Chapter Text
There’s a shift in the shadows so subtle that only those mindful of it would notice.
He notices.
Amidst the dancing and the drinking, he hones in on a beautifully dressed gentleman watching the festivities by the far wall in a dimmer part of the room. There’s an untouched drink in his hand and a pleased smile on his lips and he looks like any other human there.
Only, he wasn’t there a mere moment ago.
Caleb’s mind reconfirms this.
Taking a drink from a passing servant, he pushes past the crowds of handsomely dressed men and elaborately costumed women and walks up to this new guest. Raising his glass in greeting, he says conversationally, “Good evening. Enjoying the gala?”
The man turns to him, his hair locks of dark wavy brown and eyes of rich chestnut. Adorned in soft silks that barely hide his golden brown skin, his outfit leaves less to the imagination than the usual party guest. Despite catching Caleb’s gaze, he smiles, beautiful and unassuming. “Yes, this is delightful. I love parties.”
A servant passes by just then with a lantern in their hand, no doubt to escort a guest retiring for the night to their carriage waiting outside. In the brief flicker of light, the man’s silhouette looms above the both of them, revealing curled horns with dangling ornaments, a swaying tail, and intricate translucent wings.
Caleb takes a sip of his wine and pretends not to notice.
The cold iron spike is sitting heavy in a pocket lined with lead to avoid detection. It’s screaming to be used but he ignores it. He’ll have to find a better place for this. Fewer people. More space to attack and defend.
Setting the glass down, he offers a hand and asks, “I don’t suppose I could have the honour of dancing with you, Mister…?”
The man takes his hand and nods. “Mollymauk. Mollymauk Tealeaf. Molly to my friends.”
“Mister Mollymauk then,” he says, filing the alias away. “My name is Caleb Widogast.”
“Mister Caleb Widogast,” Molly repeats slowly as though measuring each syllable with care. “A nice long dance would be lovely.”
“Not here,” he says quietly, making a show of glancing around the room at the other guests. “Perhaps somewhere more private?”
Something akin to interest and realization flashes in Molly’s eyes then, but he smiles. Downing his wine in a single gulp, he sets it down in the same movement and says, “Of course. Lead the way.”
Steadying his nerves, Caleb wraps his hand around those long, graceful fingers and leads Mollymauk towards the stairs and up to the rooftop balcony.
Stepping outside into the cold autumn night, there are grey clouds smothering the entirety of the sky above and relentless winds blowing every which way. None of the other guests have dared to brave the cold, leaving the rooftop empty save for the two of them.
Despite the howling winds, the music from below is still faintly audible and Caleb turns and wraps an arm around Mollymauk’s waist and steps in close. As if mimicking his movement, Molly takes a step in and wraps his arms around Caleb’s neck. He inhales sharply at the gesture and the smell of sweet springtime flowers and incense immediately teases his nose. It’s an alluring smell that seems to warm him even against the autumn wind. Regaining his bearings, Caleb nods. “Shall we?”
“Please.”
The dance is a slow ballad, the tinny sound of music filtering through multiple layers of glass and wood. The two of them sway to the rhythm and circle each other, deceptively intimate in their closeness even as they keep their eyes on one another like predators sizing their prey up.
And as they dance, Mollymauk leans in and whispers in his ear, his voice soft and hypnotic, “So tell me, ‘Caleb Widogast’. Now that you finally have me alone, what will you do next?”
“I have a few ideas, but I suppose that would depend on what you are in the mood for, Mister Mollymauk,” he replies lightly, keeping his eyes trained on the man.
There’s a quiet laugh. “Is that so? And what if I say I’m in the mood for a bit of fun?”
Caleb arches a brow. “Fun?”
Below, the song winds down to an end followed by a smattering of applause as the band stops to take a quick refreshment break.
“Yes, fun.” Unwrapping his arms from Caleb’s neck, Molly reaches down into his coat pocket and pulls out the chain attached to the adder stone. Caleb tenses as the man inspects it with some amusement. “Such interesting trinkets you have on you. This won’t ward you from evil magics, but I suppose you have other charms for that, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” Caleb admits warily, straightening his suit jacket. “You have no interest in going through the rest of my pockets?”
Molly laughs at his meagre challenge, stepping down from it with grace. “Oh, plenty of interest, but I fear my fingers will get burnt.” Handing the adder stone back, Molly backs up until he’s standing on the ledge of the rooftop with his arms spread. “Go on then, have a look if you so please. I’ll give this one to you for free since you so kindly shared a dance with me.”
Caleb frowns at the offer, his instincts telling him to finish the job and be done with it. This is a dangerous game he’s playing and nothing good will come from indulging this creature’s whims. But the bodies of fey disappear as soon as they’re killed, and looking at this beautiful man before him, he can scarcely imagine what kind of sight will greet him beyond the veil of that magical glamour.
Just one look, he promises himself. Just one look to sate his curiosity.
So with one hand, he reaches into his pocket to grasp the cold iron spike, and with the other, he raises the stone up to his eye and peers through the hole.
What he sees takes his breath away.
He’s seen fey before, but never one like this.
Rather than the human he danced with mere minutes ago, through the stone, he sees a fey standing there, elegant and lithe, with scarred lavender skin and sparkling crimson eyes. Still dressed in colourful silks, his clothes seem even more vibrant now despite the overcast skies, taking on impossible ethereal hues, unruffled and untouched by the biting winds.
Those locks of deep brown turn to dark violet curls that tumble past the fey’s shoulders, tied back loosely with a ribbon of silk. And protruding from his hair are a pair of rams’ horns that curve neatly around his ears, decorated with gold and silver trimmings and charms. The tail he’d seen earlier in Molly’s silhouette sways to and fro now, curious and alert.
And the wings.
There’s a slight shimmer where the wings should be and he suspects that under the right circumstances, those translucent wings would be every bit as magnificent as the rest of this creature.
“Atemberaubend…” he breathes, taking it all in.
Molly tilts his head curiously, revealing tattoos of peacock feathers that run down the side of his face past the neckline of his kaleidoscopic coat. His charms twinkle under some invisible light and the rings adorning his long elegant fingers seem to sparkle.
And then he smiles, revealing pointed canines as he does, but that’s hardly enough to break whatever spell he’s cast over Caleb. “I take it you like what you see, Mister Caleb?”
“What did you do to me?” he asks, all too aware of the heat rising to his cheeks and the skip of his heart.
Crimson eyes blink. “To you? Nothing on my part, my dear, but that can be changed easily enough.”
Caleb lowers the stone only to find Molly gone.
Before he can raise the stone back up to his eye, he feels a hand on his, keeping it lowered. The familiar smell of flowers and incense keeps him at bay as he waits, his grip on the spike tightening and his heartbeat racing.
“Be calm, little hunter,” a voice whispers in his ear, haunting and melodic. A cool rush suddenly runs through his veins, causing his shoulders to sag and his mind to still. “There’s something about you...ah, I see.” Unseen fingers lightly brush the hair out of his eyes. “Like I said, I’m in the mood to have some fun and you’re an interesting one, aren’t you? I should like to dance with you again, Caleb Widogast. Come find me at the next party—if you can.”
There are lips on his forehead and suddenly, Mollymauk’s presence disappears.
In the wake of the fey’s absence, screams emit below as all the lights in the gala are suddenly blown out followed by the mischievous cackle of some unseen culprit. And Caleb, still stunned and rooted to the spot, looks down only to see a little pale blue flower tucked between his fingers.
--
It takes him a while to compose himself enough to straighten out his suit and leave the party. The servants are busy relighting all the candles and torches as he weaves between excited guests, all whispering amongst themselves about the strange happenings of this party. Paying them no heed, he exits the mansion and pauses at the front steps to peer into the garden. Instead of the usual ring of mushroom left behind by fey as they cross back over to their own world, he finds a tangle of sweet peas there, bright and colourful even in the dark of night.
Frowning, he walks over and rips them out and tosses the flowers aside.
--
Returning back to his house, Caleb spares a quick wary glance over his shoulder before stepping inside. Sliding the bolts shut one after the other, he pauses to ensure the line of salt hasn’t been broken by his entrance.
From inside, he hears scampering and calls out, “It’s only me. I am back so you can come out now, Nott.”
The first thing he sees is light as all the candles and lanterns in the house light up. Then he hears a meow as a little tabby cat runs down the stairs to greet him. Picking him up, he smiles. “Hallo Frumpkin, where is Nott the Brave?”
“Frumpkin! Is it really him?” he hears from upstairs.
The cat meows and sniffs him carefully before eyeing him with a wary look. “Ja, I know. I will explain myself once Nott joins us.” Then stepping back to get a better look at the second floor railings, he spots a red cap poking out and calls out, “I can see you there, Nott. I am standing right here if you need to check. I also brought you a bottle of...something? Possibly wine but I cannot be sure.”
The red cap disappears and there’s the sound of footsteps running down the stairs and suddenly, there’s something clinging to his leg. He looks down to see green skin and large yellow eyes and jagged fangs poking out of that wide grin. “Caleb, it really is you! You smell like fey...and flowers!”
“Yes, I ran into a powerful one at the party but he got away from me. I am afraid I might have fallen under a charm of some sort,” he admits, handing the flask over to the redcap.
Downing the alcohol with one long swig, Nott wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and gives the empty flask back before beckoning him to get closer. “That’s no good! Come here and let me take a look at you! I won’t let anyone lay their hands on my boy!”
Crouching down obligingly, he lets the redcap scan him over. She digs through his pockets, cursing loudly when she accidentally brushes against the iron spike. He quickly apologizes and puts it away somewhere safe while she continues searching.
“What’s this?” Nott asks, pulling out the little blue flower Mollymauk had slipped in his hand before leaving. She sniffs it and makes a face. “It’s enchanted.”
“Not cursed?” he asks.
Nott sniffs it again. “Not cursed. Enchanted, but I don’t know this magic. It’s fey magic.”
Caleb frowns and takes the flower back. “Should I burn it?”
“No, I don’t think you need to,” she says, plucking it out of his hand. Reaching up, she threads the flower into one of his buttonholes and smiles, all jagged fangs and affection. “This will do.”
He returns the smile. “Danke. Is your cap still good or do we need to soak it?”
At the change of topic, she waves him off and pulls the cap farther down with clear disdain for the thing. “No, it’s only the second day. Tomorrow will be fine.”
“If you are certain then I will not press the issue,” Caleb says quietly, still crouching down. “However, I would hate for you to disappear on me, my friend.”
Nott sighs and nods. “You’re very sweet, Caleb. I promise I’ll let you know when I need to scratch this itch, but not before then! Not even an hour before then! Now, don’t ask me again or I’ll kill you!”
Unfazed by her threat, he says evenly, “Well, I would prefer if you could give me some notice to prepare. I believe we still have some pig’s blood for your cap and chicken out back if you need to scratch that, ah, particular itch.”
“I may need a chicken tomorrow,” Nott admits, her shoulders sagging with despair. “Sometimes I can’t help it. The itch never goes away until I do it and the last thing I want to do is hurt you or Frumpkin, Caleb.”
Frumpkin meows while he musters another smile and pulls her into a loose hug. Unlike Mollymauk, Nott smells of deep cave fungi, dirt, and blood—now with the addition of alcohol—but it’s a familiar scent now, one that’s almost comforting to him. “I know. I know you wouldn’t do that to us.” Then standing up, he makes his way to the back room and says, “If you are sure you are feeling fine still, Nott the Brave, I will leave the matter until tomorrow. Now please excuse me for a minute while I make my report.”
Taking a candle with him, he passes through another line of salt to enter the unlit room at the end of the hallway. There, unfurnished save for a small desk and chair, sits a sending stone. Picking it up, he activates it and waits.
“Bren,” comes a deep voice from the other end. “Report.”
“Yes, sir,” he automatically replies. “There was a fey. A powerful one.” And beautiful, his mind whispers, bringing forth images of ruby red eyes and horns gilded with gold and silver. “He got away.”
“He?”
“It,” Caleb quickly corrects himself, mentally scolding himself for the slip up. “Without any leads I do not know if I will make contact with it again,” he says, all the while confused and panicked at his sudden compulsion to lie.
A brief pause. “I hope you are not slacking in your duties. Do I need to send reinforcements your way?”
“Nein. No, sir,” he says, hoping he didn’t come off sounding too desperate. “I worked hard to earn my position here and I will keep it free of fey as I have done so far.”
“Very well. I expect better results next time.”
“Yes, sir. You will not be disappointed.” The glow of the sending stone fades and Caleb immediately rests his head against the cool wooden frame of the desk with a sigh. “What am I doing?”