#adfic

  The legs that dug deep into the silt at the bottom of the pool shifted lightly with the motion atop them-- a person, wearing clothes so dark he may have just cut them out of the night sky. Had the moon not been hiding it’s head, it's beams would have reflected off a chiseled face and creamy-white scar slicing down a cheek, a swath cut into the faint beginnings of a chin covered in short-cropped stubble. The figure made no sound, not even as his arms rustled within his jacket, an object surely too warm for the late-summer weather. He bent at the knees, eyes darting from side to side, prepared, it seemed, for something to leap out at him. Extending a hand, he dipped his fingers below the surface to grasp an object. It had been floating just below the waves, and easily could have been mistaken for leaf or other object of little interest, missed by the untrained eye.

  Deftly, the man pulled his prize from the water. He let it rest in the palm of his hand, droplets rolling down the well-worked creases in his skin. An inarticulate noise rose from his throat, a growl caught somewhere between boredom and disgust. With little ceremony he closed his hand on the object and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. After checking the surface of the lake again (it remained still as still), he turned to walk back up the dock.

  "Another one?" a rough voice cleaved through the darkness, like gravel on stone. The figure did not stop until he was on dry land, then turned to face the owner of the voice. He was another shadow, dressed darkly, a broad, strong creature. His eyes glowered in the darkness, emitting a soft glow. They waited, preparing for sad news.

  "Aye," said the first figure, in a rolling, lilted voice. "It's the second one in a month. I didn't want to believe it, but the evidence is here." He tapped his jacket with two fingers.

  "What is to be done?" questioned the second figure. The first cast his gaze back out across Lake Avalon.

  "Normally, I'd just crawl in and be done with it," he said darkly. "But, in this case, I think we need an expert." A slight motion disturbed the placid waterline, and both figures began to walk away at a good clip.

  "Whom do you have in mind?" the second figure pressed. "The baron would prefer to not have to touch the Zephyr's tunnels."

  "You tell the baron not t' worry. I've got someone in mind."

  "Wunderbar. Clear it with the baron first, Logan, if you please." The second figure stopped abruptly. "He does not want dangerous characters hanging around his daughter." He bowed stiffly before walking away into the darkness.

  "Then I'll just tell Max to stay clear too, yeah?" Logan chuckled under his breath, heading in the opposite direction.

Max stared blankly at the table before him. It's entire rounded surface was covered in playing cards and books, pieces of paper and remnants of snacks. At each of the tables sides sat another person-- two children like himself and a wizened, older man, with white whiskers and a dignified air about him. He flipped through the pages of an old, leather-bound book, with golden embossed figures on both covers that looked like they had just clambered out of an algebra problem.

  "What are you reading, Iver?" the silence was broken by a question, it's asker the only girl in the room. Natalia sat straight up with a posture enviable by princesses everywhere, her freckle-smattered face turned curiously towards the odd tome Iver held. Her orange-red hair was pulled into her signature braids, not a strand out of place, contrasting neatly with her white lace dress all the way down to her sandals. Even in her relaxed summer attire, Natalia exuded needle-sharp properness.

  Iver set the book down, allowing the trio of children to see the strange symbols scrawled across the yellowed pages. "Just something I dug out of the library. Logan asked me for some advice, you see, and I found I had need of a refresher course before I could respond confidently."

  "What language is it written in?" Max asked. The writing looked even more confusing upside down.

  "It's Greek," Natalia answered without missing a beat.

  "Quite right, Miss Romanov," Iver said, smiling. "It is Greek. In fact, it's ancient Greek."

  Max wondered what kind of problem Logan could have asked about that required Iver to read something so old it was written in ancient Greek. Maybe he should introduce them to Google?

  "When's Harley gonna get here?" the exasperated question came from the final member of their group. Ernie reclined in his chair, tipping the front legs off the ground, his feet resting on the table-top. The tips of his toes twitched with the boundless energy his speedster status had brought to him, restraining him from stillness. His unruly hair bunched into thick, black curls that often fell across his forehead into his eyes. His fairy-blood induced growth spurt had provided him with a solid amount of height and sharp blue eyes, but he was still lean and knobby as ever. He ran with the grace of a swan and the reflexes of a cat, but when at rest, coordination still eluded him.

  "Master Eisenstein has other dealings that require his attention," Iver said in a reproachful tone.

  "Yeah, important things, like his girlfriend," Ernie sneered sarcastically.

  "Maybe you'd understand, if it was possible for you to get one," Natalia snapped. She reached across the table and smacked his feet. "Stop twitching!"

  Ernie lowered his legs and slumped grumpily on the table. Natalia may have silenced him, but his was the general opinion of the table. What time Harley didn't spend working at Monti's, he spent with Raven. They could not fairly begrudge him, however, as they were all busy. Max trained daily with Logan, and in his free time worked on controlling his Skyfire. Ernie spent most of his free time eating and the other half of it working on gaining the upper-hand on his speedster abilities. Natalia learned, as her job was the most crucial. In the time reserved for sleeping, they hunted monsters or ran amok in the VR simulator. And summer homework was always at the back of their minds, save for Natalia, who had finished hers in the first week of vacation.

  "He assured me he would be here," Iver finished. "I am loathe to begin today's lesson without him. It is of the utmost importance."

  "What's it about?" Max asked.  Iver cocked a curious eyebrow, then slowly pushed the open tome out to the center of the table. Simultaneously, all three Griffins leaned in on their elbows, craning their necks to get a good look at the pages they could not read. The paper was yellow and frayed at it's edges, the ink faded and smeared as though it had been written with brush instead of press. A thin band of red silk fell down the center crease, marking the page so you could easily find your way back again. It all had a very mystical presence, so each Griffin held their breath as Iver let the dramatic tension build.

  "This omnibus," he began, "was written by a man named John Gregory."

  Ernie and Max looked to Natalia (for if anyone had heard of Mr. Gregory, it was she) and when she shrugged they turned back to Iver.

  "He was a Spook, you see-- in the olden times, predating the Knights Templar, it was the job of the county Spook to rid towns and the countryside of ghosts, ghasts, boggarts, brownies, and all manner of other ilk that went bump in the night."

  "Was that before the Codex?" Natalia questioned.

  "Indeed it was," Iver praised, "though you should know the Codex is not the answer for all things of magic. Many beings were here before the book and just as many have remained. There are beasts who have no place in the Codex, and for this reason they are twice as deadly as anything that can be entrapped within it. These are the things a spook had to deal with, though the invention of the Codex made them unnecessary over time." He paused to flip through the pages. "Still, it was much more difficult for them. Their work took place during much of the Dark Ages. They had little magic and no technology-- no guns or nets or trap sensors. They used the only materials available to them: salt, iron, silver, rowan wood, and their own two hands."