#aster's mod

“True, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I have been and am.  But why then will you say that I am mad…”

Your eyes are closed as you listen to him recite, laying atop Griffin and feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he reads Poe’s words with such gusto.  Such passion.  If he weren’t a scientist you are sure he could have a career in theatre.  You’d certainly give your last shilling to hear him speak.  

As such it’s very kind of him to indulge you with a private reading, he shifts a little, in a momentary pause in the story, no doubt adjusting the book which any casual viewer would think was hovering over your head.  

You do the same, letting out a contented little sigh as you do so, idly tracing the shape of his collarbone with your fingers, you’ve heard the story countless times, and so you can afford to focus on other details, how much you relish even casual contact with Griffin, reaffirming that’s real, solid, here.  You’re always trying to put a clear image of him together in your head. Once he let you dump a bucket of flour on him, even with that considerable visual aid you still have only a vague outline.  

“THE OLD MAN’S HOUR HAD COME!”  There’s a sudden spike in the volume, until now he’s read with a cool methodical tone, the tone of a man convinced of his own sanity and cleverness.  You start at the sudden change, but not quickly enough.

“With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room!”  

Here he sits bolt upright, waving a hand in a dramatic and unseen gesture and sends you toppling to the floor with a thud.  

There’s a moment of silence as you lay there, dazed and disheveled, night shirt mostly open and falling off your shoulders.  

“I- uh,” he utterly fails to collect himself.  

“Well, go on,”  You say staring up at him, or rather, staring up at the pajama trousers which indicate where he is, your gaze travels up to roughly eye level.  “You were just getting to the good part.”  

He flounders again, it’s always endearing to catch him so off guard.  You bat your eyelashes up at him, hoping to fluster him further.  

“Uhm- right...Are you alright?”  

“Arm’s a bit sore but I’ll live.”  You shrug pulling yourself to a sitting position and adjusting your shirt as you do so.  

You feel him take your arm very gently.  “Let me help you up.  You should have a better seat for the rest of the performance.”  He’s hesitant, embarrassed probably as he pulls you carefully to your feet and guides you to take a seat on the bed.  

“And I apologize for the- dramatics.”  

Before he can pull away you grab him and pull him down towards you.  There’s always a little guesswork involved in these moments, but you manage well enough, planting a quick kiss on his nose instead of the intended cheek.  

“Flare for the dramatic is an attractive quality in a man.”  You grin, “consider yourself forgiven.”  

He hasn’t moved, you’re sure of it, and you try again, finding his lips this time, you can feel them curl into a smile before he breaks the kiss to stand.  

“Now, where was I.”  Pajama trousers cross the floor and shrug on the burgundy house coat draped over a chair.  “Chilly in here without you as a blanket.”  He remarks idly.

“Ah, yes!  He shrieked once --once only!”  

“You’re just going to eat all of those, right in front of me?”  Griffin accused, watching Aster bite into another slightly squashed confection, the chocolate coating forming a mock mustache as she did.  

“Yes,”  she said when she’d swallowed.  Taking another bite and offering no further explanation.  

There were many problems with invisibility, but right now the most aggravating was Griffin’s inability to carry his own things.  A fact Aster was abusing to its fullest potential, by hogging all the pastries.  

“I’m the one who stole them!”  He sounded remarkably petulant and Aster had to stifle a giggle.  

“True, true, but you can’t eat in public.” she chided with a wry smirk.  “And we are, technically speaking, in public.”  

A stifled noise of aggravation.  Because she was, technically right, they were out in the open.  But there wasn’t anyone around.

“An empty field hardly counts as public, you’re just being difficult.”  Aster felt the half finished eclair pulled from her grip and watched in horrified fascination as it was chewed on by Invisible teeth.   

She rolled her eyes and opened the paper bag so Griffin could pull another one free.  She did the same.

“I was actually going to save you some.”  She said, trying to find the most intact of the stolen confections to start eating again.

“Unlikely.” Griffin groused, partially muffled by the mouthful he was chewing.  Apparently the fact that his food was visible no matter what gave him carte blanche to ignore basic table manners.

They polished off the bag in short order.  The bile fascination of watching Griffin eat had worn off sometime around lunch yesterday.  But she still appreciated the partially digested food and how it gave her somewhere to direct conversation.  

“You think we should have nicked something more nutritious?”  She asked, licking the last crumbs off her fingers before putting her glove back on.

“Absolutely not!  What’s the point of all this if we don’t indulge a little? I’m not wasting my time stealing what, common vegetables? Disgusting! Preposterous!”  A smear of chocolate on his fingertips indicated Griffin was gesticulating wildly as he overplayed his offense.  Aster couldn’t help but laugh.  

“If you say so.  You’ll have to forgive my inexperience, this is my first criminal excursion after all.”  

“Of course,”   Griffin said, sounding very dignified, “your lapse in obvious judgement is excused.  But as someone who has committed several crimes of some magnitude, I can assure you, no crime spree is complete without some measure of hedonism.”

Aster nodded, committing the sage advice to memory.  She considered for a moment asking what those other crimes were, he might have just meant the burglary at the vicarage.  Or the bombs he was definitely building in the inn.  But he didn’t seem to have any real problem with burglary and vandalism, and not for the first time Aster found herself wondering exactly what sort of man she was caught up with.  

She studied the air beside her, depressions in the grass told her he was keeping pace with her.   

Probably best not to ask.  Griffin was so quick to shut down even the most well meaning questions about him, and the mood was too light to ruin with that.

“You’re staring.”  

Aster started.  

“Somewhat impressive given you’ve nothing to actually stare at.”  He added.  Although in truth he was a little uncomfortable with how she almost always managed to find his eyes.  Just some trick he was sure, a superior sense of spatial awareness, but it did make him feel self conscious. 

“Well I’m an impressive woman, and you’ve uh, got something there.”  Aster pointed at a smear of icing which clung to Griffin’s face.  Glad she’d found an explanation. 

Griffin made an attempt to wipe it off with the back of his hand which only transferred the smudge.  “Dammit.”   

With a flourish Aster produced a handkerchief and Griffin took it, making quick work of cleaning himself up.

“Is that everything?”

Aster considered and then nodded.  “Think so.” 

“Thank you.” He handed back the handkerchief which Aster promptly stuffed back into some hidden pocket.  

“What would you do without me?”  She asked, adjusting the lapels of her vest so it lay more smoothly.  

“I’m not sure.”  Griffin’s voice was softer, uncharacteristically thoughtful, concerned even.  It hadn’t been a sincere question, he knew that, and as such it didn’t warrant a sincere answer.   He really should just shut his mouth here and save himself some embarrassment.  “I’d rather not consider it really.”

 Aster paused, realizing his voice was lagging behind her, and she turned to face him, quickly scanning the ground for the indentations of feet before she found him.   

It’s a fine day in Iping, and you are an utterly average, generally pleasant citizen going about your business.  

Which, at the moment, is nothing in particular.   In fact, since you have a spare moment you decide you might enjoy nipping into The Coach and Horses for a quick pint.  You’re just on your way when a large figure comes barrelling into you.

You’re surprised you didn’t see him coming as he really is distinctive, but you suppose with those dark glasses he may not be able to see things too clearly.  

“WATCH WHERE THE FUCK YOU’RE GOING!”  The Stranger barks out with unnecessary force, it’s enough that you consider turning tail and running.  

“S-Sorry sir, little lost in thought is all.”  You apologize, doffing your cap politely, an act which doesn’t seem to endear you to the impassive mummy of a man you’re face to face with, in fact he still seems to radiate frustration.  

He grumbles something and you lean in a little to hear it better.  Then there’s a blur of movement, and something very hard connects with your face sending you sprawling, vision blurred and thoroughly discombobulated as you are, you’re fairly sure you’ve just been punched in the jaw.  You’re so preoccupied wondering if it’s broken that you don’t even see where he got the axe from.

“I want you to hold me gentle like mashed potato.”

“Pardon?”  

It’s such a phenomenally stupid thing to say, and it’s out before you can stop it.  Griffin is staring at you now, absolutely boggled.

“Uhh…”  

He’s a classmate, a friend of sorts.  But it’s a tentative friendship, one built mostly on you sharing the occasional sandwich with him and making stilted small talk.  Probably because neither of you are especially popular.  Him because he’s a surly albino and you because you say things like...well.  That.

His fault really, rolling up his shirt sleeves like that, showing off his big arms.  

“Uhm…”  So much floundering, you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as Griffin stares at you from behind his dark glasses.  

“I don’t know.  I’m just over tired...Finals, you know.”  You offer an awkward smile and attempt to play it off.  His pale brows just furrow in further confusion.  

“Alright... you do know you don’t hold mashed potatoes?”   

There’s a long pause after the alright, a touch of concern.   If you want to flatter yourself you might think he’s worried about you.  But you suspect the potato thing just bothers him a lot. 

You’re just glad this is what Griffin chooses to take away from your comment.

For all that he’s very smart, a brilliant scientist in the making, and incredibly eager to remind anyone listening of that fact, he can be sort of dense when it comes to the finer points of social situations.  

Thank god.  

“Yeah, I know that.”  

“Good.”  He says with a little nod and looks somewhat relieved.  Giving you a little pat on the shoulder as he stands up.  “Maybe you should go have a nap or something.”

“Uh, yeah.  I’ll do that.  But, just to clarify… You won’t hold me gentle like a mashed potato?”  

He opens his mouth and raises a hand to say something, probably a question regarding your general mental health.  Closes his mouth reconsidering.

“Oh, we’re here.” She seemed as startled as he was when the walk, and conversation came to an abrupt halt.

Griffin followed her gaze to the small cottage half shrouded by trees, and frowned under the bandages.

“So we are.” Griffin agreed, not sure what else to say, only trying not to sound disappointed by the fact. The conversation leading up to this had been a heated one. Aster was absolutely insistent on the whole giant octopus thing, which was of course, unlikely. Beyond unlikely. But he’d been enjoying the debate, the distraction from more pressing matters back at the inn.

“You could come in if you want. Have some tea?” She said, starting towards her doorstep, only to pause and wait for him.

Evidently she’d been enjoying herself too. The invitation came as a shock. It shouldn’t have. After all she was about the only person in this miserable little village who didn’t flee at the sight of him. More often than not she seemed to actively seek him out.

He’d just never really considered that before, that she might actually be enjoying these walks. Griffin’s face felt even hotter than usual under the bandages, and he was, just for the moment, very glad to have them.

“I can’t,” he answered, a knee-jerk reaction, he regretted it immediately watching Aster’s face fall in disappointment.

“I’d like to, but,” He gestured vaguely to his swathed face. “Tea’s not really an option.”

“Oh, right, forgot that, sorry.” She offered a half mumbled apology. Her frown was still there, only for an instant more before she brightened.

“Some other time then. When you get those off. We can make it a celebration.” She said, flashing a quick grin as she did so.

Griffin returned it hesitantly. “Yes. That would be...excellent. Really!” It was a foolish thing to agree to, and so earnestly at that. But perhaps the added incentive would help speed along his work.

Aster positively beamed when he agreed. “It’s a date then.” She said, taking the last steps to her doorway and disappearing inside before he could protest terminology, tossing off a quick see you tomorrow as she did so.

Griffin turned around and headed back towards The Coach and Horses, returning in what Mr. Hall would later note seemed to be suspiciously high spirits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The month of May had been an unremarkable one in Iping in as a whole. And for Aster it had been an awkward one, shaded by a quiet melancholy and frustration, as the mystery of the bundled up stranger had been replaced by the more immediate mystery of what, exactly she’d done to upset him.

She’d apologized of course. Not an easy feat when you can’t tell what particular nerve you’ve struck. But she was a big enough person to do that much. Still his absence on her evening walks persisted. And when they did cross paths at The Coach and Horses he was notably terse.

Well fuck Griffin then. His loss really, after all, he didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Whereas Aster at least had Lily and the crows.

She was in the middle of feeding them actually, enjoying Whit Monday in a manner most would count as decidedly unchristian, and not thinking about Griffin. When the birds grew agitated and with the kind of din only a dozen startled birds could muster departed.

Aster had flinched visibly and covered her ears, initially, relaxing when the small murder had receded to a taller tree and staring up at them perplexed.

“What’s wrong?”

Incomprehensible crow noises.

“Very elucidating.”

A quiet cough pulled her attention from the one sided conversation, she whirled to try to find the source finding her yard empty.

“I suspect I upset them.”

She recognized the voice immediately, although the source-

“Griffin?” It was definitely him, she was after all very familiar with that gravelly voice by now, although she’d never heard it quite so tentative, apologetic even? A girl could hope.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” He sounded vaguely exasperated now, if she wasn’t imagining this whole interlude she had probably been imagining the tone before. “About four feet in front of you.”

Aster squinted took a few steps forward, and paused, realization dawning on her.

“As you can see, or, can’t, I suppose... You were right.”

“You’re invisible? Actually invisib- Wait, what’s that.” Aster extended an arm to point at a transparent glob of something floating at roughly stomach level, and was halted, invisible fingers curling around her wrist tightly.

Aster’s heart fluttered at the unexpected contact, whatever else she might have had to say catching in her throat. Tentatively Aster used her disengaged fingers to feel the invisible hand and continue to explore a firm, goose pimpled arm, and pat a muscular chest. Starting as she realized how close they now were, and that Griffin wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Yes. Actually invisible. And that, would be the remains of my breakfast. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go pawing at me” Griffin snapped, pulling his arm away from her, indentations in the grass indicating he took some hasty steps backwards.

“Oh.” Aster managed, suddenly breathless.

“Oh?” He scoffed. “Is that all?”

She bit her lower lip, staring at the disturbance in the grass that demarcated his feet. “Are- Why aren’t you dressed?” Her tone was tremulous of some emotion she could place.

“Because my clothing isn’t invisible.”

“Oh.”

“I hardly think this is the most pressing thing to focus on.” Griffin groused.

“Now that it has been brought to my attention I won’t be able to focus on much else.”

Griffin sighed, she could imagine him tensing his shoulders before hissing out a breath. “Yes. It’s very inconvenient for all involved parties. But there are more important things we have to discuss. I’ve-”

“You’re probably cold, do you want to come inside?”

Being cut off was infuriating in ways he could hardly articulate. Griffin stifled an urge to scream and instead nodded. Remembered the gesture was futile, and spoke.

“Yes.”

Aster felt something brush past her lightly and watched transfixed as the door to her home opened itself and remained ajar waiting for her to follow.

Aster directed him to the kitchen, and put a kettle on.

“You can put down a throw pillow if you want to sit. Can’t imagine the chairs are too comfortable.”

Aster was treated to some vague noise of agreement and the sight of one of her couch pillows drifting to the kitchen table and then being crushed by an unseen weight.

She joined him with a tea tray and two glasses.

“You don’t want to watch me drink.”

“Why not.”

“Because food and drink are visible inside me as it digests.”

Aster nodded. “Makes sense.” There was a pause for her to add sugar to her tea. “Though, I do want to see that. It sounds fascinating?”

“Later then, I’m sure you’ll have the chance. Right now, for the work we need to do I can’t afford to be seen.”

“Work?” Aster looked up at him from the cream she was pouring, quirking a brow as an invitation to elaborate.

“Yes. That’s why I’ve come to you. What I was trying to say outside- although this is better really, a conversation that should be had without risk of interlopers- what I was trying to say outside is that I’ve come to realize I need help.”

Griffin sighed, taking the steaming mug she had prepared for him. In the rising vapour she could make out hints of a face staring pensively into the dark liquid.

“It’s not half as marvellous as it seems.”

“Marvel enough for me.” Aster sipped her tea and waited for Griffin to elaborate.

“I’m glad you’ve taken this calmly. I couldn’t stomach any more hysterics today. I should have- I’ve made a mess of things at the inn. Mrs. Hall was going to evict me!”

“You haven’t paid rent in a month.” Aster was rarely one to take her employer’s side. But technically the woman was well within her rights.

“I was awaiting a remittance.” He grumbled, toying with the mug making it slide around the table in strange motions. “Moreover I’d paid her this morning!”

“It’s a moot point now,” Griffin took a sip of his tea, apparently deciding that whatever it was he needed help with could wait until his digestive track did it’s work.

Aster watched with fascination as he swallowed. It was, admittedly, a bit grotesque when one thought about it. And she imagined watching him eat anything more solid would be far more unpleasant, but still, fascinating.

They drank in silence for a moment, Griffin seemed on the verge of saying something, but was still trying to put it clearly.

Eventually, when Aster had watched enough to satisfy her curiosity she spoke up again.

“What exactly happened at the inn?”

Griffin let out another agitated sigh before he explained. Summarizing briefly his face off with The Halls, attempted arrest and the dramatic reveal of his secret.

Aster listened attentively, interrupting only once to laugh, saying that she would have paid good money to see the look on Mrs. Hall’s face when he handed her his fake nose.

Griffin had admitted it was rather funny. At least until she started in with the shrieking.

By the end of the tale he was pacing the floor from the motion of the tea that had yet to absorb into his system.

“And those fools down there still have my books! All my work in the hands of buffoons!” Fists slammed the table with violent force.

Aster winced at the outburst, and the string of cursing that followed.

“You have to help me get them back.” His chair pulled itself out and presumably he sat. “You will-” There was a desperate edge to his words. One absent from his next order. “You must.”

She was a willing enough accomplice in theory. Watching, or listening to Griffin explain his plight had her won over to his side entirely, but she was contrarian by nature, and couldn't let him think she'd be forced into anything.  No matter distressed he might sound.

“And if I don’t?”

The silence was like she’d struck him.

“If you don’t-” he spoke carefully when he did, as if he hadn’t considered this option. “If- Aster you’re the only one who can. Don’t you understand. I’ve chosen you for this. You’re the only one who understands, who I can trust!” His words were shaky, he rose again to continue pacing.

“I should have revealed myself when you guess. I know I’ve not been- I was- I didn’t know how you would react- You are wasted on this town!”

He ended his disjointed speech abruptly and Aster could feel eyes boring into her, and she flushed at the intensity in his compliment. Too stunned to come up with a response before Griffin could start again.

“And you know it! You’re clear-headed, and clever! While those imbeciles floundered with their inane gossip you had me figured out. I know you can see what invisibility can mean. He moved toward her taking her hands in his and pulling her to her feet. “The power I hold. The things I- we could do. But I must have a confederate. Someone to help with all the trivial inconveniences. Please Aster. Help me, and I will do great things for you.”

They were close now, close enough that Aster could feel the heat of his breath on her face.

“Yeah.” she said quietly, exhaling a shaky breath, not sure wholly what she was agreeing to, only that she couldn’t imagine saying no.

“Yes!” Her second affirmation banished any hesitation and her eyes shone with excitement.

Wilbur Whateley was hunched in the corner of the a shop that even to a man of normal stature was cramped and claustrophobic.  He balanced precariously on a stool that threatened to give out under him at any moment (not that he was as heavy as he looked.)

But for once in his life he could ignore the complaints his size brought with them.  His focus was else where, on the frail book that rested in his lap.  The Unabridged Latin Necronomicon.  

He'd raced to page 751 of course.  Only to be incredibly disapointed that the long incantation not only wasn't there.  But neither was any mention of his father.  Instead it was the middle of a lengthy passage singing the praises of the unnnamable one.  (Unnamable his ass.  Hastur wasn’t even hard to pronounce.) 

He would be here all day, reading cover to cover.  Desperately hoping it didn't disintegrate as he leafed through it, as delicate as his large fingers could manage.  At least he could take some comfort that Ackerman couldn't judge his Dee copy.  It may share the teeth marks scribbles and loose pages, but the Dee copy didn't have jam stains on the cover, nor did it have a grocery list from fifty years ago scribbled over a priceless diagram of the interior of a Shining Trapezohedron and explanation of how the angles worked.  

Finding this latest insult to him and his kin Wilbur glared at the little man who still sat his desk, abnormally large eyes staring placidly at Wilbur as he read.  

"More tea son?"  Wilbur grunted something vague and turned his attention away from Elias Ackerman.  

There were other notes too.  Notes that couldn't be from the smiling old man in the hideous paisley smoking jacket.  They made sense.  If Wilbur had more time to care he might have copied them down.

There was a small tap on his shoulder.  And he looked up, eye level with Ackerman, who presented the same tarnished pot which was accompanied by a porcelain cup and saucer which Wilbur knew would look comical in hands.  

Ackerman placed the tea things on a stack of books which swayed dangerously, Wilbur instinctively curled around the Necronomicon, ready to defend it from the inevitable clatter and splash.  

It didn't come.  

just like the stairs hadn't collapsed when he walked up them.  But the whole place, every aspect of it including the wide eyed shop keeper seemed held together only by sheer luck, and any moment some tiny thing would slip out of place taking the whole building cascading out of it.  

He prayed to his father he'd be well out of here by then.  

"They don't like the taste of it."  Ackerman said, gesturing casually at The Necronomicon.

"Dun like the whut?"  Wilbur asked.  Why were all wizards half daft?   "The rats,"  Ackerman continued conspiratorially, leaning in so he was now uncomfortably close to Wilbur's face.  "They don't like what it teaches."  

There was a chittering in walls, or the corners, or the roof.  It echoed this sentiment.   "The rats, dun lak-Whut?" Ackerman straightened up.  "You asked why it was so cheap.  Remember?"   "I asked that two pots 've two hours ago."   "Really.  My time has flown."  Ackerman wandered away, and straightened some shelves of books to absolutely no noticable effect.  

By the fifth pot of tea Wilbur's foot was tapping out a consistant and irritated rythem.  He kept having to clench and un clench his fists. "Where 's et gone." Careful flip of pages. "Shuld be heer."   He'd found it, the right spot. And The Long Incantation, the pages he'd crossed an ocean for.   "Why ain't et."  He was seething, fighting to be calm and quiet, to not hurl this priceless book at this old mans head. The pages had to be stuck together, there was enough damn jam that it could happen.   And then he noticed it.  Chewed almost to the bindings, a few pages worth of scraps.  

The rats.   The rats didn't like the taste of it. It started as a strangled hissing sound, a pain in his chest as Wilbur fought to contain his rage, the lumps under his trench coat writhed.   THE RATS HAD EATEN THE LONG INCANTATION OF YOG SOTHOTH.  

He hurled the book at the space where the rats had been, the noise he'd been making erupting into a wordless bellow, unearthly in it's timbre and echo, loud enough the walls shook as he bolted up right- And collided with a sagging roof beam.  Hard enough that he crumpled to the floor.  A miserable heap.  

Wilbur wasn't a crier.  It was beneath his dignity.  But his eyes had been watering in frustration and the blistering pain in his head was enough to unleash the water works.  

"Ain't fair," he sniffled, an ugly noise that quickly turned into uglier sobs mixed with curses in Aklo and English so heavily accented it may as well have been an alien language.  

An astute listener might pick up on more specific complaints, about trans Atlantic travel, about being kicked out of two hotels, having to navigate a city with too many people, about leaving twin alone, about missing his mom.  Eventually he collected himself enough to stop the blubbering, wiping his face with a sleeve that was filthy enough to do more damage then good.  

There was a tentative tap on his shoulder.   Almost apologetic in it's lightness.  

Wilbur jumped, bristled visibly, looking up to snarl at Ackerman. "Whut the fuck do ye-"   The old man was holding out a hanker-chief that was easily the cleanest thing in the whole building.   "You seemed upset.  Would you like a hug?"   "A...hug?"   Wilbur pronounced the word like he'd never heard it before.  Like a food you haven't tried but are sure you're going to hate. "I dun't need no hugs!"  He scrambled to his feet indignant, towering over the shop keeper. "More tea then?  Tea usually helps with disappointment."  Ackerman was both painfully sincere and painfully blithe.  Wilbur could strangle him.  He could tear this whole place apart.  One or two of the right words and he'd have it up in a satisfying blaze.   "M-mor- DO YEW KNOW WHUT- YEW SET ME UP YEW SCRAWNY ADDLEBRAINED IDJIT! SUM FUCKIN- YEW SAID YEW HAD THE BOOK!"  Wilbur began to advance on Ackerman who scooted backwards with alarming ease for someone so frail looking.   Wilbur wasn't so lucky, maybe it was just a misstep, a puddle, loose board, book.  But he'd swear something kicked his legs out from under him. And then Wilbur was flat on his back, staring up at a mildewing ceiling.   Feeling the bubble of rage burst and deflate.   "This place 's a death trap."  He grumbled.   "Only when you carry on like that." Ackerman put in unhelpfully.  "And I did warn you it was in poor condition."   He offered a hand up and Wilbur ignored it.   "It's still yours if you would like it.  Please.  They're so insistent."  There was something desperate in the little man's bright blue eyes.   "Guess I'll find sum use fer it."  He still wanted to strangle Ackerman.  Or at least sock him in the jaw. Not that Wilbur could throw a punch.  

"Thank you Mr. Whateley!" Ackermann chirped and went to pick up the fallen book.  Blowing some dust off the cover, and muttering something to a spot on the floor.  Before presenting it to Wilbur.  "Would you like me to wrap it?" Wilbur looked around the cramped store, and thought of the shoddy news paper he'd brought from home to protect it then decided that was probably the better option.

"No, I've got sumthin' in my valise fer that."  Wilbur snatched the Necronomicon and hastily stashed it away, turning to leave before his day could get worse.

The music came to a momentary halt as Lucy finished her spin and Charles let her go, sweeping her a dramatic but impeccable bow and she returned it with a curtsey of her own, letting out a soft giggle as she did.   

“You were a delight Miss Westenra.”  Charles spoke as he righted himself, “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from the others, so reluctantly we must part.”  

Lucy, no stranger to this sort of treatment, couldn’t help but think he was laying it on a little thick, especially as she could already see a young man waving to get Mr. Laurent’s attention.

“Oh you’re too kind, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you either.”  She returned his debonair smile with a dazzling one of her own.  “But if we were both to find ourselves free later, I would be thrilled to do this again.”   

“In heart beat Miss Westenra,” he answered her, taking her hand in his and pulling her towards him to kiss it lightly, before vanishing to mingle with other guests.  

Lucy of course didn’t have a heartbeat anymore.  But she was sure it would have fluttered wildly.  Not that Lucy had ever been drawn to those dark and dramatic types.  But the attention was appreciated.  And it had been so long since she’d been to a real party of any kind, she suspected he was just going out of his way to make it an enjoyable one.  

For the moment she was alone, although not really, she was in a room with all her friends and free to flutter from group to group like a butterfly pursuing flowers.  

She’d seen The Harkers of course, and The Pickmans.  So who should she flit to next?  

Ah, there was a suitable quarry.  Really Lucy was surprised to see either of The Frankenstein’s.  Although she wasn’t surprised to see both of them looked a little uncomfortable.  

Victor was dragged off by one of the anons as she approached.  So Lucy settled for sidling up beside Adam.

“Terribly forceful aren’t they?”  

The giant beside her started.  One day Lucy might remember not to move quite so quietly, or take pains to properly announce her presence.  But not today.

“I wouldn’t know.”  He responded looking down at Lucy, who was staring up at him.  

“Really, no one’s asked you to dance?”  

He didn’t know how to respond to that, had anyone else asked he would assume it a cruel joke, but Lucy was so sincere, in this as in everything else.  He shuffled a little trying to think of a response, before Lucy continued.  

“I just thought as no one here, well no one really cares about-” 

“It’s alright, it’s enough to be invited.”   He cut off her well meaning floundering before she could accidentally insult him and then trip over apologies. 

“And I wouldn’t know what to do if someone were to ask.” 

Lucy’s face brightened immediately.  “Well I can help with that.”  She said, taking a step towards the dance floor and extending her hand in invitation.  “Ordinarily it’s the gentleman’s job to lead, but I’m sure we can make an exception.”  

He hesitated, “I think I shouldn’t.”  Why shouldn’t he?  Why should such a small offer create such fear.  Especially when it was the very thing he’d sought for so long.

“Nonsense, it will be fun.” Lucy flashed him another bright grin.  And he nodded his acquiescence. 

Lucy pulled him onto the dance floor with surprising force.  She was such a delicate looking thing, almost ethereal, it was hardly a wonder that people forgot she had the strength of twenty grown men contained in that slight frame.

The two faced each other as the next song began and Lucy’s delicate brows furrowed slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing really, I’m supposed to put my hand on your shoulder, and I can’t quite reach.”  

Adam looked like he might interject, take this as an excuse to leave, and Lucy’s grip on him tightened ever so slightly.  “I’m sure we’ll manage.”  She said, her tone still pleasant, but subtly firm.  

'Why aren't you frightened of me?'  

The voice came not from any source he could pinpoint, but from the fine white mist that floated through the graveyard, that curled around his feet, and followed him on his nightly rounds.  

It was young and female and somewhere between indignant and curious.  It oozed into his ears and floated through his brain.  It was a profoundly unfamiliar situation, a profoundly unpleasant one.

It was not however, frightening.  Not quite.  

Terrance Bagsby had seen a lot in his time working the graveyard's graveyard shift.  It would take more then this to rattle him.

Still, as a course of habit his free hand moved to the collection of chains at his neck.  A bundle of protective amulets, good luck charms and religious symbols.  He patted them lightly to make sure they were still there before he ventured into conversation, prepared to pray to whoever might be listening.

"Depends on which one you are?"  

‘Which what?’  Came the voice again.  More curious now.  

"Spook, ghost, spirit, which thing 'auntin' the place are ya?"

What were the papers calling her?  

‘The Bloofer Lady.’  She told him.  

"The one that eats all them kids?"

‘Oh-Yes, that would be me.’  

"Well then, it's 'cus I'm too old for ya."  He said glad he could settle that matter.

A giggle, light, sharp, like tinkling glass.  Terrence's hand remained where it was. 

He was not a superstitious man, but a practical one, and in this line of work those things often looked the same.  

"Where are ya anyways?"  He didn't see no bloofer ladies skulking about.  Just fog.  

‘Oh, I'm about,’  Came the light voice again.  'Though I suppose if we're speaking properly-’  The voice cut itself off mid thought.  A shiver in the pale fog that clustered around his feet before if shifted and congealed.  Taking the form of a young woman with wild pale hair and a disheveled wedding dress.

She was seated primly on a tombstone and for a moment she was almost translucent in the moonlight, like she might scatter again.  Terrence blanched at the apparition. 

"Quite the trick."  He managed after a beat.  If only for lack of anything better to say.

Her attention shifted fully to him now, and all of the sudden she was entirely too solid for his liking.  He imagined this was how the fox felt before the dogs tore it apart.  The she let out another tinkling laugh.  

"Isn't it!"  She positively beamed, perfect teeth.   Even if some were too long for comfort.  Still, she seemed so genuinely delighted by the compliment, that he let out a breath.  He like the sound of her better when she spoke aloud like a normal person.  

There was another awkward beat, and Lucy took up the conversation.  "It's not that hard, not really, you just sort of..."  She trailed off and waved a had airily.  "Well I can't really explain it..."  

" 'Course," Terrance, said, taking a small step backwards, "Well, I've got to be gettin' on with my rounds, nice to meet you miss-" He doffed his hat here, a matter of habit, even with the state it was in he could tell her dress had been expensive once.  

He shouldn't have blinked there.  

"Westenra, Lucy Westenra,"  The voice was directly behind him and he spun to face her, heart thundering in his chest.  Lord almighty it was true, the dead traveled fast. 

"Can I follow you?  On your rounds I mean?"  He blinked, a couple times, trying to recover from the start she'd given him as she rocked on the balls of her feet awaiting an answer.  

"It's just I'm so exceptionally bored, there's nothing to do when you're dead."  It was such an indignant sigh, as if this was a slight against her, and only her.  

"If you want."  What was he going to do, say no? He couldn't really stop her.  "Don't expect it to get more interestin' though."  

"Oh, that's alright, I'd just like some company." 

She fell in step beside him and Terrance restarted his walk, tracing a familiar path through the tombstones, finally he let his hand fall away from the chains at his neck, moving to his pockets fumbling for lighter and his cigarettes, pulling one out and deftly lighting it.  

He spared the dead girl beside him a glance.  "You smoke?"  

"Well no, but could I?  I wanted to try once but mother caught me and she threw an absolute fit, I've never seen her quite so livid..."  

They passed the rest of the night like this.  Terrance couldn't say he minded his chatty new companion, who seemed to shift on a whim, one moment the pale fog, the next an equally pallid bat, and then back to what he must assume was her original form, with a new line of small talk.