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"I hope they do burn the whole place down," Daisy reflects, nibbling on a biscuit. "Not that it's guaranteed to do anything to what's inside, but it would make me feel better."
"I hope the next safe house has a kettle," Basira practically admonishes. "An electric one."
"So you aren't fond of the retro appeal of the one that goes on the hob?"
Basira shakes her head. "I don't appreciate when it screams at me, is all."
It's an unusually sunny day, not a single cloud in the sky, and the light turns their kitchen a comfortably warm shade of gold. After three weeks spent in London taking care of the mess the Archives had become, it's nice to just relax. Maybe take a nap or two.
The tea kettle starts to whistle, and both of them jump at the sound.
Daisy feels her gaze sharpen on the kettle like it’s some small animal screaming in fear, but also, it’s a kettle, and she uncurls her hands and shoves a few more biscuits in her mouth. This? This is fine.
"You only stocked Tetley? Daisy," Basira groans. "That’s so gross."
"It’s tea!" Daisy protests.
"You know I only drink Earl Grey." She tries to cross her arms, but can't move her left one that far, and she practically hisses in annoyance.
Daisy stands up and wraps her arms around Basira’s waist, resting her cheek on Basira's shoulder. As per usual, Basira is soft and warm and smells like every tasty kind of biscuit in the world. "Okay, okay, I’ll buy your fancy tea next time, I promise."
"Hm, that’s fine, then." Basira pours hot water into their mugs—one is from the London Police Department, and the other reads, MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000. Before Daisy can take the MST3K one, Basira deftly steals it and moves to sit at their rickety table.
Another jolt of energy moves up Daisy's spine, chase Basira, she has something you want and pursuit is required, demanded—the part of her that loves the hunt is absolutely starving for action. And apparently, any chase is enough to feed it. This is getting ridiculous, it’s a damn cup.
"Something wrong?" Basira asks. The grin on her face from stealing the mug has vanished.
"No, nothing. Could you pass me some of those biscuits?" Daisy sits down passively on her side of their tiny table while she blows ineffectively on her tea.
Basira obliges, a thoughtful look on her face. One hand comes up to tug the end of her hijab that hangs over her shoulder.
"What is it?" Daisy asks as she munches on a handful of biscuits.
"Just thinking," she says evasively.
That much is obvious. "About?"
"That can’t be everything. It just feels too easy." Basira chews on her lip.
"So you would've liked to get into a fistfight with Jonah Magnus or something?"
"I'm saying I would've liked slightly more closure than the lot of us going our separate ways and sitting around making tea. It's been weeks. How… how can that have been everything? We've missed something." She shakes her head and says, "I just can't for the life of me figure out what it was."
Daisy’s skin prickles thinking about a new chase, after Magnus, after the Eye, the watcher becoming the watched. It makes her stomach growl, and she takes a big drink of her mostly unsteeped tea to compensate. "Yeah? Well, we can go look if you want," she suggests, hating how excited she sounds.
"No, no. I just wish I’d known his real endgame." Basira stares gloomily into her tea.
"I’m sure it’ll be fine." Daisy reaches over the table and holds Basira's hand.
She gives Daisy's hand a tiny squeeze. "I really hope so." After a moment, Basira's phone rings, and she reluctantly lets go to answer. "Hello?"
With her sharpened hearing, Daisy can hear Martin say, "Hi, Basira. Just wanted to say thank you for the statements and tapes you sent, we were running low."
"I didn't sent you any statements, Martin." Basira stands up and grabs her keys, wallet, and jacket, gesturing for Daisy to follow.
"You didn't? But… you said…"
"You have to go back to the house right now, because I did not send any statements. I'm in Scotland with you, for goodness' sake." Basira shoos Daisy into the driver's seat and shoves the keys into her hands.
Daisy, without even having to ask, starts driving towards Loch Monar. They're nearly three hours away, which had seemed like a good idea. Previously.
"I just thought they were late; you know how the post is, big parcels are always so slow. Jon's reading a statement right now!" Martin sounds on the verge of panic, his breath loud over the phone.
"We'll be there as soon as possible," Basira promises. "See you in two hours."
Martin m-hmms vaguely and hangs up.
"Neither of us are police anymore, but if there's traffic I will use the siren I stole." Basira looks absolutely enraged, her hands curling into fists. "Elias," she spits like a curse. "I knew it."
"Well, all we have to do is get there before anything bad happens."
The car rattles down the dirt road away from their safe house, hitting what feels like every single pothole and rock in the way.
For a second, Daisy almost believes they'll make it. That Martin will somehow manage to stop whatever is about to happen. It can't be that bad, anyway, can it? He's just reading a statement…
Then the sky splits open, like an overripe piece of fruit dropped on the floor, and horrible, grotesque shapes start forcing themselves out into the air. Things with long, spindly arms, antlers and claws, wings made of ribcages and bones, bulging, dripping raw meat, and largest of all, an eye with a deep green iris. Thousands more eyes open in the clouds, darkening the sky as the other creatures called forth spread over the planet, completely blocking out the noonday sun.
The hunter stirs inside of Daisy, a fierce, wild happiness like she's moments from sinking her teeth into something small and helpless, just a little bit further and she'll have it. And she knows that Basira feels the same call to the great hunt, the Everchase. But she can also feel the others, the Great Twisting, the Last Feast, even the Unknowing, all happening at the same time, celebrations of all the fears.
So this must have been Elias' plan. The Watcher's Crown. Not a ritual of the Eye, specifically, but one with the Eye at the center.
She glances over at Basira, whose eyes are glassy but still full of the same drive from before.
"We need to get to Martin," Basira says hungrily.
Daisy absolutely cannot give in. She has to remember what she wants—what she wants—she wants to get something, get someone. She wants to chase them, watch them stumble and trip, wants to outwit and be outwitted, but to always gain the upper hand and close the final distance—
"No!" Daisy yells, slamming her foot down on the brakes and jolting the car to a stop. "No, no, no. We have to help Martin, remember? The big guy with the collection of awful jumpers? And his scrappy old man boyfriend?" Daisy holds both of Basira's hands. "They're our friends. Mostly."
"What? Oh. Oh." She shakes her head and lets go of Daisy. "Sorry. I didn't expect it to—it caught me off-guard," she apologizes, fussing with her hijab.
"Don't worry about it." Daisy starts driving again. "Also, maybe don't look at the sky."
"Why shouldn't I—oh, that's disgusting. What is it?"
"A world made of fear, I should think." The car's petrol is getting low, and Daisy has to wonder what the crisis has done to the price. There’s probably some kind of panic going, people stockpiling everything, especially petrol. And walking to Loch Monar will be an absolute disaster, so they’ll have to get to a station as soon as possible.
Basira shakes her head, still staring at the sky. "Is this the Watcher's Crown?"
"I think it might be everything at once, actually."
They drive in silence for a moment before Basira reaches over and turns on the radio. At first, it's just static. But as she turns the dial, they hear a familiar voice breaking through the white noise.
"The door is open," Jon says in the same way someone might announce an elevator floor, then his voice disappears in a burst of static.
Daisy instinctively checks the car doors to make sure they're all closed.
"Did you just…?" Basira stares at Daisy, completely aghast.
"What?"
"He clearly meant a metaphysical door!"
"I just—he knows so many things—and in context—!" Daisy sputters.
Basira giggles once, hysterically, and then both of them crack up, laughing until they're both crying.
"Oh, we're so fucked," Daisy practically sobs.
Basira reaches clumsily across the center console for Daisy's hand, and they hold onto each other tight.
They keep driving through the Scottish countryside. The radio plays old statements, read by Gertrude and Jon and presumably the voices of archivists long dead. In between Jon's statements, Daisy can hear him laughing in the background, a crazed, joyful sound that makes her skin crawl. Hundreds of eyes in the sky watch them as they go, and for some unfathomable reason, some of the eyes are watching the cows, too.
Sometimes, people will run screaming into the streets; chased by loping creatures with claws or many-legged beasts or storefront mannequins with ghastly smiles bleeding from the joints. All of them inadvertently feed the Hunt. But they have to keep driving, because the faster they get to the source, the faster it can all be over.
They can't stop to consider maybe it can't be undone; that now, the world will always be ending.
It's going to be a long three hours.