through the array of flavours carried in the sultry air.