#my13daysofhalloween

‘I won’t bore you with a long speech,’ Witch One says, their voice clear and powerful in the quiet room. ‘The goal of tonight is power. With people around the globe celebrating and the veil thin, there is so much power up for grabs. We need to take advantage of that. We can make life better for our coven, for other covens. With power we won’t have to hide. Hoarding power ourselves can be slow, which is why I’m asking for help.’ They gesture to the pentagram. ‘And power does not come without sacrifice.’

If Alec had any doubts about his role in all this, they’re gone now. ‘This isn’t the way,’ one of the other Witches says.

No, Alec thinks. It can’t be–

‘This won’t help us. This will mean war.’

–Magnus?

Confusion and hurt fill his ears with cotton. He must have heard it wrong. The hoods, the small room, they must have distorted the voice. Maybe he has a concussion, or the spell Witch One knocked him out with is messing with his head.

A tug on his shirt pulls him out of his thoughts. He startles, and struggles until he remembers that it’s no use. He’s dragged to the centre of the room. Ignoring the candles and the pentagram, ignoring the Witch who has a grip on his collar, he stares at Witch Three.

Alec’s eyes widen when he recognizes the straight line of Magnus’ nose, the shadow on the chin exactly like Magnus’ where he’s growing out his beard, the lips he’s kissed a hundred times, those beautiful eyes that crinkle when Magnus smiles. And Magnus is staring right back at him.

There are bad Witches, just like there are bad humans, and Alec knows Magnus is a good person. He protested against the summoning just now, which means he must be here to stop the ritual, right? He can’t have been so wrong about is boyfriend, can he?

Witch One steps over him, blocking his view of Magnus. ‘It can be either you or me who does it,’ the Witch says. ‘Either way, he dies and gives his heart to the cause.’

‘I know what to do,’ Magnus says.

Alec’s heart clenches. Was he wrong after all?

‘Good,’ Witch One says, and steps back over him to take their place.

Magnus kneels next to Alec, a long dagger in one of his hands. Alec’s heart is hammering in his chest. He tries to catch Magnus’ eyes, searching for his boyfriend in the stony features, but Magnus doesn’t look at him. His eyes are fixed on Alec’s chest. He places a hand on the rope between Alec’s ankles and wrists, then places the tip of the dagger just to the side of Alec’s heart. Magnus’ eyes flick up, locking onto Alec’s, and Alec finds what he was looking for. There is anger and determination in the clench of Magnus’ jaw, but reassurance in his eyes. Eyes that flash yellow, pupils turning to slits.

The only warning Alec gets to prepare himself is Magnus’ lips ticking up in a small smile. In a flash, Magnus drags the dagger towards himself, cutting through the ropes, the magic of the dagger burning them away, freeing Alec.

‘What–‘ Witch One starts, but is cut off. A loud crash pulls Alec out of his daze of trying to process everything that is happening.

‘Can you walk? Are you hurt?’ Magnus asks as he pulls Alec up with him.

‘I’m good,’ Alec assures him after pulling the gag out of his mouth, voice hoarse. He has so many questions, but there is no time to ask them now. Witch One is scrambling up from the floor, their hood has fallen off and their mouth is moving. Alec searches for a weapon, but the closest thing would be one of the candles.

A sharp tug on his arm has him stumbling behind Magnus. The air flashes red. Alec reaches for Magnus to pull him to the floor, but there’s no need. The red flash hits a pale blue barrier emanating from Magnus’ hand.

‘Ragnor!’ Magnus yells.

Witch Two, presumably Ragnor, is suddenly next to Magnus. Alec had forgotten about them completely. The two Witches in front of him blast Witch One to the far wall.

‘Keep her there,’ Magnus orders.

Alec is left standing where he is, feeling completely useless, not something he’s used to. He has no magic, no weapons. He’s deadly in hand-to-hand combat, but he’d be blasted into a thousand pieces before he could even get a punch in. All he can do is watch and stay out of the way as Ragnor keeps the furious Witch One to the wall and Magnus cleans the pentagram of its offerings with one sweep of his arm. Alec hadn’t properly looked at the pentagram before, but now that he does, bile rises in his throat. Even scattered, he can still make out some of the offerings. Hair still attached to skin, small bones, an organ that might be a liver, and a bowl of dark liquid that can only be blood. Presumably, all of it is human.

‘Let’s go!’ Magnus yells.

Alec turns and runs out of the room, but stops when he realizes Magnus isn’t behind him. He turns, and sees Magnus throw the dagger into the pentagram, shiny with blood. Magnus throws his arms up sharply, the air shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow for a second. Alec opens his mouth to ask what just happened, but Magnus grabs his arm and pulls him through looks like a warehouse-turned-theatre. The space is big and echoes with their footsteps, chairs and props are lined up by the walls, a stage is set right in the middle of the room. That’s weird, Alec thinks, then almost bursts out laughing. Of all the things that’s happened tonight, this is probably the most mundane.

Outside, the cool autumn air blows all the oppressiveness of the small room at the back of the warehouse from Alec’s mind. Magnus lets go of his hand to help Ragnor put more wards around the building. When they’re done, Ragnor turns to Magnus, his eyebrows knitted in concern.

‘Magnus, what did you do?’

‘I called in a favour,’ Magnus says.

Ragnor doesn’t seem a more elaborate explanation because after a moment, he nods. ‘I’ll contact the others,’ he says, glancing at Alec. He’s already pulling out his phone as he walks away.

‘What did you do, Magnus?’ Alec asks. Magnus must have activated the pentagram somehow, summoned something. If he needs to protect his boyfriend from a demon horde, he’d rather know sooner than later. Not that Magnus seemed to need a lot of protection in there.

‘Iris became a danger to the coven, everybody. She’s taken care of,’ Magnus says. ‘We take of our own. In every way. Your people don’t need to get involved.’

Alec blinks. Magnus knows he’s a Hunter?

‘Hunters are easy to spot,’ Magnus answers his unspoken question. ‘I’ve become very good at it over the years.’

A painful thought rises up out of Alec’s surprise. ‘Is that why you’re dating me?’ he asks.

‘It’s why I started talking to you that night at the bar,’ Magnus admits. He raises his hand like he wants to touch Alec, but then quickly pulls it back. When he continues his voice is soft, almost pleading. ‘But it’s not why I’m dating you.’

Alec looks past Magnus, out over the water. So much has happened in the past half-hour. There’s so much for him to process, so much for them talk about, it almost overwhelms him. His body still feels sore from being tied up and lying in the same position for so long. He needs to sit down before he falls over. There’s a bench a couple feet away, it’s old and the wood looks rotten, but right now it looks very inviting. It creaks ominously when they sit down, and for a second Alec thinks it won’t hold, but then the old wood settles.

He looks over at Magnus. His boyfriend is sitting up straight, staring ahead of him, hands on his knees. His face is blank, except for a tension in his jaw and around his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ Alec asks.

Magnus finally looks at him, his posture softening. ‘I’m not sure,’ he says . ‘Are you okay?’

‘A couple bruises,’ Alec says. He holds up a hand and the red ring of rope burn around his wrist is vivid against his skin. ‘And I’ll probably be a little sore tomorrow.

‘May I?’ Magnus asks, holding out his hands.

Alec doesn’t hesitate, and places his hands in Magnus’. Tendrils of blue emerge from Magnus’ palm, and wrap themselves around Alec’s wrist. He doesn’t feel them moving, but he can feel it when they start working their magic on his wrists. It’s warm and a little itchy. Soon the blue tendrils retreat, but Magnus keeps hold of his hands.

‘That’s all I can do for now,’ Magnus says. ‘I’m a little tired.’

‘You didn’t have to anything. But thank you,’ Alec says, squeezing Magnus’ fingers. He looks at the warehouse. It’s just a warehouse, like all the others. There’s no way to tell what happened in there tonight from just looking at it. ‘Were you planning on telling me?’

Magnus huffs. ‘Ironically, I was planning on telling you tonight.’ He smiles softly. ‘It’s tradition for us to spend Halloween night with family, both dead and alive. I don’t have anyone I want to spend it with, so I thought I’d spend it with you.’

‘And show me some of your tricks and treats?’ Alec asks, smirking, raising an eyebrow.

‘That was the idea,’ Magnus laughs. He scoots closer and Alec wraps an arm around his shoulder. There’s still a tension in his body.

‘There’s more,’ Alec realizes.

‘Yes.’

‘Does it have to do with that favour you called in?’

Magnus hesitates before he answers, ‘Yes.’

‘But it’s not for tonight?’

‘It’s a lot, and tonight has already been draining.’

‘Okay.’ Alec knows Magnus will tell him if he insists, and he can already feel the curiosity gnawing at him, but it’s not for him to decide when Magnus tells him things. Besides, they’ve got plenty of time. ‘You know, I still haven’t had dinner,’ he says instead.

‘I could eat,’ Magnus agrees.

They stand, the bench creaking even worse than before. Alec keeps his arm around Magnus’ shoulder and steers him in the direction of the nearest subway station. Then he remembers how they look, him like he got beaten up and Magnus in his robes, and stops.

‘You don’t happen to have a change of clothes on you, do you?’ he asks, tugging at his bloodied shirt.

‘Darling, it’s New York and Halloween,’ Magnus reminds him. ‘If anything, we look too normal.’

~

Lena closes her eyes with a sigh as she slides into her car. She hates budget meetings, doing them over sushi makes them only marginally less boring.

‘Home, Miss Luthor?’ her driver asks.

‘No. Kara Danvers’ apartment,’ she says.

She tries not to let her nerves take over on the drive. It’s not a date. It’s just the two of them, hanging out, alone, in Kara’s apartment. They’ll be carving pumpkins. And maybe, at some point, Kara will be behind her, pressing against her back as she guides her hand. Warm fingers curled around her wrist…

Lena laughs at herself. If she’s going to resort to romantic clichés in her fantasies, she could at least come up with something that doesn’t involve knives.

‘You are very formally dressed for pumpkin carving,’ Kara says when she lets her in twenty minutes later.

Lena looks down at her silk blouse, pencil skirt, and high heels. ‘I guess I am. Do you have anything I can borrow?’

‘Sure.’ Kara bounds off in the direction of her bedroom.

Lena kicks off her heels and sets them and her bag by the door. The apartment smells of the cinnamon candles burning on a the dining table. The window is open and a crisp autumn breeze brings with it the smells of rain and fallen leaves.

When Kara comes back, Lena looks up to find her eyes at the same height as the other woman’s lips. She quickly moves her gaze up to Kara’s eyes, heat creeping up to her cheeks. She never realized Kara is quite a bit taller than her. It makes her like Kara even more.

‘This okay?’ Kara asks, holding up a National City University sweatshirt. ‘Do you also want to borrow some trousers?’

‘This is perfect.’ Lena pulls the sweater over her head, inhaling as she does so. Kara must’ve worn it recently, because it smells like her perfume.

Everything for their pumpkin carving is set up on the coffee table: pumpkins, knifes, and a large bowl for the trash. The tv is on in the background, a 24/7 news channel with the volume too low for Lena, but she’s sure Kara can hear it just fine. She makes herself comfortable on the floor while Kara gets their drinks. When Kara isn’t looking, she carefully lifts her pumpkin off the table. It’s not as heavy as it looks, but she wouldn’t be able to carry two at the same time.

‘You ready?’ Kara asks, as she hands Lena her glass of wine.

‘So ready. Where do I start?’

Kara is a good and patient teacher; Lena soon has her pumpkin open and its guts out. She’s outlining the face when disaster strikes, literally. She catches Kara glancing at the tv, then at the window, her knife hovering over her pumpkin. Lena follows Kara’s gaze to the tv. There’s a pile up on an off-ramp into the city. Firemen are trying to get to the cars in the middle, but fuel is leaking and small fire are starting everywhere. There’s a good chance they won’t get everyone out in time.

‘Kara, it’s okay. Go.’

‘What? What are you talking about?’ Kara splutters. ‘That’s like ten miles from here. CatCo will already have someone on the scene.’

‘You’re really not that great a liar,’ Lena says.

‘I totally am!

‘It’s a compliment.’ Lena puts her hand on Kara’s, squeezes, and nods. ‘They need your help to get those people out. I’ll be here when you get back.’

Indecision flashes across Kara’s face, then she nods and is gone.

Lena keeps her eyes on the screen, pride blooming inside her as she watches Kara arrive and rip apart cars to get people out. When the last person is safe, Kara untangle the cars to make sure all the fires are out. She stays until she’s sure all danger has passed, then, high-fiving some of the firemen, Kara makes her way out of the crowd and jumps into the sky.

Lena pulls her eyes away from the excited reporter now on the screen, to the window to watch for Kara’s arrival. She’s seen Supergirl fly dozens of times, but there’s something very intimate about being here as Kara flies back into her own home, cape fluttering behind her, the soft thud of her boots on the floor.

‘Are you mad?’ Kara blurts out the moment she touches down.

‘For what?’ Lena asks, confused.

‘For not telling you.’

‘Of course not,’ Lena assures her. ‘You think I haven’t thought of changing my name, or never wished I could make people stop thinking of me as a Luthor the moment I step out of the office? It would make life a lot easier.’

‘Trust me, it doesn’t,’ Kara says with a wry smile, dropping down beside her on the floor, pulling her cape into her lap.

‘No, I suppose it doesn’t.’

They lean back against the couch, and when Lena turns her head, she finds Kara already looking at her.

‘Especially in the romance department,’ Kara says. Her eyes slip down to Lena’s lips for a moment, and Lena’s heart starts beating a little faster. ‘When do I tell them I’m Supergirl?’ Kara continues. ‘Will they be mad if I wait too long? What if I tell too soon and we break up and they tell everyone?’

Lena slides her hand in Kara’s. ‘What if they figure it out by themselves?’

‘That makes things a lot easier actually,’ Kara says, squeezing her hand.

They lean in at the same time. Kara smells a little like smoke and gasoline, but Lena doesn’t mind, because Kara’s lips are soft against hers.

When they pull back Lena says, ‘Shall we get on with tonight’s activity?’

‘What?’ Kara’s eyes widen, sliding down Lena’s body before pulling them back up with a blush and a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

‘I’m talking about the pumpkin carving,’ Lena says. ‘But other activities can be added to itinerary.’

Kara chuckles. ‘Let me get changed and help you carve the eyes. They can be tricky.’

‘A couple years back, there was an old man.’ Her voice is low, barely loud enough to carry over the wind and the fire. ‘His wife was dying and he did everything he could to make her final months perfect. They’d always been very happy, so there wasn’t much his wife wanted, except for one thing. Because of an accident when she was younger, the old man’s wife only had one leg, the one she’d lost replaced by one made of wood. The step-thunk of her steps had carried through the house and their neighbourhood for years. The one thing the old man’s wife wanted, was for her leg to made of gold. Of course, the old man granted his wife’s wish, and she loved the new leg. So much in fact, that she wanted to be buried with it.

‘Finally, the sad day came that the old man’s wife died. And, per her request, they buried her a couple days later, with her golden leg.

‘The night after the funeral, the old man lay awake. He couldn’t stop thinking about that golden leg. After hours of tossing and turning, he grabbed a shovel and his wife’s old, wooden leg, and made his way to the cemetery. He dug as quick as he could. When he reached the coffin, he felt a pang of shame at disturbing his wife like this, but that disappeared when he raised the lid and saw the gold glinting in the moonlight. His wife was dead. She didn’t have any use for it. She wouldn’t notice. And he switched the gold for wood.

‘Back home, he took an old chest and put the golden leg in there, wrapping it in towels and tucking it, hiding it, between old keepsakes. He pushed the chest under the bed, crawled back under the covers, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

‘People thought it odd how cheerful the old man was. They kept glancing at him, wondering if he’d gone mad with grief. The old man didn’t notice, his was mind on the golden leg under his bed.

‘That night, just as the old man was drifting off, a sound had him wide awake again. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Confused, certain that it was just a dream, the old man squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. When he’d first noticed them the steps were still at the far end of the street, but they were quickly coming closer. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The garden gate groaned when the footsteps reached them. And then… nothing.

‘The old man shook his head, berating himself for being scared of a dream. He pulled his blankets tightly around himself and fell into an uneasy sleep.

‘The next day, the old man kept telling himself that he’d imagined the footsteps, that he simply missed his wife. He decided to visit her, bring her some flowers, but as he walked out of his front yard, he realized that the little gate was already open.

‘Certain that someone knew about the leg and was messing with him, the old man locked his bedroom door that night. He tried to sleep, and just when exhaustion took over from his vigilance, he heard it. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The old man thought it was just his heartbeat at first, but it gradually growing louder, closer. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The garden gate groaned, the footsteps stopped. The old man breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled. Just some kids messing with him. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The footsteps were coming up the garden path. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The front door rattled. The soft click of the lock disengaging was like a gunshot in the quiet house. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The footsteps echoed through the hallway. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Up the stairs. And then… nothing.

‘The old man did not sleep that night.

‘The old man called the locksmith the next morning to have all his locks changed. Then he opened the chest where he kept the golden leg, and retrieved his old gun from between the knickknacks. Checking to make sure it was clean and would work, he loaded it.

‘That night, with his new keys and his old gun on his nightstand, the old man crawled under the covers. He listened for the sound that he knew would come. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Far away and steadily getting closer. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The garden gate groaned. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The lock on the front door rattled, then disengaged. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. The steps echoing through the hallway. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Up the stairs. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Until right in front of his bedroom door.

‘The old man grabbed his gun from the nightstand and aimed it at the door. He wanted to warn the person on the other side that he was armed, but all that came out was a whimper.

‘The knob turned, slowly. The old man didn’t hear the lock disengaging through the ringing in his ears. The door swung open. A silhouette that once was familiar and comforting, like those footsteps, stood in the doorway. Step-thunk. The figure was inside the room. It turned to the old man, its eyes cold and dead, and it said, “Where is my golden leg?”’

Allison lets her eyes roam over the pack. Some of the wood one the fire shifts, and she catches Scott jumping from the corner of her eye.

‘I should have let you tell the one about the sailors,’ Scott groans, breaking the silence, and a chuckle ripples through the pack.

‘Ha!’ Stiles shouts triumphantly. ‘That means it’s my turn!’

Her job done, Allison scoots closer to Lydia. She wraps an arm around Lydia’s waist, and Lydia leans into her.

‘Were you scared?’ Allison asks.

‘If I say yes can I be the one in front now?’ Lydia counters.

‘You can be in front either way.’

Lydia crawls between Allison’s legs. Allison wraps her arms tightly around her girlfriend’s waist and hooks her chin over her shoulder. Scott has found safety in Kira’s arms, while Stiles prepares himself to tell his story.

‘I was terrified,’ Lydia whispers.