Father Rathmore

The war.

Imogen’s hand grabbed hold of something wet, something hardening to ice in her hand. She shoved herself up, snow falling from her hair and shoulders as she looked around, trying to keep her panic at bay. How long had she been out for? Several more moments passed, ones in which she tried gripping at the fleeting memories of the past few hours that circled jumbled in her brain.

The war was over. It had been the poltergeist, a minor demon, Arlo. She had been in the town square, and now she… wasn’t. Imogen’s hand reached for the back of her head, it was pounding. She must have hit it when she was brought– here.

‘‘Where the hell am I?’‘ Imogen spoke out loud, a wince at how deafening her voice sounded to herself. A minor concussion maybe. She patted herself down, checking for any injuries, satisfied when she couldn’t feel any. The dark haired witch pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly in the snow before catching sight of someone else laying a few steps away in the snow.

‘‘Hey, hey you–’‘ Immy walked towards them, her eyes darting around her surroundings. She couldn’t hear Charlie, or see him. ‘‘Are you okay?’‘ Her first priority was anyone else she could see. Charlie was capable, he could handle himself. She would look for him afterwards. ‘‘Where the hell are we?’‘

@imogenhayes 

Good question.

Valko blinked up at the hazy blob hovering above his face. It moved and made noises, only half of which registered in his brain. Where the hell was he? Or we as it had been said. He blinked a few more times until the lines of her face came into sharp focus, and shook his head. This was not the face of one of his.

He groaned loudly as he tried and failed to push himself up to sitting. The last thing he remembered was holding hands - a task he would just as soon avoided - and now he was freezing his ass off in the middle of nowhere. A handful sized clump of snow fell from the branches onto his face, solidifying his resinment to laying there until he couldn’t move at all.

“We are... in the snow,” he muttered.

★ - Valko doesn’t sleep well because of reoccurring nightmares about the war.

☮ - Valko’s favorite pastime is setting up the chess board for a rousing game with Nostradamus. His familiar’s favorite pastime is knocking over the board, and chewing on the chess pieces while Valko yells at him to play the right way or leave

“Yes. It’s done.”

Maddox wasn’t one to blindly follow orders however his position in the Church had been a little tenuous prior to the war. And Valko was often vague to begin with. Easier on this occasion to complete a simple task and then ask more details in person. 

Bring Tempest Woods to the Church of Dark cathedral.

Ink black eyes shifted from the bottle to Valko. Rathmore looked to be his typical overly relaxed self. “She’s secured in the congregation hall.” Secured being a nice way to say bound in the empty room by an old knotted spell. 

He sidestepped a small dark hand reaching for his boot. “So what’s this about exactly. Because it feels a bit… hm, what’s the word I’m looking for?” The warlock feigned a search for the right thought. “Kidnap-y?” 

Tempest seemed resigned to accept the unusual invitation and Maddox’s personal escort to the cathedral without a fight. So he really had one question. 

“What did she do?”

“She pissed me off,” he said, throwing one arm over the back of the pew. That was the truth, more or less. Tentative peace after five years of chaos and destruction was not going to be thrown away because of one wayward Church member. While their numbers were low and he would rather not lose a competent witch, the safety of all was more important than the life of one.

“If you’re having moral doubts about my decisions, Maddox, by all means. Now is the time to say so,” continued Valko, though his words were laced with a somewhat abrasive edge that had not been there before. “Go on. Get it off your chest.”

His gaze flickered down to the front of the man’s shirt for a split-second, and then all the way down to the boots that Nostradamus was watching without blinking, waiting for an opening in which to grab a shoelace and run. Valko’s lips curled up at the corners. He lifted the wine bottle, and indulged himself in a long chug. Standing took a little more motivation. He swung one leg off the pew, followed closely by the second. Leaning heavily on the back of the pew, he pushed himself up.

Zadie slammed the truck door, the soles of her slouched leather boots contacting hard, nearly-frozen ground. The wind was cold on Peach Street, all of the houses dark, with their curtains drawn. Let no light break, let no spirits wake.

Hands in her pockets, she beat a quick path to the square and tensed at the crowd, already filling. Zadie shifted uncomfortably, looking a little lost. It was dark, with only the light of the moon and the clock tower to illuminate the faces gathered there. Friend or foe? It was impossible to tell.

She saw a familiar set of shoulders, heard the low rumble of his voice, and in an eagerness to be done with the whole thing, Zadie took Severin’s hand.

Soft.

The next hand that she touched made her wish that she’d worn gloves, or cut off her left hand entirely. Zadie tensed from head to toe.

@valko-rathmore​

Valko sauntered into the town square, licking chocolate off his fingers and kicking snow out of his path. Probably should have left some money on the counter of the diner. Shoot. He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t eaten the whole pie, though. Only about a quarter, and a few final bites he’d managed to shovel in his mouth on the way out. Satisfied that his fingers were clean, he wiped his hand down the front of his coat.

A much smaller hand found its way into his. He glanced down.

“Might want to hang on tighter than that. Let go too soon, and the whole thing will...” He made some vaguely theatrical sound effects. This drew a few odd looks, but Valko didn’t seem to notice. He grabbed the nearest hand on his other side.

Endless days, sleepless nights. Leading a coven hadn’t any more work than he imagined the last three or so years. If anything, it was exactly how much work he thought it would be, and that was exactly what irritated him about having to do it. Even leaders needed to take a break. Valko slouched in a booth in the furthest, dimmest corner of the diner that he could find. His arms curled protectively around his burger and fries.

“Get your own,” he snapped. Get a job. Contribute for once. The chubby raccoon that was sniffing over his plate glared at him before sliding off the bench and disappearing under the table. Fucking freeloader. Valko grabbed the ketchup bottle.

Surprisingly the bottle felt rather light, and less surprisingly (due to its lack of weight) nothing but a small red splatter came out when he squeezed it. With a grimace, he turned in his seat, and looked over his shoulder at the booth behind him. It was occupied. He cleared his throat, attempting to catch their attention, and gestured vaguely at their condiments.

“Can I have that? The, uh, ketchup.”

Silence hung heavy in the great cathedral. Specks of dust billowed in each concentrated beam of sunlight shining down through strategically placed windows on the arched ceilings. During the usual service, moonlight would shine down in its place, creating the illusion of several soft spotlights shining down on various seats across the congregation. The chapel was empty or so it seemed.

Valko lay flat on his back across one of the pews. His feet crossed at the ankles, and his eyes closed. Office hours were best spent this way, because it deterred the attention seekers. They wandered in, assumed he wasn’t there, and scurried off somewhere else. His arm flopped to the side, groping about near the floor for a bottle of wine he had set down there earlier.

Waiting on the steps of the Cathedral was a furry raccoon. He sat on the top step on his hind quarters like a person might. Occasionally he chittered to himself. When someone began stomping up the steps, he rolled over onto his fat belly, and scurried off around the side of the building.

One of the heavy wooden doors swung open. Footsteps echoed across the marble floor. Valko checked his watch. He sighed. Without any sense of urgency, he pushed himself up to sitting and peered over the back of the pew. He raised the open wine bottle by way of greeting. Nostradamus appeared again, this time waddling over from a dark corner, and proceeded to sniff at the newcomer’s shoes.

“There’s our guy,” he said, “I see you received the message. Got a job for you, Keyes.”

Be a little bitch– what? “Your people skills are amazing and I can absolutely see why you are coven leader now.” Maddox spoke with zero emotion and considered moving to the far corner booth for a nap. Valko would soon be ready for beddy-bye too after gorging on food. There was no incentive to catch a ghost. Or to keep up conversation with Rathmore. He waved a hand to the pie. “No thank you.” 

The warlock moved behind the counter. One of his sisters had worked at the diner when he was a kid. Making cherry fake colas and whipping up ice cream sundaes that turned the teeth of her high school rivals black before they fell out overnight. Saffron was still wicked but harsher now in seeking forced atonement from her enemies. She had been in the war too.

He stole a cherry from a container and slipped a silver tumblr from a shake blender to sip the concoction inside. Vanilla and cream. Then he removed a leather bound flask from a pocket to liven up the drink. “I was gone when they designated the new coven leader. I don’t recall you being particularly upward moving in your trajectory.” Whose dick did Valko have to suck for that position? “You never seemed like the type. Kind of weird.”

“Life is strange sometimes.” Such as when an unnatural series of events forced someone to take over a coven they never intended nor wanted to lead. But the only set-in-stone qualification for the job was a surname, and Valko had just the right one. Finn was next in line if anything should happen to him. Lucky bastard. He had never fully appreciated how good he’d had it when he was only one a many potential future leaders, no matter how lacking his family may have felt that potential was, as opposed to actually being High Priest.

He glanced at the flask. That was exactly the kind of thing he’d been looking for, but hell if he was going to ask Keyes for a drink. Maybe. No, he told himself, he would not. Probably would not. Well, it sort of depending on what was in the flask really. He didn’t want anything too sweet, but he was willing to make a few concessions if the drink was strong enough.

“I know you’ve received something of a promotion yourself. Watchmen. Congratulations.”

An icy wind ruffled the collar of Valko’s unbuttoned shirt, the same one he had been wearing all of yesterday and the evening before that as well. The morning sun did little to warm the air. His sister liked to enchant all of her clothing to block out the chill, but he had more important things that needed his energy now. He couldn’t go around throwing magic at every stupid inconvenience when pulling on a coat would do.

He stared at the bag. Near his right foot, Nostradamus stood on his hind legs, leaning forward to sniff at the unexpected parcel. Valko didn’t like surprises. Not anymore. Especially not surprises that came with cryptic notes. Bending down to read the strange phrase about love and lizards was as close as he got to the thing. He exchanged a wary look with the creature by his side. He wasn’t about to open it himself.

“Go see what it is,” he said. The raccoon immediately pulled his head back. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Then the creature turned around, and waddled back inside the farmhouse.

“Bitch.”

Jerk. The word popped into Valko’s mind so suddenly he might almost have mistaken it for his own private thoughts. Nostradamus usually preferred action to mindless chatter. Fucking hell, what was he even supposed to do with this.

“Odie!” he called up the stairs. His sister didn’t answer.

Fine. He would take care of the damn thing himself, whatever it was. Valko raised one hand in the air, his palm facing outward. He bent his ring and pinky fingers, and began to mutter. A flash of light brightened the doorway. Flames engulfed the bag. He watched the brown paper turn to ash, leaving a black, smoldering pile on the doorstep. Grimacing, he brought his raised hand protectively to his chest and shut the door.

Oh. Bringing that up. Cheap, not very creative. Not so effective as an insult either when Keyes had long ago paid the price for the expulsion from the Academy. He still recalled the black spell that permanently disabled another student. Even considered using it there in the diner. Instead, Maddox blinked once and responded dryly. “The gaps in my education have been filled. So what is your excuse?” The better question being –how did Valko become coven leader when all he seemed to do was eat and stare at himself in a mirror? 

The man stumbled his way into leadership. Maddox began to think perhaps it was time to give Valko a good hard shove back to the bottom. The dark-eyed warlock would do a much better job himself. 

“Since you’re clearly the only stable genius in the room, do tell me the plan to capture the poltergeist. Using.. pie.”

“The pie is going to keep my strength up.” By strength he mostly meant his patience. Valko shoved a scoop of chocolate cream the size of his fist into his mouth. Delicious. Now if only he had a nice drink to pair it with. Surely they kept something around that wasn’t just coffee or milk. Waitresses probably needed something to sip on to keep their spirits up during the lunch rush. He knew he would. Valko dropped the serving spoon back into the middle of the pie, and began poking around behind the counter again.

“Look, obviously the poltergeist is not here. If it shows up, we’ll work together, do a quick banishing spell. Or I’ll do alone if you’re going to be a little bitch about it. And then we’ll go on our merry way. Relax. Why don’t you just... sit down. Have some pie.”

His head pulled back a little at the expression turning on the other’s face. Truly this must be a cold blooded reptilian, surely a lizard man. He spoke tentatively, “And what would happen if I chose to take those ten more steps?” curiosity killed the cat, but it had also just been established that he remained quite safe where he stood right now.

He had sat almost right on the steps of the Church just a few days ago, had gotten quite mean stares and the general unwelcoming vibe but nothing dramatic had happened. He had only seen a glimpse into the life in the valley before the war, the relationships between the covens that had twisted and turned for hundreds of years. He had read about it for sure but he didn’t have it in his veins, he hadn’t truly lived it. It all seemed quite silly to him.

“Take them,” he answered, shrugging one shoulder, “Find out.” Valko pulled up a handful of grass. Then he opened his hand and let it trickle through his fingers. He pursed his lips. He silently puzzled over who this man might be, and what exactly was his business here. Maybe Devlin was trying to set upon them with spies.

“If it was me, though, I would probably refrain. Wouldn’t want the Church of Dark to mistake my intrusion on their land as an act of war, not after we’ve only just established peace. And I’ve heard the coven leaders can be a bit vindictive.”

Ban’s expression didn’t change but he turned over the coven leader’s words. The implicit answer should have been yes. To say anything else would mean Trouble with a capital t. It wasn’t wise to question a treaty after said agreement ended five years of bloody fighting. But Ban wasn’t confident about that, wasn’t willing to settle down with the idea that the leaders that decided to start a war also decided to finish it. The whole thing was fishy, but it wasn’t Ban’s place to suss out the politics of the coven leaders.

“I’ve lost the faith, what can I say?” Ban drank two gulps of beer and let out a sigh. “The fight’s over. That’s all that matters.” Ban wondered what he was useful for since the past five years had brought him to a lot of fights, and it seemed to be all he was good for. “So you lead the Church of Dark now. Was that a lifelong goal of yours?”

Valko glanced around the bar, looking for some kind of cutlery. If he stabbed himself with a fork, he would have to leave. Surely the bartender would not appreciate a bloody mess, and he would obviously need medical attention. The only thing nearby was the glass he was drinking out of, and that would require smashing it first. He probably wouldn’t be welcome back in this particular establishment if he started breaking things.

But if the alternative was answering that question...

“Personally I like to save the lifelong hopes and dreams discussion for the second or third date,” he said, “Don’t want to come across as too desperate. But since you asked...” Valko interrupted himself to take a drink. One drink turned into chugging until there wasn’t a drop of beer left in the glass. He set the empty cup back down.

"What were we talking about again? How you’re gonna regain your faith?”