Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jon had just finished recording the statement of Nathan Watts regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close. He considered the statement for a moment. The being in the alleyway might have been another Siren, but if they were they fed very differently than Jon did. It seemed more like the work of something associated with perhaps Sekreth god of Secrets and Dark places. Jon considered the file carefully before writing SE on the file for his own reference. It was strange to be working here. The filing in the Archives was a disaster, and despite practically being a temple to Sirillus God of Knowledge and beloved patron of the Sirens, no one here seemed to have even heard about the five lesser gods.

Jon supposed that wasn’t too unusual, given the majority of the employees were human, but still, he was a little surprised that even in research no one had put the dots together.

Jon tried not to give off too many clues about his own knowledge though. If the other employees didn’t know about the lesser gods then Jon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell them. He had a good thing going working at the institute, and on the off chance that the other employees thought him mad, or worse asked him how he knew about the lesser gods, well it didn’t bare thinking about.

His grandmother had told him horror stories about how humans treated things that weren’t like them, and even here in an Institute that was as close to holy ground as the lesser gods allowed, Jon wasn’t willing to take the risk.

The lesser gods were fickle and you never knew when they might grant their favour or take it away.

At the moment, having read through his first statement, Jon felt very much like his god had favoured him.

Sirens didn’t have to lure people to their deaths, drinking in the hearts desire of their victim and luring them with it woven into their song. It was just that it was a much more satisfying way to feed.

Jon’s grandmother had been quite firm on the belief that it was very rude to push humans to that point. And for the most part Jon agreed with her. A Siren didn’t have kill their victims either. If Jon wanted to feed it could be as simple as telling the man working at the coffee shop that no one would notice if he took some cash from the till. It didn’t even matter if they fell for the temptations, it was enough that they thought about it.

Sirens fed on three key things, the desire of their victims, the power granted from pulling those desires out of them, of pushing them to act on them, and the confusion of their victims senses, as they fell into the trap of a Siren’s song. But so long as Jon fed often, with little meals it was simple enough to avoid doing anything that might actually hurt someone.

The statements though, Jon almost felt like he had fed just by reading it! It was a wonderful revelation and one he very much looked forward to exploring. He was bad enough at remembering to eat human food let alone remembering to feed often enough that he could get by on tiny temptations, and the odd tune sung under his breath as he passed by a prospective pickpocket. If Jon could feed at work, with such little effort? Yes he was beginning to be very excited for his new position indeed.

There was a knock at his office door and Elias walked in without bothering to wait for an answering call.

“Ah, Mr. Bouchard, was there something you needed?” Jon asked politely. He certainly wanted to stay on the man’s good side, he didn’t want to risk jeopardizing his new position. Not to mention, as a Siren, it was nearly impossible for him not to Know what the people around him desired. It was instinct and not Knowing was painful, and Jon rarely bothered trying. He just tried very hard not to share the knowledge with anyone else. that was an invasion of privacy. Just because he had to Know what people desired didn’t mean he had to be an ass about it.

Elias’s desire for immortality wasn’t an unusual desire for men like him. The strange secondary desire to be king of a ruined world was concerning, but Jon was pretty sure that was just a capitalism thing.

“I just wanted to see how our new Archivist was doing, I imagine reading some of those statements can really take it out of you.” There was an odd sort of false sympathy in his voice and Jon was deeply confused by it.

“Not at all, they are fascinating reads.” He said, watching Elias closely. Jon was sure the man had to know about Sirillus, surely you couldn’t be head of a temple, and clearly deeply touched but the lesser god and not know you ran a temple. Jon just didn’t know how to hint that he knew about the institutes patron though. Elias seemed surprised by his answer, and Jon felt the man try to prob at his mind, and then flinch.

When Jon had felt it the first time Elias had probed at his mind, he had been in the middle of reading a reference for something he had been researching. His thoughts had been lazar focused on the text in front of him, and Elias hadn’t done much more then a cursory look, lingering on his memories of a Guest for Mr. Spider. He hadn’t bothered to look deeper though, if he had Elias would have learned that the experience hadn’t exactly scared Jon.

Far from it. The Spider was an aspect of Sirillus, why would Jon be scared of his own god? To Jon’s understanding the book had been some kind of holy artifact and the bully who stole it from Jon wasn’t a Siren. He hadn’t been worthy of the book, so Sirillus had taken retribution.

Jon had had a long talk with his grandmother about the incident afterwards, and when she rather agreed with his assessment of the situation, to his mind that had settled it.

Now however when Elias probed at Jon’s mind he found a instead a wall of song in ever shifting notes and tones. Jon tended, even after years of speaking English, to think in his native tongue. Which while perfectly understandable to a Siren, was incomprehensible, and border line painful to just about anybody else.

Jon stared blankly at Elias as the man tried a second time before flinching and backing off.

“Ah, well I did want to ask if there was anything else you needed to help get the Archives back in shape.” The man sounded a bit off balance but Jon couldn’t for the life of him understand why. He had been more than half way convinced that Elias was a siren himself. Maybe Sirillus patronized other species? Perhaps Elias was one of those. Jon supposed it wasn’t really any of his business. It was hard to turn away the burning curiosity about it, but Jon knew it would be very rude to ask. Perhaps Elias would tell him when he was ready.

“We may need more filing cabinets.” Jon said considering. He intended, insomuch as it was possible; to include a reference if a statement included an encounter with one fo the lesser gods. Jon was curious to know what they got up to. He didn’t have much contact with anyone who followed the other four. It would be interesting to learn more.

“Well you have the requisitions papers, just send those up to my office when you are finished with them.” Elias sounded more comfortable here in the cradle of bureaucracy.

“Of course.” Elias took the opportunity to leave, confusion setting itself into new lines in his face. He hadn’t been so confused in a very long time.

Jon closed his eyes after the man left, basking a little in the pleasure of a full meal. He couldn’t believe he got paid for this. He sent the tape back to his assistants in case they had further follow up, but all in all it had been a wonderful first day in the Archives.

He was so relaxed from feeding that he nearly forgot himself and began to hum quietly as he collected his things to go home. He caught himself though when Martin, entranced by the sound nearly walked directly into him. Jon tried to play it off as Martin’s own inherit clumsiness but internally he felt bad, it had been his fault entirely. Jon really should know better than to do anything even remotely like singing in public.

It dampened his mood slightly. It was hard to fight nature sometimes, but even a few hummed notes could be troublesome and Jon Knew that Martin desired him, the poor human. It was hard not to desire Sirens, they were born and bred to draw desire out of people, and the teeth just sharper than they should be and the claws (that Jon kept carefully filled down.) even the ears that pointed more then what might be considered natural, didn’t seem to clue most people in to the fact that, restricted diet or not, Jon was a predator.

Martin, with his infatuation would be far more vulnerable to Jon’s voice than any of the other assistants too. He felt badly for it, but the only think he could really do was to try and snap Martin out of it. Being nice to Martin just seemed to deepen the infatuation, so Jon had been trying to be harsher. Martin seemed like a nice guy, it wouldn’t be fair for him to get sucked into the supernatural stuff that dominated Jon’s life. Humans were better off with humans. Interspecies relationships were far too complicated.

Not to mention the matter of Jon’s asexuality, that wasn’t a conversation he was eager to have with employees at any rate.

As he walked to the tube he found himself wishing he hadn’t quite smoking. Cigarettes had done wonders to tamp down on the urge to sing or hum when he was happy. Still, he managed to get home without further incident.

His sleep that night was odd though, he had never dreamed of any of the people he had fed from before, it was strange then that in his dream that night he stood in Old Fishmarket Close.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

When Jon encountered Naomi Herne it was a fascinating experience. He had never been able to sense the presence of someone so thoroughly touched by another of the lesser gods before. And Naomi Herne has most definitely been touched by Sekreth. It was different when she gave her statement too, it was richer somehow.

When she had come in he had been able to sense right away that she had a burning desire to tell someone what had happened, to have someone believe her. Jon hardly had to sing a single note before she began to bare the soul of the encounter to him.

He had never fed like this before. Normally the way he fed was rather like eating a crouton instead of a piece of bread. This was like having a five course meal. There was something about having the statement being given directly under his influence that seemed to make it all the more potent. It was a heady feeling.

“So, what do you think? Was it real?” She asked when she finished. Jon had to resist the urge to shut his eyes like a satisfied cat. It was amazing, he didn’t even need to feel guilty, she had wanted to tell him so badly, he couldn’t help but prolong the meal a little longer.

“I believe you Miss. Herne.” He said, with the utmost sincerity. She slumped in relief.

“I guess you sort of have to believe me here. The Magnus Institute takes everybody’s stories right?” She said, and Jon could taste a new desire beginning to rise. She wanted to understand what had happened, so that she could ensure it never happened again.

“If you would like to leave the stone here we will do what follow up and investigation we can.” He offered, the slightest edge of a musical lilt to his voice.

“Oh, I, yeah, that would be good.”

“I suspect, that if you are keen to avoid such an event again that it may be best you avoid being alone if you can.” He offered, he could taste it as her heart swelled with that desire for safety. He had to resist the urge to run his tongue along his teeth.

When she finally left Jon shut the door to his office and very carefully marked the tape with the letters SE. Sekreth often preyed on lone travellers. Miss. Herne was quite lucky she got away, humans always seemed to be so very fragile after encounters like this.

Jon accomplished nothing else for the remainder of the day, too content and full to be able to even consider leaving from his comfortable office until it was time to go home.

***

Jon’s assistants did not understand his filing system. With the majority of the statements in the Archive they continued to use Gertrude’s outdated system. With the tricky statements however, the ones that wouldn’t record on anything but tape, those were filed first by a series of apparently random letters, and then by date.

A, S, F, SE, or G. Sasha has tried to ask Jon what exactly they all meant, but he had seemed uncomfortable and given her a non- answer. She might have suspected the new filing system was some private joke of his, but Elias had seemed fascinated by it when he had come down to check on the Archives the week before when Jon had been at an appointment. He had spent nearly twenty minutes going through the 15 or so files that had been sorted in the new manner. He seemed impressed though, so Sasha figured maybe there was something more to the classification system than she was understanding.

At the very least trying to understand it gave her something to do. She often felt like she was vastly over qualified for an assistant position. Lately her and Tim had taken to making bets about which letter a statement might receive before they brought it to Jon.

He insisted on personally recording all the ones that required tape recorders, though he was happy enough to pass the the other statements on to them. Those ones were never as spooky though, morbid thought it was, it took some of the fun out of them. The latest was a statement from one Carlos Vittery. Sasha has her money on letter A, but Tim was pretty sure it was going to be G.

They had tried to include Martin in the betting, but for someone with a masters degree in parapsychology Martin always seemed a little panicked when basic filing was brought up. Sasha supposed parapsychology hadn’t much prepared him for archival duties. She might have questioned Martin’s place in the Archives, and not somewhere more relevant to his area of study like research, but then, Elias wasn’t exactly known for hiring the best fit for a Job. Other wise she wouldn’t be an archival assistant. She would be head Archivist.

She knew for a fact she was more qualified for the position than Jon, and she had actually worked with Gertrude before, she didn’t think Jon had ever even been down to the Archives before he got the job. Though at least Jon had seemed to know that she had a back for filing and often asked her opinion on things.

Whether Sasha knew it or not, she had greatly desired the promotion that had been denied to her. Enough that Jon was well aware of that fact, so he went out of his way to make her feel like a valued member of the Archival team. He felt a bit guilty about the whole situation, but he had already agreed to take on the position when he had found out about Sasha’s feelings on the matter. By all rights she was more qualified for the position than he was, but at this point the job was too much of a free meal ticket to even consider giving up, feminism or not. He promised himself to give Sasha a glowing reference if ever she decided to leave, but in the meanwhile he did what he could to have her act as a sort of unofficial right hand woman- he hoped it was enough.

***

Jon finished recording the statement of Carlos Vittery with a contented sigh. It had been a particularly good statement. Jon supposed the poor man had offended Sirillus somehow by killing one of his spider messengers. It was a pity of course, but the lesser gods were fickle. Even Jon’s own patron. It was always best to treat them, and their extensions with respect.

The palpable desire the man had had to escape the spiders hummed pleasantly through Jon’s veins. The best part was, if Carlos Vittery was dead Jon didn’t even have to feel bad about feeding from him. Especially since it was a meal offered to him by his god on a silver platter.

He marked the file carefully with an S for Sirillus and stuck a sticky note on top asking for Martin to do the follow up and set it in the completed bin on his desk.

Inevitably Martin would come into his office with a cup of tea and take the complete bin files. If Jon was lucky he could look busy when Martin came in and avoid conversation. Somehow, after weeks in the Archives and Jon’s very best efforts, the man was still infatuated with him. So Jon was trying a new technique of trying to speak with Martin as little as possible. He figured maybe Martin was just more susceptible to Sirens than most, and perhaps even Jon’s speaking voice was proving to be to much.

So far however the technique was showing less than satisfactory results. Martin had seen the file assigned to him, and spent a solid two minutes telling Jon how he planned to be a thorough as he could possibly be for the follow up on this one. Jon was deeply uncomfortable.

It wasn’t the first time he had been in a situation where someone was infatuated with him, though at least that time he had been at fault, since the individual in question had overheard Jon singing as he had been walking home from a ver pleasant date with Georgie. Jon should have known better than to sing it public, but it had been late and he had been a little drunk.

It had taken days to get the man to stop following Jon, and the entire time the desire had dropped off of him, ripe for the taking, but Jon had held out, and eventually the man snapped out of it.

It worried Jon that Martin still seemed to be so deeply entranced. He couldn’t recall ever properly singing around Martin, so he didn’t understand why it hadn’t worn off by now. He rubbed his temples lightly after Martin left, he really didn’t understand humans sometimes.

Jon reached for the next statement on the stack. Normally he tried not to have more than one a day, if he could stop himself he tried not to have more than one a week, he had noticed very early on that while the statements certainly fed him quite well, they had an odd tendency to give him the most unusual dreams. However, after the stress from dealing with Martin, he felt he had earned a treat, and besides there wouldn’t be much follow up to be done on Carlos Vittery’s statement, and the other assistants would need something to research soon too. Jon knew just how efficient Sasha was, and even Tim was quite capable when he put his mind to it.

Martin, well he wasn’t exactly the quickest of the lot, but he was very thorough. Jon imagined if Martin could just get over his infatuation, then he’d probably be a pretty decent employee. Jon felt deeply guilty for being the reason Martin was struggling to do his job.

The statement he had picked up was one involving a Leitner. Something Jon read with great interest. He had no idea what Jurgen Leitner had been, but surely he must have been a priest of some sort. Why else would he have collected so many holy artifacts?

Still, Jon felt no small amount of disdain for the man, it seemed quite irresponsible that he hadn’t had a plan for how to keep the holy books away from humans in the event of his death. Jon was glad Elias had been open to the possibility of collecting what books the Institute came across in artifact storage. Obviously it would have been better to return the books to the cultures and groups they belonged to, but Jon had yet to find a way to make contact with any followers of the other four lesser gods. He supposed if cultural reparations couldn’t be made by returning the books where they belonged, than storing the books at the Institute was the next best thing. At the very least the books would be out of human hands in Artifact Storage.

He hesitated a moment before marking the file. The book in the statement may have belonged to Felor, patron of the Hunt and living flesh, but it may also have belonged to Gaia, patron of nature. After a moment he marked the file with an F.

Boneturning seemed more like the sort of thing Felor might have a hand in. There was a knock at his door.

“Oh! Elias!” He said in surprise as the door swung open.

“Hello Jon, do you have a moment?” Jon shuffled some of the papers on his desk to busy his hands.

“I, yes I suppose I just finished recording.”

“Ah yes, well this won’t take long, it’s just that Miss Herne has offered her compliments. She said she was skeptical of your equipment, but you were easy to talk to.”

“Oh! I, well I do my best.” Jon stammered out. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that even after two statements in one day he still wasn’t as full as he had been when Naomi gave her statement. It was rude to feed on humans, but he was glad to hear she was doing well enough that she had the time to bother complementing his work in the first place.

For a brief paranoid moment Jon considered if perhaps the reason she had felt the need to compliment him was because of an infatuation with him like Martin still had, but no, even if he had sung to her, just the tiniest bit to loosen her tongue, he hadn’t sensed anything like that. And he would have known if it were there.

“I do ask that you exercise caution around those connected to the Lukas’s, they are patrons of the Institute after all.” Jon was barely able to hide the laugh that threatened his throat at that. He had researched the Lukas’ himself after Miss Herne had left.

The Lukas’s may help pay for a great deal of the institute, but they themselves, near as Jon could tell were servants of Sekreth. While the Institute belonged quite clearly to Sirillus.

Jon had wondered at that. It seemed odd to him, but perhaps they had some kind of arrangement. He supposed he couldn’t really complain either, he was quite happy with his job, and as a career academic he knew just how important funding could be.

“Yes, of course, donors are important.” Jon parroted what he suspected Elias wanted to hear. Elias gave him an absent minded nod at that.

“By the way have you seen Martin anywhere?” Elias asked, there was a tiny shift in his desires, a desire to watch the chaos he created seemed to drift to the surface of Elias’s mind, Jon supposed he really couldn’t expect any better, the man was upper management after all. Still, it was quite rude.

“I believe he left early to check on the statement of Carlos Vittery.” Jon said politely ignoring the slight increase in strength of Elias’s desires.

Elias hummed and made his exit. Leaving Jon with the strangest feeling that he was missing something somehow.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Something wasn’t right. Martin had been off work for nearly 3 days now, and the messages he had sent to Jon about a supposed stomach bug felt, wrong somehow.

Jon couldn’t read desire through text messages, a fact for which he was usually quite grateful. It was a safe way to communicate. But when he had tried to call Martin, to, at the very least get a quick rundown of what Martin had found for the follow up for Carlos Vittery’s statement he hadn’t answered.

Jon knew what Martin Desired, and he knew Martin didn’t much care to be alone, so it didn’t make sense to Jon that he wouldn’t answer the call. The weak excuse of a sore throat for why he hadn’t returned the call seemed out of character somehow too.

After the first few days, Jon thought that maybe it was just that Martin’s infatuation with him had faded and the poor human was now confused over why he had been so enamoured with his boss. Jon tried to respect that it might be an uncomfortable situation for Martin and that he might just need some space to get his head right.

After a full week though Jon was beginning to get worried. He had no idea what the consequences of a long term infatuation might be, Sirens were really more for instant gratification in their feeding. Jon usually got by on small desires and temptations anyway, aside from one disastrous attempt at busking in uni. And the less said about that the better.

On day eight he gave in and called one of the very few other Sirens he actually knew.

“Jon? What are you doing calling so early?” He glanced at the clock, it was 9am, that was a perfectly reasonable hour to be awake at. He himself had been up since 5.

“Georgie, hi!” He stammered out. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Just my sleep schedule.” She said with a yawn and a smile in her voice. Jon let out the breath he had been holding. It really had been far too long since he had called Georgie.

“Yes, well it’s already after nine, more than reasonable time to be awake.” There was a good natured groan on the other end of the line.

“Only to you Jon.” She said with a sleepy chuckle. “Was there something you needed at this ungodly hour?” Jon coughed awkwardly. He was beginning to miss Martin’s tea.

“Ah, yes, well- it’s, um.” Georgie sighed.

“Siren thing?” She asked.

“Yes.” Jon said relieved. There weren’t a lot of Sirens left, and those that were around tended to be uncomfortable with the more solitary sirens like Jon. Which made it very difficult to find answers or even really talk about it when one had a species specific question.

“What’s going on Jon?”

“Well, I- do you know if there are any kind of long term consequences to humans from prolonged influence?” There was a beat of silence on the other end.

“Besides insanity you mean?” Jon felt his heart near stop.

“Oh. I, oh dear.” He stammered out. Georgie sighed.

“Jon please tell me you didn’t forget that prolonged exposure to siren song causes insanity in humans?”

“I- it’s not that I forgot it’s just-“

“It’s just that it wasn’t on your mind right?” Georgie said with a fond exasperation.

“I- I think I may have made a mess of things Georgie.” Jon said, fighting the urge to hum to calm himself down. He didn’t want to risk Tim and Sasha overhearing and causing more problems.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, there’s, I have an employee, he, well you know how it is, I don’t know how I might have influenced him but, he’s been infatuated pretty much since we began working together. He brings me tea every day, and I can feel the desire rolling off him in waves sometimes. Only, he hasn’t been into work this week and I think something is wrong.”

Georgie began to laugh.

“Jon, at any point did you sing to him?” Jon knew she didn’t actually mean literal singing. A siren didn’t have to sing to influence someone, it just helped, it was more natural.

“I- he heard me humming once?”

“Jon, I think this might be less of a Siren problem and more of a human one.” Jon could tell she was trying to contain her laughter.

“What.”

“Jon he probably has a crush on you.” Things were slotting into place in a way Jon wasn’t really liking.

“No, that can’t be right. There’s, if that were the case he would have taken my calls. He hasn’t been answering his phone only texting and he’s been gone more than a week, no doctors note either.”

“Well if you’re worried he’s under your influence then you should probably go check on him. It’s, I think it’s unlikely that that’s the case, but we both know how guilty you’d feel if you drove a man to insanity. Worst case scenario, you Scream at him for a few seconds, and hope his ear drums don’t burst.”

“I-“ Jon sighed. “You’re right, I, guess I should go check on him.” Jon’s mind was already churning with possible excuses.

“Good. Let me know how that goes. I’m going back to sleep.” Georgie said a smile in her voice. “Don’t have a crisis so early in the morning next time.” Jon rolled his eyes.

“Good bye Georgie. Thank you.” He hung up. Jon stood up and grabbed his coat, best to get this over with as quickly as possible. He would go over there, collect the file on Carlos Vittery, confirm Martin hadn’t been driven insane by prolonged exposure to Jon and then be back at work before lunch.

***

The first worm he stepped on was entirely by accident. Jon winced a little seeing the gooey splatter that it had sprayed. He did his best to avoid the next few worms he encountered. Hopefully Martin’s landlord would get someone in to deal with what appeared to be an infestation soon.

There was a woman in a red dress standing at Martin’s door.

“Hello?” Jon called out to her, suspicions at her identity already forming in his mind. She turned sharply to look at him. He did his best not to stare at the holes littering her person. Averis was not his favourite of the lesser gods by any means, but that was no call to be rude.

“Do you hear the singing Archivist?” She asked, her voice cracked and shaky. Worms falling from her lips as she spoke. Jon relaxed. Songs were something he could handle.

“I answer a different song, but I offer respect to yours.” He said with a slight bow of his head. What was left of Jane Prentiss tilted her head in confusion.

“You, hear the song?” She asked, uncertain this time, Jon began to shift from foot to foot to avoid contact with her worms. He listened for a moment, then listened deeper. The song Jane spoke of wasn’t a song like a human might understand, but Jon did. He supposed it was nice in its own right but it did little for him. But that was why he wasn’t a follower of Averis, actually, now that he thought about it, he didn’t think Martin was either. So it was odd that she would be here at the flat of his assistant. Perhaps followers of Averis had missionaries?

“Yes, I can hear it, I-“ he glanced around to ensure there weren’t any humans around. “If you like I can sing it with you? If you don’t mind leaving Martin alone that is. It’s only, he belongs to Sirillus. No disrespect to followers of Averis of course.” He was quick to add. Jane Prentiss had been a self proclaimed witch, even before her conversion at the hands of a lesser god, and while humans tended not to know the names of the lesser, Jane seemed to understand. Very slowly, with worms falling out of her face she nodded.

And Jon began to sing. The desires of the worms were simple. They wanted a host, and Jane was the path of least resistance. Slowly all of the worms that had surrounded Jon began to make their way back to Jane.

Their desires left an earthy taste on his tongue, like he had eaten a mushroom, but hadn’t washed the dirt off. Averis was a god of destruction and renewal. You couldn’t have new growth without the crawling rot, or the cleansing fire. Averis filled that role, destruction always brought new life. Still, Jon wasn’t sad to see Jane go as the last of her worms returned to her.

The desires of Jane herself had contradicted so sharply, that eternal push between wanting more of the god she loved and the desire to be free of it all to go back to how things were. Jon felt bad for her. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been to have your identity so throughly altered, your very species changed. He hoped his song had brought her some comfort. It had certainly brought him some.

Jon had never fed on so many living things at the same time before. He took a moment to bask in it as Jane left before knocking on Martin’s door. He felt nearly giddy with how full he was.

“Martin? It’s, Jon, I, I’m just here to check up on you, I-“ He was cut off by the door swinging open, a dazed look on Martin’s face. Which was when Jon realized his mistake. If Martin hadn’t been affected by Jon before, there was no way he wasn’t now, even if the song hadn’t been meant for him.

“Ah.” Jon said awkwardly looking at the fog in Martins eyes. “May I come in?”

“Jon? What, what happened?” Jon breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the trance slowly begin to fade out of Martin’s eyes.

“What do you remember?” Jon asked.

“I- Prentiss!! Oh god, Jon what are you doing here she’s out there-“

“Yes, well, she’s gone for now.” Though now that Jon thought about it, Jane had never actually agreed to stay away from Martin. Martin clearly wasn’t sick either, so he suspected Jane must have been hounding the poor man for the last week or so. How terribly rude of her. Above that though, Jon couldn’t feel Martin’s desire for him anymore. Instead it was an overwhelming desire for safety, security, and to never see Jane Prentiss again.

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable discussing this at the Institute? There’s a cot in document storage if you don’t feel safe here, I don’t know that she won’t be back.” That snapped Martin into gear, he ran back into his flat, shoved a few things into a duffle bag, and before Jon knew it they were in a cab on the way back to the Institute.

Martin looked on edge, and Jon could feel the desire to get to the safety of the Institute overriding everything else. If Jon hadn’t fed so recently he might have struggled to resist the temptation of pushing Martin, just a little, just for a small taste- but Jon’s bones still hummed pleasantly with the remnants of the song from Jane.

It had been so long since he had properly fed through song. The statements were nice and all, but this was primal, right. Still, it was unfortunate that one of his assistants had been so badly effected by on of the things they were researching. Jon knew once Martin calmed down he’d want answers. As much as it scared Jon, perhaps he should tell his assistants about the supernatural. The truth that was. The more he thought about it the more it seemed ridiculous that in a temple to Sirillus, god of knowledge, there was so much ignorance. Yes, perhaps he should explain things.

His decision made, Jon sat back and tried to ignore the heavy ball of anxiety that sat in his stomach at the thought.

Chapter Text

Upon arriving back at the Archives, Jon sent Martin to the single washroom in the building that had a shower to clean up. Apparently Jane had cut power to his flat and it had been a full week since the man had had a hot shower. Jon tried not to judge, but the Archives weren’t exactly large, and they already had a musty scent to them. Jon wasn’t keen to add the scent of unwashed human to the mix.

He made his own way back to his office to let his other assistants know they would be having a meeting. He was intercepted first by Tim.

Tim was an interesting person to be around. He had a deep burning desire to know what happened to his brother, yes. But he covered it up with dozens of deep surface desires throughout the day. It was fascinating how deeply Tim seemed to feel about everything. Though it was borderline exhausting when they had worked in research together, because Tim seemed to be able to feel a desire for a doughnut strong enough that Jon was aware of it.

It was different since he had started in the Archives though. Jon hardly ever felt hungry enough to consider snacking on people he knew these days. At the moment Tim was walking towards him with a singular purpose in mind, and Jon felt true terror as he sensed the edges of Tim’s desire.

“Hey boss man! I-“

“No Tim,” Jon said, attempting to shut this down as quickly as possible.

“I didn’t even ask yet!” Tim protested.

“Fine.” Jon made a ‘go on’ gesture.

“Right, Sash and I are doing an Archives Crew karaoke night once Martin gets back-“

“Martin is back,” Jon interrupted, hoping that would get Tim’s mind off the idea of karaoke.

“Oh awesome! Then we can do it this weekend!”

Jon sighed. He wanted to, so very very badly. Sirens were, at their very core, singers. And all singers wanted to be heard. But Jon knew even if he had fed full to bursting it wouldn’t matter, a siren couldn’t sing without consequences.

“I’m sure you’ll all have fun, but you can count me out. Team meeting in the break room in 20 minutes if you’d be so kind as to inform Sasha,” Jon said as firmly as he was able, before pushing past Tim and shutting himself into his office.

He took a few deep breaths. Karaoke was the ultimate temptation to a Siren. A room full of people with lowered inhibitions, all listening to you sing? With backing music? It was an all you can eat buffet, and Jon didn’t have confidence in his own self control to resist something like that.

He tried to focus on the lingering earthy taste in his mouth. And then pulled out a pen and paper. What was the best way to explain everything to his assistants? And more importantly, what was his plan if it went badly? He supposed he could hide out with Georgie if it turned into a man hunt. Her Choir might be willing to offer him shelter too, though that was hard to know for certain. Would he be able to steal a few statements? He hated the thought of having to go back to feeding with such small meals again.

Maybe he could try something like Georgie did? Feeding on people’s desire to believe in ghosts and the supernatural? Jon shook his head. One step at a time. No one was trying to cut him open and study him yet.

Before he knew it Martin was knocking on his door, freshly showered and in a clean change of clothes, and Jon found himself in the break room with his assistants staring at him.

“Right, uh, let’s- Martin, why don’t we start with you? Can you tell us what happened with Prentiss?” That should be a decent starting point at least.

“Like, like a statement?”

“I-if you like.” Jon really shouldn’t, he remembered how it had felt when Naomi Herne had given her statement. It would be rude to feed off Martin like that, especially since he would soon know that’s what Jon was doing. Maybe it would be best if Jon started. He noticed a tape recorder whirring on the counter. That was odd; he didn’t remember putting it there. No matter, it might be nice to have a record of the conversation, especially if it went well, in case he ever had to explain this to humans again.

“Actually on second thought, I- there’s something I need to tell you all first-“

“Hold on. Prentiss? Martin, are you okay??” Tim had registered what Jon had said only a few seconds before Sahsa had and both of them spent a few minutes fussing over Martin. He gave them the Cliff’s Notes version of what happened. Not enough to be a statement, but enough that Jon could practically smell it, and he had to swallow hard to stop his mouth from watering. Feeding from Martin like that would be rude, at least without consent.

“Right, there’s some things you all should know,” Jon cut in when he thought the emotional bonding was starting to die down. Humans fussed so differently from sirens.

“I, well, I apologize if any of you are religious, but I- Well please don’t think the existance of the Five in any way means your beliefs aren’t valid-“ Jon cut himself off and took a deep breath. He tried to think back to how his grandmother had explained it when he had been small.

“There exist in this world five gods. They exist because we exist. We call them the lesser gods so that they may stay humble, and remember that they cannot exist without the greater mortals who serve them. Martin, you encountered a follower of one of them. It- it may be helpful to think of Jane Prentiss as a missionary of sorts. She sought to convert you, to bring you into the fold of her patron, one of the lesser gods known as Averis. Purveyor of the destruction before new life. The cleansing flame. The rot which destroys that which was so that there is space once more for new growth. The death of things so that new things may be born. Of cycles and rebirth, if you will.” 

He took a moment to look at his assistants: confusion from Tim, fascination from Sasha, and what looked like horror from Martin.

“I- a missionary?!” Martin squeaked out. “I- thats-“ He trailed off, when Jon’s expression didn’t change. He hadn’t been joking. “Oh- ok. I, sure why not. Worm missionary. Got it.”

“It’s, more complicated than that of course but, yes, a worm missionary if you must.” When no further questions arose Jon took a deep breath and pressed onwards.

“There is also Felor, who is concerned with the hunt, patron of all things that bleed and chase and consume. Of the necessary and unnecessary violence inherit in existence. A- a war god, if you will. Not, um, not my favourite,” Jon added with the hint of a smile, trying and failing to lighten the mood.

“Then there’s, Sekreth, patron of secrets and things hidden in the dark, or lonely nights and people. The strange travellers you meet on the road at night. Of the great dance which-“ Jon cut himself off again. They probably didn’t need to know about the Dance of Sekreth celebrated in August. It was best to stick to the bare minimum. Though Jon saw Tim’s eyes glint a little and he made a note to talk to Tim more about Sekreth later, if they would still be on speaking terms after this.

“Gaia is concerned with nature. I, I believe humans use the term Mother Earth? It’s- it’s similar. Gaia is the vast sky, and the depths of the earth. The patron to- to life one might say.  Or at least the things needed for it.”

“Humans?” Sasha asked, an eyebrow raised. She had meant it teasingly, but the way Jon paled sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t say anything and pressed onwards.

“Which brings us to the final of the lesser gods, Sirillus.” Jon took another deep breath. “Sirillus is the patron of knowledge. Of all knowledge: of good things and innovation, but also of knowing too much, and driving oneself mad with it. Of the knowledge used against someone to control them. Of desire, and the drive to push forward even if you shouldn’t. They often take the form of a spider, the controller of a vast web of information. This institute is a temple of sorts to Sirillus.”

There was silence for a moment before Tim cleared his throat. “Jon – and please know I say this with respect – but what the actual fuck?” Tim asked. Jon looked back up at his assistants their faces awash with emotions he couldn’t begin to interpret.

“Yes, I- I suppose that’s fair.” He tried to offer a smile but he feared it came off as more of a grimace.

“How do you know all of this Jon?” Sasha asked. Her voice was level, but not judgemental. Jon chose to take it as a good sign.

“I- I suppose that brings us to the other thing you should probably know.” He swallowed hard and stared down at the table. “I- well, there are beings touched by the lesser gods who become something Other from it, and there are beings that have been touched by the lesser gods that pass that Other down. It might be fair to say that my family is among the latter.” He held his breath.

“Jon,” Sasha began carefully. “Are you saying you aren’t human?” He took another deep breath.

“Yes. That is what I am saying. I am a Siren.”

“You’re a mermaid?” Tim burst out in confusion, and for a moment Jon’s annoyance won out over his fear.

“Absolutely not! Mermaids are touched by Felor, and have given my people a bad name for centuries.” Jon immediately regretted the outburst in the silence that followed.

“So I guess that’s why you don’t want to come to karaoke with us?” Tim offered after a moment. Jon blinked at him.

“I- it would be… very bad, if I were to come to karaoke with you. I have somewhat unconventional eating habits. I- Before I get into this I want you all to know that I won’t be offended if you should decide that you no longer wish to work with me. I- I cannot change what I am, and I’ve no intention of leaving my work here, but- I promise should you choose to leave I will write you the best reference letter and will not hold it against you-“

“Jon, breathe. No one is judging you,” Sasha cut in. He barely resisted the urge to mumble ‘not yet’ under his breath.

“I- that is Sirens, feed on humans. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of how we sing sailors to their deaths as they crash upon the rocks. That’s how we feed. We can sense desire, and should I chose to sing, I can draw you to that desire, to the point of destruction. I- most Sirens don’t feed that way anymore. It’s- it’s considered very rude, especially to feed on friends. I- I don’t really know a lot of others like me, but my family lived on the principle of eat small and eat often. I- I can get by on tempting a cashier to pocket some change, or someone to cheat on their diet, even pushing someone to ask their crush out, or quit a job. The bigger the desire, the more it feeds. The- uh, the statements are a source of it as well. I- I don’t know why for certain, but I suspect it is because this place is a temple and the statements count as an offering of sorts. The people in them, well they all desired to be safe. To survive. To be believed. It’s… a potent mixture.”

More silence. Jon, still looking intently at the table cautiously glanced up at the assistants beneath the cover of his eyelids.

“So you can feel our desires?” Martin asked, finally breaking his silence. Jon nodded miserably. This was the part he was most afraid of. He was well aware that it was an invasion of privacy, but it wasn’t like he could stop it.

“Is- is there a way you can, you know, not do that?” Sasha asked.

“I suppose if you had none for me to sense,” Jon offered. “It’s- it’s more like your sense of hearing. You can’t just not hear things. It’s not like you can close your ears. It’s- if it helps I promise I’ve never fed on any of you.”

“That’s- that’s a lot to process, Jon,” Sasha said after a while. She looked at Tim and Martin. “I- can you prove any of what you’re saying? Not that we don’t believe you, it’s just, well, it’s a lot.”

Jon pursed his lips, considering.

“That’s what you did to Prentiss isn’t it?” Martin cut in. “You- I heard singing, but it was… confusing? I- it didn’t have a direction. I just needed to hear it.”

Jon looked slightly embarrassed. “Yes, I… sang for Jane Prentiss. Or more specifically for her worms. It’s- if I’m not singing for you the effects can be unpredictable. Some people are unaffected, while others are drawn to it. It can create a trance like state. It’s- it’s best not to take the risk.”

“Ok, but like, I really really desire one of the biscuits that Martin keeps hidden in the fridge. Can you make me go get one?” Tim asked fascinated. Jon assumed the whole ‘I can sense your deepest desires’ thing hadn’t sunk in yet.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do it,” Tim said.

“No!”

“Oh come on. I consent and all, but I want to know what it feels like, so if it ever happens to me I know what it is.”

A conflicted expression crossed Jon’s face. Tim didn’t seem angry about it, and the others didn’t look angry, though Martin had a strange sort of anxiety on his face and Jon made a mental note to speak with him later. He suspected he knew what Martin’s anxiety was about. Jon would have to reassure him that he hadn’t meant to make Martin feel things for him, that some people were just more susceptible. He just didn’t want to bring it up in front of the others and risk embarrassing Martin further.

“I- well, alright. But Martin and Sasha, you’ll have to cover your ears.”

They nodded and hands were clapped over ears. Tim nodded at Jon, and Jon took a deep breath and for the second time that day he began to sing. Tim’s face went blank and his eyes glazed over as he stood and moved to go to the cabinet where the biscuits were stashed. Jon stopped singing, the sweet taste of Tim’s desire for the biscuits sitting heavy on his lips.

Tim blinked a few times, confused as to how he got to be standing. The others stared at him.

Jon felt a mixture of panic and guilt starting to rise in his chest. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t- I-“

“Jon. It’s fine. I asked you to. But, um, let’s never do that again, ok?” Tim said, an unreadable expression on his face.

Jon nodded hurriedly. “I- I’m sure you have a lot to think about,” he said, standing up. “I- if you have plans to… inform research of my- my species status, I would ask that you at least give me a few minutes courtesy to prepare. I- I’ll be in my office.” He left the break room before anyone had a chance to say anything.

With Jon gone, the assistants looked at each other in unified bafflement.

“So that was a thing,” Tim began, sitting back down at the communal table.

“Oh god!” Martin said, resting his face in his hands.

“What is it?” Sasha asked worried. She was suddenly reminded that Martin had spent the last week harassed by Prentiss. There was no telling what kind of trauma that had left.

“Jon can sense desire. I- you don’t think that means that he knows about my crush on him, do you?” Martin glanced up at Sasha, a deep blush colouring his face.

“Huh,” Sasha said smartly. Tim began to laugh.

“It’s not funny Tim! I probably made him super uncomfortable!”

“Only you, Martin,” Tim said with a smile. “We find out our boss is a mythological monster who eats sailors and has some kind of blood feud with mermaids, and you’re worried about your crush making him uncomfortable.”

“Don’t call him a monster Tim, that’s so rude!” Martin said utterly ignoring everything else Tim had said.

“I mean, he is though, by technical definition, isn’t he?” Sasha postulated. “I mean, I don’t think he’s evil. He certainly seemed genuine when he said he didn’t, you know, feed enough from people to hurt them. But he isn’t human.”

“Sash has a point, Marto. He knows our deepest desires, whatever that means, and, like, that singing thing he did? It’s a lot. Like, I don’t think you can really resist that, and I tried!”

“It’s not like he can help it!” Martin defended.

“We only have his word for it though,” Sasha said. “Not to say that isn’t enough, especially since he chose to tell us of his own volition, but you’ve read the statements. Most of the things people encounter aren’t exactly harmless.”

“Maybe that’s just cause the ones with good experiences don’t bother to report them,” Martin countered. “If a beautiful voice gave me the courage to- I don’t know, quit a job I wanted to quit, I probably wouldn’t come to the Magnus Institute either!”

“You have a point,” Tim offered, then sighed. “I’ve known Jon for longer than anyone here. He’s always kind of been closed off. I- I can’t say I’m super comfortable with him being able to sense my desires, but- I mean, he’s never said anything about them. And it’s not like Martin would have known about that part. He didn’t have to tell us. I can’t speak for you guys, but I don’t want to quit just yet.”

“You’re right,” Sasha said. “I- I think I’m sticking around too. I have a lot of questions for Jon, but this explains so much. I assume the unorthodox filing system we’ve been using corresponds with these deities. I’m going to go over the statements marked with an S again, see if I can’t find out more about this god we apparently work for.” Tim nodded.

“What about you Martin?”

“I- well Jon said Prentiss might come back. I- I really don’t want to go home. I- Jon said I could stay in the Archives. I think I’m stuck here for now regardless.”

“Better the monst-“ Tim saw Martin’s look. “Better the non-human entity you know than the one you don’t right?”

In the background, unnoticed, the tape recorder clicked off. 

Chapter Text

Jonah Magnus was not having a good day. Oh it had started out good: his Archivist was perfectly posed for a confrontation with Jane Prentiss, perfectly prepared to collect the first of his many marks.

Only it hadn’t worked. And Jonah could not for the life of him understand why. It had all made sense at first. Jon had seen Prentiss, and began to speak with her, something about singing – Jonah assumed Jon was just trying to stall. But then, something happened. It was a blur. Jonah couldn’t understand, one minute Jon had been speaking with Prentiss, the next she and all her worms were gone and Jon was talking to Martin. It felt like waking up from a trance. Jonah was at a loss.

He tried to pay closer attention, but found, to his horror, that once Jon stepped into the Archives he could no longer See him.

That shouldn’t be happening so soon! There was no way Jonah’s Archivist should be powerful enough already to claim the Archives as his Domain. Sure Gertrude had managed it, but that had only been after years of her humanity steadily wearing down against the eternal onslaught of the Eye. Jon shouldn’t even really have any abilities at this point! At least nothing beyond very mild compulsion. Even the assistants were now protected in the Archives. Not even Gertrude had been powerful enough to do that! Jonah had been reduced to the mundane option of a singular blurry security camera in the break room, the only place in the Archives without anything to cause interference.

Jonah was relieved to see a tape recorder and he just knew he would have to get his hands on that tape. Watching the footage was largely useless, Jon was facing away from the camera, and the esoteric radiation from the rest of the Archives made the footage too blurry to be much use for lip reading anyway.

After a certain point, the footage completely distorted. When it cleared again, Jon had left and the assistants were the only ones in the break room. Jonah let out a groan of frustration. He would have to call Jon up for a meeting; perhaps the strange singing he had heard the last time he tried to peer inside Jon’s mind had been a fluke, a lingering effect of the Spiral perhaps. He had noticed its mark on Jon when he had first hired the man, but it had seemed minor, and having an Archivist pre-marked by three of the dread powers had been too great a temptation to pass up. He tried to ignore the lingering feeling that perhaps the Mother of Puppets was laughing at him.

If all else failed he supposed he would have to rely on rifling through the minds of the assistants. It was utterly humiliating to have the situation spiral out of control so quickly. But Jonah Magnus would not have gotten as far as he had if he couldn’t roll with the punches a little.

It did lift his mood a little when he saw an email from his Archivist in his inbox requesting a meeting. Perhaps the situation was not so far out of his control after all. He glanced at the clock. It was a quarter after four. He supposed that should be enough time. He sent Jon an email telling him to come up to his office. Then he folded his hands and waited.

The second Jon left the Archives, Jonah had his eyes on him. Which just confirmed the theory that Jon had somehow- despite being the Archivist for less than a year, been able to claim the Archives as his territory. Jonah debated the merits of confronting Jon, verses holding off and waiting to get that tape.

“Ah, Jonathan. You wanted to speak with me?” he said as Jon pushed open the door to his office.

“Ah, yes. It-it’s about Martin actually,” Jon said, sitting down.

“I thought he was still out sick?”

“No, it turns out he was being- uh, harassed? I suppose? By Jane Prentiss,” Jon said. “Averis claiming another I suppose,” He added.

“Oh dear is he alright?” Jonah asked, all false concern. What did avarice have to do with anything? And why did Jon pronounce it so oddly? Was Jon talking about Jane’s greed in feeding her patron? What did he know? Jonah tried to peak into Jon’s mind and was once more met with a wall of incomprehensible music. He did his best not to flinch.

Jon had been watching Elias carefully when he said the name of Averis, Jon wasn’t sure it was entirely safe to inform Elias about the lesser gods if he didn’t already know. Something about the way the man kept trying to dig into Jon’s head made him uneasy. It wasn’t that he was necessarily concerned by the invasion of privacy – he’d be a hippocrite if that were the case – it was more, the timing of the attempts. Not to mention Jon could feel Elias’s particularly hungry desire to understand. To peel his mind open and drink in the secrets hidden in it. Jon assumed it was because Elias was a white (straight-passing, if not straight) man in a position of power.

“Yes, I believe so. He is, however, reluctant to return home, given how, well, persistent Jane was being. I don’t believe Martin has any desire to follow in Jane’s footsteps.”

“That is unfortunate,” Jonah conceded

“I was hoping to obtain permission to allow Martin to use document storage to sleep in for now, at least until we can find a way to ensure that Jane leaves him alone. I don’t know why she was so insistent on him in particular.”

“Are you sure about that Jon? It might not be the best idea to have an employee live at work, not to mention there are all kinds of health and safety laws that might violate.” Not that such things had ever stopped Jonah in the past.

“Still I think it is a better solution than Martin staying with someone from the Archives, and risking Jane Prentiss bothering them as well. At least here he’ll have protection.”

Jonah was beginning to feel rather like he was playing verbal chess with Gertrude Robinson again. Did Jon mean the protection from the worms in a humidity controlled room? Or did he mean that Martin would be safer in a stronghold of the Beholding?

“In what way?” Jonah asked, trying once again to peer into Jon’s mind, this time prepared for the wall of song and notes that somehow seemed to slice his very thoughts. Nothing but song. If it could be called song.

Jon observed Elias carefully, perhaps the fact that the man had been trying to peek into his mind again meant he did know about Sirillus? Jon chose his words carefully.

“Well the Archives are sealed off, so he wouldn’t need to worry about the worms.” He hesitated. “But it’s more than that.” Jon watched Elias and he could taste the edge of the man’s desire to know what Jon knew. “There is something about this place. It’s… special,” Jon settled on. Elias narrowed his eyes.

“Yes. I, suppose it is that,” Jonah said carefully.

Jon felt the man push into his mind a little harder. He didn’t fight the intrusion, but his thoughts were fractals of song and rhythm. Jon couldn’t imagine it would be a pleasant experience for a non-Siren. From what he was given to understand from one of Georgie’s human friends who knew about Sirens, hearing their language spoken was liable to make eardrums bleed and cause severe disorientation.

“I will do my best of course to ensure that Martin’s extended stay in the Archives in no way affects our work, but I suspect if he was constantly worried for his safety, his work would suffer greatly. It’s- we are a small team, and if one person’s work suffers, the rest does to.” Jon decided to play the one card he hoped Elias would be unable to resist. “I was hoping to have the more recent files fully digitized by next quarter.

“No further trouble with recording then?” Jonah asked, curious despite himself. By his calculations Jon shouldn’t be able to get through more than one maybe two statements a week at this point.

“No, once I began recording the difficult ones on tape, I had no further problems.”

“And did you ever find a pattern? With the unusual ones? I was very interested to see your filing system for those the other day.” Jonah resisted the urge to learn forward in his chair.

“Ah, yes, we’re, um- trying to classify like statements together. Within that group,” Jon stammered out.

“Oh? And what do the letters stand for?” Jonah asked, feeling like he was so very close to some great truth. He could feel the Beholding pushing him to know what ever secrets Jon was hiding. He was sure of it.

“Oh, uh, they are just, letters really, place holders until more c-commonality is found.” Jon held his breath. The fact that Elias had seen the letters Jon used for filing and hadn’t made a connection to the five lesser gods meant he was either very stupid, or he had no idea what he was serving. Jon was inclined to believe the latter. Jon wasn’t going to be the one to tell him though. He had already revealed his non-human status to his staff; he wasn’t eager to do so to his boss as well.

“Hmm, why not A, B, C then?”

“I didn’t want there to be a preferential order. Studies have shown that filing things in such a way can lead to research bias.” Jon had no idea if that was true, but it sounded like it could be. That had been how he survived university essays, by writing things that sounded like they could be true. A lot of the time he was right. He had an excellent feel for how lies felt.

“I’ll expect a very interesting report on that once you figure out a more permanent system,” Jonah settles on. It was clear to him that whatever Jon knew he wasn’t going to share it willingly, and Jonah wasn’t quite at the point of wanting to push a confrontation yet.

Jon nodded.

“So Martin? It’s alright then?”

“Yes, yes alright Jon.” Elias said, it was a clear dismissal to Jon, and he retreated back to the safety of the Archives. They just felt safer somehow.

Jonah watched Jon until his Sight gave out once the man reached the Archives. He pursed his lips. Perhaps he needed to encourage Jane to attack the Archives sooner; maybe if pushed a confrontation he would be able to glean more information. Once Jon left for the night, Jonah would have to track down that tape though. Perhaps he would use it as an opportunity to speak with Martin as well, see what he could find in his mind. Use the guise of making sure he was settling in.

If nothing could be gleaned then perhaps he could see if Simon might be willing to throw his Archivist off a building. Jonah was certain that if Jon were to be asked a few questions while plummeting to the ground he might find his answers. Besides, Fairchild still owed him from their last wager.

***

Sasha was waiting in Jon’s office when he returned.

“Right so I have a few questions,” she said as he entered. She had a stack of files. Jon recognized them as those statements which seemed to involve the five lesser. He sighed.

“Yes, I- I suspect you do. I’ll do my best to answer.”

“Right, it seems in most of the statements we have involving the lesser gods people die or their lives are put at risk. How can I protect myself?”

Jon nodded in approval. Sasha really did belong here in a temple to Sirillus. “It depends a bit I suppose. I can take you through a specific statement if you like? Or just general advice if you prefer?”

“The second I think.”

“Yes, right, um, well, you took a few courses on classics in university, yes?” At her nod he continued. “Well, most gods end up messing around a great deal in the lives of mortals. The lesser gods are no exception. The problem is humans today don’t know enough to know the warning signs. Certain forests you shouldn’t enter, places that should be more respected than others, holy books and artifacts that shouldn’t have been removed from the cultures that hold them sacred. With things like that, the only thing that can be done is to listen to your instincts. If something in your gut tells you not to enter a place, then, well, for now it would be best if you don’t. You can always call me and I can assist you in investigating.” Jon fidgeted in his chair a little. “I know that’s not the answer you were holding out for.”

“I’m not really surprised by it though,” Sasha said. “What about the, um, cre- ah, non-human followers? Like Jane. What can I do there?”

“In some cases a polite but firm no thank you will do. It’s important you put aside any fear, as among many cultures of the lesser showing fear is a sign of disrespect to their patron. If you show fear, it is likely they might seek to consume you as you see with many of the statement givers. The lesser gods are always trying to expand their power. They try to ensure the greater mortals forget that the power balance is equal. If you show fear to them, you tilt the scales in their favour.”

Sasha nodded slowly. “So with, say, that man with the BoneTuners Tale, he wasn’t afraid of the book, so he gained power from it rather then became its victim?”

“In a sense, yes. The books are holy relics, and shouldn’t be handled without proper training. However, yes. In the case of Mr. Hopworth, showing no fear was the best thing he could have done. As for his victims, well he was a particularly unpleasant individual. Those sorts are unavoidable in any religion.”

Sasha made an affirmative noise. “And Sirens? How does one avoid becoming the victim of those? Surely not all of them feed like you do.”

Jon looked down at his desk a little guiltily. “It’s- the reason it’s so difficult to resist a Siren’s song is because the pull is always something you wanted in the first place. Really your best defence is if you hear music that you feel more than hear, cover your ears. I- as things appear in statements, I’ll try to put together a- a monster manual of sorts, for ways to keep you all safe. Working in a temple will grant you a certain level of protection already, and with our patron the more armed in knowledge you are, the safer you shall be.”

If it didn’t drive you mad of course, Jon very intentionally didn’t add. He didn’t think it was too much of a risk for Sasha in any case.

“If you like, I can see about getting some of my old books out of storage. I think maybe one or two of them might be in English.”

Sasha tilted her head in curiosity. “Is English not your native language Jon?”

“No, but the language of the Sirens is… not something I would subject you to, not even in writing. It seems to have a rather unfortunate effect on humans.” It was strange, Jon thought, speaking about this stuff so openly. He had never really sought to hide what he was, though that wasn’t much a problem when most of humanity didn’t believe you existed in the first place.

“Last question then Jon. How would I know if I met another Siren on the streets? Is there a way to tell I mean?”

“It’s- well there’s a sense a lot of people get a brief flash of… something being off. Humans are very good at ignoring it though. For Sirens there are a few consistent traits, though they might be difficult to pick up at a distance.” He swallowed nervously. “I suppose the most obvious physical trait is the ears.” Jon had always worn his hair long, tied back in a low pony tail or braid depending on the day. While Jon did like his long hair, he had always had a secondary motivation. He pulled it away from one of his ears, turning to let Sahsa see the sharp point it came to.

“Oh wow,” she said. “Elf ears.”

“No,” Jon said flatly. “Siren ears. Elves in the sense you’re thinking don’t exist.”

“Right okay,” Sasha agreed, still looking at Jon’s ears. He self-consciously tucked his hair back over them.

“Next clue would be the claws.” He held out one hand for her inspection. Rather than rounded nail beds, his were more of a V shape, and they were thicker than human nails. “I keep mine filed down, but the base is an excellent clue.”

“What do they look like if you don’t file them?”

“Like an inconvenience,” Jon said without thinking. He coughed lightly. “Um, sorry they; well they would naturally grow perhaps 2-3 centimetres. And they would grow naturally to quite a sharp point.”

“Why would you need claws? If you feed by singing?” Jon listened carefully for any sign of judgement in her voice but he found none, only open and honest curiosity.

“Other Sirens I suspect. Historically we as a species can be quite territorial to other choirs encroaching on our territory.”

“Choirs?”

“That’s- ah, what a group of sirens is called.” Sasha tried to suppress her laughter at that. Jon attempted to glare at her but her laughter was infectious.

“Thank you Jon,” she said after a while. “I- I appreciate you sharing all of this with me.”

When Sasha left, Jon went to the document storage area to set up the cot for Martin. A quick glance at the clock told him the others would be leaving in half an hour or so, and then he have the chance to apologize to Martin in private. Hopefully the other man would be understanding. Jon wasn’t sure why, but the thought of Martin being angry with him – or worse, hating him – for the infatuation he must have caused, well it didn’t sit right. Jon took a few deep breaths, and tried to focus on the task at hand as he began to plan the conversation out in his mind.

Chapter Text

“Ah! Martin, I was, er, hoping to speak with you before I left for the night.”

“Jon! Oh, um, what- what can I do for you?” Martin stammered, his heart pounding. He hadn’t been alone with Jon since he found out the other man could sense desire, and he could feel the painfully obvious blush creeping up his neck.

“Yes, right, I- there was something I didn’t mention to the others, a-about Sirens that I thought you should know.” Jon wasn’t looking at Martin. He was staring very firmly at his shoes.

“We- well, some people are more… susceptible to us than others, and sometimes it can, well, it can cause feelings that are- unnatural. I- I know I accidentally hummed around you and, well Martin I am deeply sorry that I may have influenced you like that. It was highly inappropriate and very much unintentional. I- I hope you can forgive me.” Jon looked up.

Martin’s brain was short circuiting. “I- that’s, o-ok Jon. I-“

“I don’t expect you to accept my apology of course. I- I did what I could to try and break my influence. I tried being rude, and, and I tried to limit our contact, but, well I am truly sorry. I hope we can maintain a good working relationship. Though if you want to transfer out of the Archives once Jane Prentiss is dealt with I completely understand.”

Martin was at a loss. He had no idea how to process the conversation that was happening. He had felt the influence that Jon’s singing had, and he vaguely recalled Jon’s humming once. None of that felt anything like his feelings for Jon. Which meant either Jon’s influence was much more subtle then he would have thought, or Jon was kind of stupid. Martin tried to tamp down on the surge of affection that appeared as he thought about how very dumb Jon seemed to be.

“I, um, thank you?” Martin tried. God he needed a cup of tea.

Jon nodded. “I- I’ll turn on the kettle for you before I leave,” he said making a hasty exit, and Martin felt his face heat up further.

Jon was normally liable to make tea by sticking a mug of water in the microwave; it was quicker and until he had started drinking Martin’s tea he had never noticed the difference in taste. But Martin always used the kettle, and Jon felt it was the least he could do for the other man after everything. Jon felt miserable. While he was turning on the kettle he saw a tape sitting on the counter. Had he recorded his conversation about the lesser with the assistants?

He couldn’t remember. Best not to take the risk though. Jon pocketed the tape and finally made his exit from the Archives. He resisted the ever-present urge to scratch his claim of the place into the doorframe as he left. Sirens were territorial, yes, and as much as he wanted to think the Archives were His, he knew he shouldn’t damage the building. Still, he couldn’t help but run blunted claws over the soft wood. The tiniest impression visible in the ancient paint.

It made Jon feel the tiniest bit better.

***

Martin was freaking out. He panicked and sent Tim and Sasha a text in the Assistants group chat about what just happened, but it didn’t look like either of them had seen it. So Martin was alone in his gay panic. At least he thought he was. There was a knock on the door frame. Martin looked up expecting Jon, only to see Elias Bouchard.

“Hello Martin. I just wanted to check in, see how you’re settling.”

“I- good. Yes. It’s- I’m glad I don’t have to worry about being eaten by worms,” Martin tried. His brain was still stuck on a loop of Jon though. Had he actually heard the man say he had been rude to Martin on purpose? Because he cared?

Jonah Magnus was not finding Martin’s mind as easy to peer into as he would have hoped. Oh there was plenty of stuff about his Archivist in there, but it seemed to be running in a loop of intensely analyzing every interaction the two had ever shared. Jonah resisted the urge to scowl. He decided to alleviate some of his frustration on Martin.

“As I’m sure you are aware your presence here is highly irregular. So I’m sure you understand that custodial staff no longer feel comfortable cleaning down here at night with someone living here. I’m sure it’s not too much to ask that you do your best to ensure the area stays up to standard in your off hours.”

“Oh. Uh. Well, I guess I can-“

“Wonderful. Now Martin, I noticed that you left the break room kettle on. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous that is, but we’ll overlook it this time since you're just settling in.” Elias clapped his hands together and left, leaving Martin even more confused than when Jon had gone.

Jonah, on the other hand was furious. The tape was gone from the break room when he had arrived to look for it, and Martin was useless. Too caught up in his love of Jonah’s Archivist to be of any use. He was going to end up having to search through the heads of the other assistants. It was going to be miserable. Sure, Tim had plenty of delicious trauma but Jonah couldn’t even torture him with it! It was far too early to show his hand like that. Which meant he had to deal with the barely-contained chaos of the man’s thoughts.

At least Mr. Stocker wasn’t as bad as Sasha James however. She was brilliant, but the entire time she was in his presence he had to put up with her mental rant about the glass ceiling, and how she should have been promoted above Jon. It was infuriating. He had learnt his lesson with Gertrude. No more female Archivists. They were far too ruthless. Jonah needed to take his anger out somehow. He checked his phone as he walked up to his office. It had been a while since he had given Peter a call...

***

Jon’s phone rang as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. He sighed at Georgie’s number in his caller ID before raising it to his ear. “Hello?”

“So how did it go with your bewitched employee?” Georgie asked, skipping straight past the pleasantries.

“Why must you torment me Georgie,” Jon replied, tone as flat as a creature designed to sing was able to make it.

“Because it is my sworn duty as you ex. Also because I’m pretty sure my choir would disown me if I passed up the opportunity to. But seriously Jon, how did it go?”

“Badly,” he said, shifting the phone as he unlocked his apartment door.

“Oh come on, it can’t have been that bad-“

“A priestess of Averis had had him besieged in his own home for eight days. In order to get her to leave, I had to Sing.”

“...Ok, so it was that bad. Don’t you work for a temple? Does no one have any respect? I thought there were protections in place to prevent things like this!” Jon could hear the Admiral purring in the background and he let the sound relax him, just a little.

“That’s just it Georgie! No one at the institute knew about the lesser! It has been-“

“Hang on a minute Jon. Knew? Past tense?”

“I- I may have told my assistants.” Her silence weighed heavily. “I had to! It’s- it’s almost painful having them so ignorant in my temple and-“

“Jon,” Georgie said with a slow tone that had all the hair on the back of his neck standing up. “Have you claimed a temple as your territory?”

“...no?” he said hopefully.

“Jon.”

“Not- not intentionally! It just- the Archives are mine, Georgie. I- they are mine.”

Georgie sighed. “You’re a grown man Jon. I’m not going to scold you but you really should know better! What happens if you get fired? Are you really going to be able to leave your territory like that?” The thought of not being able to return to the Archives sent a chill down his spine.

“I may have also informed my assistants of my less-than-human nature.” He figured if Georgie was going to berate him, it was best to get it all out in the open.

“Jon!”

“It’s a temple patronized by Knowledge Georgie! I couldn’t take it any more. They had to know!” Jon said defensively.

Georgie sighed again. “You had better tell me everything Jon.” He gave her the shortened version, and with some hesitation he also told her about Elias attempting to peek inside his head. It felt horribly rude to out another supernatural being without consent but he needed her opinion on it.

“As far as I can tell you’re probably right about Elias. Presumably straight white man in a position of power, the delusions of grandeur aren’t uncommon. Still if you can only feel him in your head sometimes he probably has control over it. And he’s just being rude. I’ll check in with my choir, see if anyone knows anything about him. Which is something you should have done before signing a contract,” she said reproachfully.

“Yes, yes you’re always right,” Jon said with heavy sarcasm.

“As for Martin. Jon, I say this with love, but you’re an idiot.”

“What? Why? I apologized!”

“It was almost certainly a plain old normal human crush. Now you’ve probably embarrassed him! And you’ve certainly embarrassed yourself.”

“What? No. That can’t be right. I’ve been so rude to him, why would he like me if not because of the supernatural influence?” Jon heard the sound of Georgie’s hand hitting her forehead.

“Jon, you are a disaster. Keep in touch though, ok? If you’ve claimed the Archives as your territory you know how easy it is to get trapped. The last thing you need is to end up stuck in a temple basement luring victims to you like an old school Siren. Not a good look for you. You already don’t see the sun enough.”

“Georgie I live in England. None of us see the sun enough.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. Good night Georgie.”

“Good night Jon. Take care of yourself.”

The conversation ended. Jon worried his lip. She was right. Claiming the Archives as his territory was probably a terrible idea. But at this point it was probably too late to turn back. He eyed his claws thoughtfully. It was already half done, he may as well do it right. He wondered how long it would take to grow them out long enough to carve the necessary symbols around the Archives. They were largely a formality at this point, but with Martin staying there, the need to fully claim the space and ensure the safety of his assistants was a strong one.

He focused his thoughts on that. It was easier than thinking about what Georgie had said about Martin. She didn’t know what she was talking about. She hadn’t even met Martin!

Art by @dieanywhereelseart

Chapter Text

Jon came into work early following his rescue of Martin. He had spent the night considering, and even if it took his claws a while to grow out long enough to claim the Archives properly, there were still protections he could put in place. 

Ideally he would scratch the ritual symbols into  every entrance to the place, and carve them into the very foundations- but a Sharpie worked as a temporary measure and offered most of the same protection. It just didn’t satisfy the instincts of hundreds of generations of sirens telling him to carve the symbols with his own claws. 

Hopefully Jon was in early enough that Martin wouldn’t be awake just yet; he wasn’t quite ready to explain to his assistants why he was drawing on the doorframe. They seemed to have taken everything pretty well yesterday, but Jon didn’t know how they might respond to Jon telling them he was marking his territory. Even he could see how easy that would be to misinterpret. 

As Jon wrote, he Sang, at first in a vocal range too high for humans to hear, before dropping into one so low that it would be physically felt even as the humans heard nothing. Jon had always thought their limited hearing range to be something of a tragedy. They missed out on so much. 

He did still have to be careful though not to Sing too loudly. It could still affect people even in ranges that they couldn’t hear, though it was far less predictable, especially if he wasn’t Singing for them. Not to mention Singing in the high ranges could occasionally result in broken glass if he was too loud. As he worked he saw a large black spider begin to make its home just outside the entry to the Archives and Jon smiled. Sirillus had sent him a guard. 

Jon took a quick glance around, and seeing no humans, he quietly Sang to the little spider, watching in delight as the strands of web took on a rather distinctive fractal pattern. 

“Thank you,” he said politely, giving the spider a nod before smiling at the markings on the doorway and heading into the Archives to finish the job. He’d have to remember to have a chat with the custodial staff about not removing them, until he could grow his claws out enough to make it more permanent. 

***

Jonah Magnus reached for the bottle of Advil he had begun to keep in his desk ever since he had hired Jonathon Sims as his Archivist. He didn’t understand what had happened. He had been watching Jon as the man came in to work early that morning. Jon had stopped before entering the Archives, and then everything went sort of fuzzy. It was infuriating. Jonah had a brief moment of clarity while Jon walked away from the entry to the Archives, holding a Sharpie, and turned to look at a spider, and then- nothing. 

Jonah growled in frustration. The Mother of Puppets was clearly involved in something, and now Jonah was going to have to clean out the damn spider himself since he had already told the custodial staff not to go into the Archives. 

***

Having finished properly Marking his territory, Jon only just barely suppressed the desire to whistle. As far as Jon’s more primitive instincts were concerned, the Archives were now his, and a safe place to sing should he wish to. Obviously he knew that wasn’t true, but it didn’t stop the urge. 

He busied himself with breakfast instead. Jon was bad at remembering to feed himself, but like it or not he was still a member of a very social species, and the instinct to care for someone living in his territory was stronger than he would have thought.

Kettle on, he went about setting the pastries he had bought on a plate, then finding something that could pass as a proper fruit bowl. He couldn’t really eat any of the things he had brought, but a quick google search had told him that this was the sort of thing humans ate for breakfast. 

“Jon?” Martin said with a yawn, coming into the break room, still in his pyjamas. “It’s six in the morning, what are you doing here so early?”

“Oh! Martin! Ah, I brought breakfast?” Martin blinked at Jon in surprise. Martin’s brain was short circuiting a little bit. 

“Uh, the un kettle is on, if you prefer to start with tea-“ Jon trailed off. Martin didn’t even know what he desired, so Jon had no idea either. He was floundering a little. 

Martin flushed deeply, remembering that he wasn’t dressed and his hair was probably a mess, but he offered Jon a confused if sleepily smile and went to the kettle. 

“You didn’t come here at six in the morning just to bring me breakfast did you?” Martin asked, an edge of embarrassed concern colouring his voice. 

“Well, no,” Jon said. Now it was his turn to blush and avoid eye contact. 

“So, what-“ Martin fought through a yawn. “What brings you here this early? Don’t tell me you’re always here at six.”

“Ah, well, it’s-“ Jon coughed lightly. Marking his territory was all well and good, but telling a human about it seemed- weird. “P-protective wards. I- wanted to make sure the Archives were defended.” There, that was mostly true. 

“Oh! That’s, well, thank you Jon,” Martin said, his smile lighting up his entire face. Which made Jon feel sort of terrible, because now Martin thought too highly of him. 

“It’s-“ he took a deep breath. “It’s a territory thing,” he said with a wince. “Oh, and if- if you see any spiders around, please leave them be,” he added as an afterthought. It wouldn’t do for his assistants to go about harming their door guard. Somehow, Jon just Knew that the only spiders you would find in his Archives were those through which Sirillus watched. 

“You don’t want them relocated outside?” Martin asked, voice free of judgement, for which Jon was grateful. 

“Spiders are sacred to Sirillus, and, well this is still a temple,” Jon said, carefully watching Martin’s reaction. The man’s desires had been confusing since Jon had brought him back to the Archives. The fear from his encounter with Prentiss and the desire to be safe still the most strongly present- and Jon was trying to respect Martin’s privacy and not dig any deeper, trying to only know the very surface. 

“Huh. Ok,” Martin said taking his mug of tea to the table, and passing Jon one absentmindedly. Jon took it with some surprise. It seemed like an automatic gesture for Martin. “You know, spiders are a very important part of the ecosystem,” Martin said as he sat down and grabbed a pastry. 

Jon tried not to be so endeared, it was obvious that Martin was very much Not a morning person, and his uncaffeinated brain seemed to have turned off the filter he normally seemed to have. Martin had always seemed so nervous, Jon assumed it was due to some human reason that he hadn’t picked up on. 

“Yes, yes they are,” Jon said fondly as he watched a spider begin to weave a web over the lens of the security camera in the break room. The familiar fractal patterns brought a comfort to the room that Jon hadn’t realized it had been missing. 

“Do you- did you already eat?” Martin asked gesturing to the pastries and fruit on the table. 

“Hmm? Oh, I’m fine thank you.” Jon said. Martin furrowed his brow a moment. 

“Do you- I, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you eat… human food?” Martin looked like he immediately regretted asking, but Jon smiled. It was only right for someone working in a Temple like this one to be curious. 

“Yes, though even there my, hm, dietary requirements are a little different from yours.”

Martin tilted his head, encouraged by Jon’s open response. “What do you eat then?”

Jon smiled revealing his teeth in a way he normally didn’t. They were significantly sharper, and more pointed than Martins own. “We are obligate carnivores,” he said, his smile returning to the small closed lip thing Martin was more used to. He tried not to be afraid. This was Jon, he told himself. Jon had saved his life and wasn’t a monster. Jon was thankfully oblivious to Martin’s brief panic though. 

“I can still eat other things of course, I just have a hard time digesting them. It’s not usually worth the effort.” Martin looked at Jon’s tea with immediate concern. “What?”

“Your tea-“ Martin began. 

“Oh that’s no problem. I mean, the caffeine doesn’t do too terribly much, but it doesn’t make me sick or anything,” Jon glanced at his watch. 6:30. 

“I need to finish a few things before the others arrive. Enjoy your breakfast,” he said, retreating before Martin could so much as open his mouth. 

***

Jon wasn’t able to track down the custodial staff, but he resolved to try again in the evening. For now he retreated to his desk and sent a quick message to Georgie. He knew she let her claws grow natural, and Jon hoped she might have some advice for him. 

His grandmother had been very firm about him keeping them filed as a matter of practicality, and he had never seen the point in changing the habit. He knew they took about a week or so to grow back, given how often he had to file them, but actual maintenance? How to keep them sharp and healthy? Jon had no idea where to even begin. 

Jon decided to start the day right: with a statement. Normally he would hold off until next week, but warding the Archives had left him feeling peckish. 

“Statement of Mark Bilham, regarding events culminating in his visit to Hither Green Chapel,” he said, and began to read. Jon was surprised to learn that the People’s Church of the Divine Host still had a Chapter in London. They were an odd bunch, but Sekreth’s followers often were in Jon’s opinion. Still, it had been incredibly rude of the Mr. Bilham to interrupt their service like that, the man’s entire statement read as incredibly judgemental and Jon couldn’t help but be a little offended at the man’s closed-mindedness. 

Sure, the People’s Church worshiped the darkness where all things are secret and unknown, but Jon’s patron was one of Knowing and he still managed to keep an open mind. He left a note on the file not to bother with follow up; Mark Bilham was a bigot and not the sort that Jon wanted anything to do with in his Archives. Ignorance was unfortunate, but understandable. Bigotry was not to be tolerated. 

*** 

When Sasha knocked on Jon’s door some hours later, he was surprised by how much time had passed. 

“Jon?”

“Ah yes, come in Sasha. Did you have more questions?” 

“Not- not exactly. I think I encountered something,” she said with some trepidation.

Jon was immediately on guard, the idea of someone messing with his assistants put his teeth on edge. “What happened?” he asked.

She described the strange man she had seen through her window that morning and at the coffee shop on her way to work, and Jon relaxed. 

“Ah, nothing to be afraid of then,” he said when she had finished. 

“What was he?” she asked. 

“From your description I believe you encountered a priest of Sirillus. It’s a great honour. He is part of a sect that refers to themselves as the Distortion. They are guardians of a sort. They- well actually this is something everyone should hear. We should move this to the break room.”

Sasha nodded and they got up, dragging Tim and Martin with them. Sasha gave a quick run down of what had happened, while Martin made tea. 

“Right, the Distortion are a sect of followers of Sirillus; they guard the Hallways. A sort of test. It’s something of a right of passage for many followers of Sirillus to test their merit in the Hallways. They are an impossible place, always turning to the left but going nowhere, filled with doors and mirrors with nothing in them.” 

“That sounds maddening,” Tim said with some concern in his voice. 

“Oh absolutely,” Jon agreed. “That’s rather the point. They are a test of will and dedication. They are Sirillus in the form of the sort of knowledge that drives you mad. To accept that maddens and come out whole is something of a baptism for some of those who are patronized by Sirillus.”

“Have you been to the Hallways Jon?” Martin asked, and Jon approved of his curiosity. 

“I’ve not been so lucky, no. The latest Guardian of the Hallways hasn’t been seen by anyone that I know of in some years. It’s wonderful that he’s been sighted again, and a true honour to see him so close to the Institute.” Jon paused, looking at his assistants, with some concern in his eyes. “Though if he approaches you Sasha, I would recommend you politely decline any offer of a visit to the Hallways. I’m not entirely sure of what they might do to a human mind without any kind of training.” 

“Noted,” she said, and there were nods of confirmation from the others. 

“Hey boss man,” Tim said, when he sensed an opening. “Martin here says you’re a carnivore. Is that why you always turn down our lunch offers?”

Jon flushed lightly. “Ah, yes, in part. I don’t much care to buy food I can’t really eat. It seems like a waste.”

Tim gave Jon an appraising look. “Do you eat stuff raw or cooked?” he asked, and Jon carefully observed Tim’s face for any sign of judgement. Seeing none, he relented. 

“Either. Raw is fine, but rather flavourless after a while,” he finally said. 

“Huh,” Tim replied, and Jon had the strangest feeling he was going to regret giving Tim that information. 

Chapter Text

Art by THISisGREAT

Jon stared at the raw chicken breast that had been marinading in his fridge. He debated the merits of cooking it, before giving up and sticking it on a plate to microwave for a few minutes. He lived alone so he didn’t bother with a fork and knife, raw chicken was a pain to cut anyway, and his teeth were far better suited to the task.

He may have lied a little to Tim earlier that day when he had asked if Jon ate his food raw. Sure Jon could cook his food, and sure there were different flavours you could put into it if you cooked it, but really it was so much easier to throw some spice in a bag with chicken and just eat that. Jon was distracted from his dinner though, by the arrival of a rather unfortunate text message.

It was Sasha warning the the priest she had seen expressed an interest in speaking to him- good news over all, but unfortunate in its lack of definitive timeline. Apparently the man’s name was Michael. According to the text he had seemed somewhat confused when Sasha had recommended he come speak to Jon, having wanted her to accompany him to a graveyard of all places.

Jon sent Sasha a reply telling her she had absolutely done the right thing. He looked forward to meeting the latest guardian of the Hallways. When he had been a child he had wanted to be a guardian when he had grown up, though the seeming monotony of the job did eventually lead him to giving up the wish. Not to mention Guardians didn’t have choirs. The only choirs they had were other guardians, and even if Jon had never really been a part of a proper choir before, the desire for one was still present enough.

Which reminded him, he needed to to a better job with the people he did have, choir or not. He gnawed thoughtfully on the chicken as he browsed his phone, he’d need to bring more food into the Archives for his humans, he hadn’t realized how empty the cupboards were of proper food aside from biscuits and tea. He was trying to figure out via google what humans usually kept in their cupboards, what sort of things would Martin need?

He could look up the ingredients for specific meals, but what did Martin like to cook? And what about Tim and Sasha? Did they need things for the break room kitchen too?

Actually, Tim and Sasha- that was an excellent idea. They were both human, surely they knew what humans needed. He would get Tim to go out with the company card tomorrow and pick up a few necessities. Though it couldn’t hurt to ask Georgie for some advice, besides, she had never answered his question about proper claw maintenance. He called her.

“Hello Georgie. How are you this evening?” He asked, in his native language for once, since he was safe in his own flat from prying ears.

“Jon! Hey, I was just gonna call you! I have some information for you on your Institute, one of my choir found some stuff out but it’s pretty shady stuff, I’d rather tell you in person, are you free on Saturday?”

“Ah, yes, I- I suppose I can be.” Jon had been considering going into work given a lack of other plans. Going to Georgie’s was an acceptable alternative.

“Sweet, how does 2 sound, we can do a late lunch, order in some Sashimi.”

“Yes, that, that sounds nice. Actually Georgie, I was hoping you might be able to help me with something, you have a number of human friends right? What do they normally eat? It’s just, Martin is staying at the Archives until we can be sure Jane Prentiss has lost interest in him, and I want to make sure the cupboards have human safe food in them.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to ask one of your assistants? They’re human, they’d know better.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought, still doesn’t hurt to ask, by the way, I was hoping for some advice on claw maintenance. I’ve never really grown mine properly and, well.”

“You want to claim the Archives properly.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll show you how to do a soak for them on Saturday. And I can show you how to file them.”

“Thank you.” Jon said with some relief. Glad she wasn’t judging him.

“Of course Jon, we can paint them too if you like-“ Georgie went on for a while, talking about various things they could do and Jon relaxed into the couch. It really was nice to hear his native language.

***

Jonah was not having a great time. He had been trying to watch Jon at home, figure out what was going on in the man’s head, and so far, he had watched him eat raw chicken, and then do- something on the phone that brought actual tears to his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if the tears were from how beautiful the sounds were, or if they were from how painful they had been to hear. It was like looking in Jon’s head but worse. Jonah made a note to investigate this Georgie further. He was beginning to regret his choice of Archivist.

Wanting to take his frustrations out he went down to the Archives to destroy the spider sitting in its web outside of them. He managed to destroy the web, but he lost sight of the spider somehow, which really, was just adding insult to injury wasn’t it. It was the last straw, Jonah called Simon. The man was crazy, but maybe an encounter with the Vast would clear things up about his Archivist.

***

When Jon arrived at the Archives the next day, he was distressed to see the spider guardian missing, it’s web gone- but upon looking up higher he was relieved to notice it had just moved itself to a more secure place away from the accidental dangers of careless humans, the web bigger and with even more beautiful fractal patterns. Jon nodded respectfully at it as he made his way in, fingers idly tracing one of the sigils on the door as he passed, leaving a pleasant tingle on his finger tips.

It wasn’t quite as early this morning so Martin was already dressed and brewing tea when Jon placed the take out bag of breakfast on the table.

“Oh, good, good morning Jon!” Martin said in surprise as Jon sat down at the table.

“Good morning Martin, breakfast.” He said sliding the bag in Martins direction as the man brought two mugs of tea over. For a brief burning moment, Jon could feel Martin’s desire for them to share a meal together, before the desire to be safe once again over shadowed it, Jon saw no harm in indulging it. He pulled a package of jerky out of his pocket to chew on while Martin’s ate. It wasn’t like Jon had eaten breakfast anyway.

“Thank you Jon.” Martin said with a smile pulling the breakfast sandwich from the bag.

“Martin, would you do me a favour and pass a message along to the custodial staff when you see them? I haven’t been able to track them down.”

“Oh,” Martin said in some surprise. “They, uh, they don’t come down here anymore. Mr. Bouchard said that they didn’t feel comfortable cleaning the space with someone living down here, so he said it was my responsibility.”

Jon felt an icy rage settle in his bones, the intensity of which startled him. Elias wasn’t allowed to mess with his assistants though, that wasn’t right. Jon pursed his lips.

“I’ll have to have a word with him about that. Or at least a word with HR. That should in no way be expected of you. That’s not your job.”

“Oh, it’s, I don’t mind really! It’s not a problem!” Martin said in a panic and Jon caught the hint of a desire not to make trouble to keep his job no matter what. With the edges of not wanting to be found out. Poor human, capitalism really seemed to beat people down, it really made them undervalue their own worth, and imposter syndrome could be a tricky thing.

“Martin, you deserve better then this kind of treatment. You signed a contract to work in the Archives as an Archival Assistant, not a custodian. You aren’t getting paid for that work, so you should have to be doing it- especially in your off hours. That is not only illegal but morally wrong in general.”

“I-well, I guess, if your sure it won’t get me in trouble.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Jon said with an intensity to his voice. Martin couldn’t help but believe him, and worse he couldn’t help but fall that much more in love.

***

When Tim and Sasha arrived Jon sent them both out with the company card and instructions to buy what Martin needed for living in the Archives. And general human food for the kitchen. He decided it was best to send them together to minimize the risk of Tim only buying junk food. And he knew Sasha’s car was in the shop. He couldn’t actually recall her telling him that, but he was sure he must have overheard her talking about it.

He left Martin to make a few follow up calls and retreated to his office. To write an angry email to the HR department. Which was when he noticed the door.

His office had one door, it’s paint was peeling and it had Jon’s Marks scrawled up and down the frame in sharpie. This door, was a cheerful bright yellow colour, and the Marks on the frame were most certainly Not Jon’s. He took a moment to straighten his jacket before going to knock.

The man that emerged fit Sasha’s description and Jon offered him a smile.

“Hello Guardian of the Hallways.” He said in his native tongue, the title sounded far more impressive in Jon’s native language anyway.

“Hello Archivist.” The man responded, head tilted at an unnatural angle in his confusion. He had responded in English to Jon’s surprise. He had always been told Guardians preferred the language of the Sirens. Still, Jon made a note to attempt to communicate in English going forward.

“It is an honour to have you in my Archives.” He said.

“You are strange Archivist.”

“I-suppose?” Jon said, his own confusion now colouring his voice. This was not at all how he had expected this interaction to go. Michael was in much the same boat. He was used to causing the confusion, not being confused. He wasn’t sure he liked it. “Are you here to take me to your hallways?” Jon asked, trying to bring the conversation back into familiar territory.

“I am not here to kill you Archivist.” Michael said.

“Well, that’s, that’s good, I didn’t think you were?” Jon said equally confused. Michael’s head twisted to a further unnatural angle.

“You are not afraid?” Michael asked.

“Should I be?” Jon was getting concerned. He reached out, trying to sense the edges of Michael’s desire. It wasn’t the same as sensing the desires of his Assistants, Michaels desires were nebulous and shifting, utterly incomprehensible. The incomprehensibility added a rich flavour and Jon had to fight the urge to dig deeper.

“Michael, do you know who Sirillus is?” Jon asked before Michael could.

“Are we playing a game Archivist?”

“If that makes you more comfortable. Sure.” Jon said.

“I do not know who Sirillus is.” Jon felt his heart break for Michael. It wasn’t impossible of course, plenty of humans had interaction with the lesser without understanding, but Michael had somehow managed to become a priest and stay completely ignorant. Which, as a priest of Sirillus, simply wasn’t going to do.

“Michael, would you like some tea, I believe we have a great deal to discuss.”

Chapter Text

Jon could taste that on the edges, Michael had wanted to tell someone what happened to them, that they were angry. It had only taken just the hint of a song, sung very quietly since Martin was in the break room making them tea. It didn’t really matter who you were, everybody wanted to tell their story, just a little bit. That little bit was all Jon needed, and a few carefully chosen notes and Michael began to speak. They had been thrown off balance enough by Jon in the first place so as not to put up a fight. So Michael told their story, and Jon listened, not even interrupting when Michael said things that were so badly misunderstood that Jon began to develop a bit of a headache.

Jon was horrified. And when Michael had finished, and Jon had given the poor man a cup of Martin’s tea, he told Michael so.

“Michael I am so so very sorry for what happened to you. Gertrude Robinson-“ and Jon said her name like it was a curse, “-interrupted a religious ceremony she had no right to interrupt, and no understanding of. The Great Twisting is a ritual meant to bring the Guardians of the Hallways closer to Sirillus, to bring Sirillus closer to this world so that they might know and feel the touch of the lesser god, but it is meant to be temporary. You cannot bring the lesser gods through. Nor should anyone want to. We have stories- No, no never mind that isn’t important.” Michael didn’t need a lesson on religion, they needed support for their trauma.

Michael was silent. They were confused. The knowledge hurt them, but a part of them felt like it shouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. They watched the curling steam from the tea as the Archivist spoke of the lesser gods.

“The Hallways have Guardians. The Great Twisting is the ritual through which new Guardians are chosen. It is, as I understand it, a test. A trial of sorts, only the best suited candidates reach the centre, and become a part of the great choir of Guardians. But this- but Gertrude-“ and Jon thought he hated his predecessor before for the state she had left his Archives; this though, this was beyond words. “She disrupted it, in giving you a map, she bound you to Sirillus without even knowing the name of your god, and I am so sorry for that, Michael.”

Michael finally looked up at the Archivist.

“I am… confused, Archivist,” Michael said, putting the empty tea cup on Jon’s desk and moving towards the yellow door. “We will speak again.”

“I would be honoured, Michael. The former head archivist wronged you greatly. If there is any kind of reparations I can make, you need only ask.”

Michael did not respond to that. What Michael did instead was retreat to the safety of their doors. Their mind hurt, they knew that what the Archivist said was true – they were the heart of lies of course they knew what was true – but it didn’t change things. They were still what they were.

It did change things though, and Michael needed to think. Jon didn’t try to stop them as they slipped into their Hallways.

***

Jon laid his head on his desk after Michael left, exhausted. A newfound hatred for Gertrude Robinson burned in his heart. It was one thing to be ignorant of the lesser and the way things were, it was another thing entirely to be actively hostile to another person’s religion like that. To force Michael into the Hallways unprepared for what it would do to them. Yes, the Hallways killed people sometimes, but they didn’t have to, and for generations the only people going into those Hallways were those who willingly chose to enter them.

Gertrude had no right to interfere. Jon clenched his fists, then tried to forcefully relax them. That was going to be a very important habit to break once his claws grew in properly.

There was a knock on his door. He checked and there was only one door in his office again.

“Jon?” The door opened to reveal Martin. “Is Michael still- oh, I guess not.” Jon pulled his head up from his desk. “Are you ok, Jon?” He asked concern colouring his voice.

“It’s a very good thing that Gertrude Robinson is dead, Martin, or else I’d likely kill her myself.”

Martin was never great at telling when someone was joking, especially if their sense of humour was as dry as Jon’s tended to be, but he got the distinctive impression that Jon was being serious.

“That bad huh?” Martin asked, quietly placing another cut of tea on Jon’s desk.

“Humans have religious holidays yes?”

“I- yes, yes loads of them,” Martin said, a bit unsure where Jon was going.

“The lesser have holidays too. Rituals, a chance to get closer to our gods, to feel them here. Gertrude Robinson used the celebration of one of those Rituals to bind Michael to the Gates of Madness, the Hallways of Sirillus, without understanding or informed consent. What Michael is should be a great honour. But instead it is torment. It is a perversion of thousands of years of culture and tradition, and for what? To stop a mostly harmless religious ceremony?” Jon looked so genuinely upset. Martin had no idea what to do, he had no idea how to comfort Jon.

“The Great Twisting used to be a favourite holiday of mine. My grandmother and I would build little islands made of biscuits, make them as non Euclidean as we could, impossible spirals and swirls. To feel the touch of the sort of knowing that drives you beyond sanity, just for a moment. To understand not understanding. And Gertrude Robinson perverted it.” Jon looked up at Martin. As though only just remembering he was there.

“Jon I-“

“Thank you for the tea Martin.” It was a clear dismissal and Martin figured Jon wanted to be alone. The tape recorder on Jon’s desk clicked off on its own as Martin retreated.

Jon massaged at his temples. He needed a distraction. What Michael had told him was too upsetting to focus on. He sipped at his tea and checked his computer for emails. There was one from HR about Martin’s situation.

They agreed with him, that it was in no way appropriate to ask Martin to take on additional duties given the situation, and Mr. Bouchard would receive a letter of warning for misconduct. Head of the Institute or not, there were rules in place for a reason. Jon sighed in relief. At least that was some good news. He’d take a victory where he could at this point.

***

Tim was having an amazing day. He had been given a company credit card and instructions to get “whatever food humans eat” and he got to do it with one of his best friends. Even better, he had the perfect prank planned for when they got back.

“Tim you are a menace,” Sasha said, laughing as she helped him get the groceries out of the car.

“But you love me anyway!” Tim said grinning from ear to ear. Sasha just shook her head with a fond smile.

“He’s going to kill you, you know that, right?”

“It will be worth it for the look on his face,” Tim replied as he set the groceries on the break room table. He pulled out a bag of cat treats, and poured them into a nondescript brown paper bag. The way he saw it, cats were obligate carnivores. If Jon was too, that meant cat treats would be a Jon-safe food; not to mention the idea of giving his boss cat treats was one of the funniest things Tim could imagine in that moment.

“Oh Tim! Sasha! You’re back!” Martin said coming into the break room with a smile.

“Hey Marto. Jon in his office?”

Martin’s face fell a little. “Yeah, but he’s in a pretty bad mood. Michael came in, and I think Jon is pretty upset about what he heard.”

“What did Michael have to say?” Sahsa asked, as she began to put away their purchases. Martin repeated what Jon had said as best he could. Not that it had been much. Some rambling about religious ceremony that Martin really had no context to understand.

“Yeah Tim, I really think now is not the time for your prank,” Sasha said when Martin was done his report. “He wants to feed Jon cat treats,” Sasha added to Martin in a stage whisper.

“Nonsense! Jon could probably use the distraction!” Tim said making his way with speed to Jon’s office. The other Assistants looked on in fascinated horror as Tim knock on Jon’s door and when inside, leaving the door open and a clear view to what Martin was sure was about to be a huge disaster.

“Hey boss man, brought you back a snack,” Tim said, casually tossing the paper bag at Jon. Jon barely managed to avoid fumbling it.

“I trust you brought the receipts as well?” Jon asked, tone haughty and annoyed.

“Of course boss, Sash has them.”

“Hmm” Jon said, as Tim left the office, Martin watched in horror as Jon popped one of the cat treats into his mouth, and a surprised smile crossed his face for a moment.

“Tim-“ he called, Tim turned around his face a mask of false innocence.

“Yes boss?”

“What are these exactly?” He asked holding one of the treats up and popping it into his mouth.

“Temptations cat treats.” Tim said with a straight face.

“Hmm.” Jon said thoughtfully, before eating another. “Thank you Tim, close the door please.”

Tim turned back to the other assistants with a look of utter bafflement.

“Did- did that just happen?” he asked once Jon’s door was closed and the three of them were safely in the break room away from Jon. “Like, I didn’t imagine that right? Jon just ate cat treats? And liked them? Am I being pranked?”

Sasha was unable to hold in her giggles. “I mean,” she said through her laughter. “It’s like you said, they are designed for carnivores. Jon is basically an oversized house cat.” She snorted, as something occurred to her. “He even has the claws.” Tim was smiling now too.

“And don’t forget the whole ‘only shows affection on his own terms’ thing he has going on,” Tim added with a laugh.

***

It was not the first time Jon had eaten cat food. It had been a bad habit of his when he and Georgie had lived together. He often ended up eating the Admiral’s food if he was stressed or anxious. He supposed he probably should have been offended that Tim tried to feed him like he was some kind of pet, but at the end of the day, it was tasty. And Jon had needed the boost.

He idly wondered what his assistants were laughing about, but it didn’t really matter. He had received an email from Elias asking if he would be able to come in on Saturday to give one of their donors a tour of the Archives. He groaned. The name was familiar too. He was certain he had heard Simon Fairchild somewhere, he just couldn’t place it precisely. He sighed and texted Georgie that he might end up being a bit late tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Jon knew the second he saw the man, though he really should have put the pieces together sooner. His grandmother would have been ashamed of him.

“Mr. Fairchild?” Jon asked, despite knowing exactly who the man was, the older man looked up from a national geographic magazine he had been browsing in the waiting room, the cover boasting articles about space exploration. “I am Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist.” The man’s face broke into a broad grin.

“Jonny! The last time I saw you, you still refused to speak English. I bet you don’t even remember your Uncle Simon.” He said as he stood up. Jon did, in fact remember his ‘Uncle Simon’ though more from the two photos he had seen of the man holding him as a child than from any real memories. His grandmother hadn’t approved of his parents friendship with the him, and she had nothing good to say about harpies, though from what Jon had been told he had a hard time disagreeing with her. However that hadn’t stopped him from keeping the miniature telescope that ‘Uncle Simon’ had given him as a child. It was still one of his most treasured possessions. As it was one of only a handful of items he had from when his parents had still been alive.

“I doubt I was more than two the last time we spoke Mr. Fairchild.” Jon returned, overcompensating for his discomfort with formality.

“Call me Simon, please!” The man said clapping a hand on Jon’s shoulder and steering them towards the Archives. It was clear to Jon the man did not need a tour, no matter what Elias said. Jon would bet money that Simon had likely been there when the Archives had first been built. Which meant that his visit held some other purpose. Simon stopped short before the door of the Archives though, turning to Jon with a serious look in his eyes.

“Archivist I request entry to your temple and Territory, as an envoy of Gaia.” He said, he spoke in Sirillian, the language of the Sirens, though his accent made Jon cringe a little, harpy vocal chords weren’t really meant for the extremes of the language, but he did appreciated the sentiment, though he desperately hoped he never had to hear his language butchered like that again.

“Enter Simon Fairchild of Gaia.” Jon said, and Simon didn’t even flinch. Which considering that Harpy’s ears weren’t meant for sirrilian, well, Jon was impressed.

“Lovely!” Simon said switching back to English and briskly walking into Jon’s Archives. Jon could feel a slight tingle in the back of his mind, as Simon walked past the wards.

Martin, Jon knew, was in the library; having relocated there for the morning when Jon had informed him of the upcoming tour. Jon couldn’t help but feel disappointed, he could have really used a cup of Martin’s tea just about then.

“So Mr. Fair- Simon. You’re obviously not here for a tour of my Archives. So what are you here for?” On Jon’s desk a tape recorder clicked on.

“What a question that is! Why are any of us here really? Does our own insignificance really matter in the face of this Vast universe?” He said with a smile and a shrug. He spared a glance at the tape recorder, but said nothing.

“Mr- Simon, if you only came here to spout philosophy at me, you’ll forgive me for saying this could have waited until Monday.” Jon’s tone was flat, and the annoyance was clear on his face. Simon laughed.

“You are just like your Father Jonny my boy, you even have the eyebrow crease of disapproval!” Jon made a conscious effort to un-crease his brow. “No, when my old frenemy Jonah told me who had become the new Archivist I wanted to come by and see how my little nephew was doing, perhaps renew the old treaties between my flock and your choir, thought you might prefer me to visit without all those pesky little Assistants running around.”

“This is a Temple of Knowledge. My Assistants are well aware of the lesser.” Simon rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Never did understand why your people insisted on calling them lesser, but alright then. I can see why you want to show your Assistants off though, that Martin fellow I spied leaving the Archives this morning was quite the attractive man, I didn’t know you hired for looks down here.” He said with a wink. Jon felt his face heat up. He didn’t know why but he didn’t like hearing Simon talk about one of his assistants like that.

“Martin is a perfectly capable assistant.” He said primly. Simon laughed.

“I’ll bet he is! Say, how do you think he feels about heights?”

“I’ll thank you not to flirt with my assistants Simon.”

“Is that a term of the alliance?”

“If it needs to be.” Jon said with a slight glare.

“It really is like talking to your father again.” Simon said with a laugh. “Alright, no flirting with your staff. The standard agreement then? Non-interference, and an invitation to the Weavers Ball, from you, reasonable assistance from me when needed?” Jon considered it for a moment, he couldn’t really see the harm in having the Fairchilds at the Weavers Ball, it wasn’t as though people weren’t often drunk enough to feel vertigo on their own anyway. And most sirens were smart enough not to make a deal with harpies Jon thought sardonically.

“Alright.” Simon held out his hand palm up. When a species maintained properly sharpened claws, a traditional handshake became a more difficult task. Jon placed his own hand carefully on top, mindful of Simons claws on his wrist. It was meant to be a sign of trust, to allow another’s claws so close to the vessels of the wrist.

Jon felt the vertigo wash over him, and he felt as though he was falling; falling for all of time with no hope of ever ceasing, the sky stretching out endlessly before him. They broke contact. Simon had a look of paranoia; as his eyes darted around, as though trying to see an unseen watcher, before he shook his head to clear it.

“Didn’t much care for that the first time, and it was worse the second time around. I never will understand why you love your Watcher so much.” Simon said as he straightened his coat. Jon could see the Mark of Sirillus settling around Simon, and he could feel the Mark of Gaia settling around himself. He coughed lightly. The smell of ozone was heavy in the air.

“I could say the same to you.” Jon said, trying to smooth down the wind blown strand of his hair that had come loose from his braid.

“Well, it was lovely to see you Jon, but I’ve got to fly, I do look forward to seeing you again at the Weaver’s Ball.” The man turned and left without another word, a few feathers drifting to the floor from beneath his coat. And Jon sighed picking them up. Harpy feathers should probably be in artifact storage anyway.

Behind him, the tape recorder clicked off.

***

Jonah was going to have words with Simon Fairchild the next time he saw the geriatric lunatic. Not only had the man not mentioned that he knew Jonah’s Archivist’s parents, but he had actually gone into the Archives, and not simply thrown Jon off the building like they had discussed.

So the only information Jonah got out of the encounter, was that Simon thought of himself as Jon’s uncle; and that english was not Jon’s native language. Everything he learned about his Archivist made less and less sense, and he still had no explanation for why the man had been eating raw chicken. His best theory on that was that Jon was having a weird reaction to the new hunger that should be taking hold as the Archivist. Clearly his mind was misinterpreting his hunger for statements with something else. Though at least he knew now that the horrible shifting tones that Jon seemed to think in was some kind of language. He had heard Simon speak it. He’d have to see what he could get out of Simon latter on the encounter.

He wasn’t above attempting to look into the older man’s head, though he wasn’t eager to make the man his enemy. He did still appreciate the man’s funding of his Institute.

Worse than all of that though, was the email he had received from HR. Why did he even have an HR department? He made a note to go have, a chat with the department head, make sure they really, understood each other.

Still; the Archives we’re currently empty, with Martin still in the library, Jonah decided to take the opportunity to see if he could find the tape from earlier that he had been looking for.

***

Jon was happy to say, the meeting with Simon hadn’t even made him late for lunch with Georgie. He had even had time to pop by a local pet store and pick up a few treats for the Admiral (and a few cans of fancy feast for himself- sue him they were tasty.)

He had seen a few worms around the institute as he left though, and Jon had a strange nagging feeling that he was missing something somehow, but a few worms didn’t really mean anything, there were hundreds of species of insects in England, and one sighting could mean anything. Still, he felt a strange tingle run through his mind that he couldn’t place. He tried not to think about it.

When he knocked on Georgie’s door he was greeted first by the flash of fur that was the Admiral; who quickly began climbing up Jon’s trouser leg to get to the treats hidden in his pocket.

“Ah, hello Admiral.” He said, wincing slightly at the claws as he attempted to removed the determined feline from his leg, Georgie stood aside to let Jon in, laughing at his plight.

“So, you want to tell me why you smell kinda like ozone?” She said in sirillian. She reached forward and plucked something from his hair. “And why you have a Harpy feather in your hair?”

“Drat I thought I’d gotten all of them.” He mumbled.

“Jon.” Her voice was concerningly flat. “Would you like to explain to me what you were doing with a harpy?”

“Ah, do, are you familiar with the Fairchilds?”

“Oh! Yeah! I remember, you showed me some pictures with them once.” She seemed relieved.

“Yes, well Simon Fairchild decided to drop in and renew an old alliance he had with my parents.”

“Oh, that makes sense, god Jon you had me worried, you know how unpredictable harpies can be, they play their own game and none of us know the rules. But it makes sense that he would want to be on your good side.”

“I’m going to regret asking this, but why does that make sense?” Georgie stared at Jon for a moment.

“...because you just claimed a Temple as your territory. Your two steps away from priesthood if you wanted it Jon, you can’t tell me you aren’t aware of that.”

“Yes.” Jon agreed quietly. “It, um, it occurred to me this morning. It’s, uh, it’s a lot to think about.” He finished. Georgie sighed.

“I mean you work at a temple Jon, this really shouldn’t have been a surprise.” Jon shrugged helplessly, the Admiral batted around one of his hands, displeased that it had ceased to pet him.

“On that note, there’s some things you should probably know about that Institute of yours. That Jonah Magnus guy who founded it? He was one of those weird Victorian occultist types. According to what we managed to dig up it looks like the place was founded to fuel the man’s obsession with the supernatural. And it was built on top of the panopticon prison. Which, isn’t significant, just creepy, We’re pretty sure Jonah Magnus didn’t know anything about the lesser gods; so the Temple ground was likely never properly prepared, I doubt anyone has ever even celebrated a Watched Crown there.”

“How unfortunate. Well, I supposed I’ll have to fix that at any rate.” He tried to feed the Admiral another treat without Georgie noticing, but given her glare, apparently his stealth needed work.

“So that was the unpleasant news, this is the really shady news I didn’t want to tell you on the phone, you know your boss? Elias Bouchard?” She waited for Jon’s nod. “Yeah, he has two charges of cannabis possession on his permanent record, probably the only reason he got out of a jail sentence is cuz he’s white, and near as we could tell, after the last charge the previous head of the institute one, James Wright, paid out a lot of bribe money to seal the records...” she paused for a dramatic effect.

“And then James Wright, vanished. No one has heard from him since, and Elias took over the Institute.”

“That, that is incredibly suspect.” Jon said frowning.

“Yeah, what’s even weirder? It seems every head of the Institute since it’s founding, has either died during their tenure, or vanished.”

“Very, very suspect.”

“Yeah I’d be careful around the guy Jon, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’s one of the changelings.” Jon nodded, then looked at his claws, he had a sudden urge to strengthen the wards around his Archives. The changelings were bad news, stealing peoples identities and changing the memories of their loved ones, Jon tried not to judge, but changelings had always scared him.

“I’ll see about looking into the statements we have on changelings in the Archives, night provide some insight.” He said. Georgie nodded.

“Now, sashimi is on the way, let’s take a look at those claws of yours, have you tried soaking them in tee tree oil?”

Chapter Text

Jon eyed his claws critically. They were still quite short, but Georgie has managed to file them back into a proper point. The tea tree oil had helped soften them to really file them properly, though the admiral had needed to be banished to the bedroom for that. And hands thoroughly washed afterwards.

Georgie had elected to paint them a deep navy so they wouldn’t clash with his ‘old man wardrobe,’ and had given him a few bottles of colours she didn’t like so he could do them himself later. He liked the idea of it, though who knew if he’d actually remember to. Georgie had suggested the nail polish in the first place as a visual reminder to be careful. The tips were sharp enough to cut things now, and Jon would need to take care, he had already nicked himself twice just by idly scratching an itch. Georgie had also given him a set of plastic claw caps that he could wear once they got a little longer. She had highly recommended he wear them when he slept, and it didn’t take Jon long to see why.

Even as short as they were at the moment he could see he was going to have to be very careful. To say nothing for when they were at their proper length. Still though, it took all of his self control not to go to the Archives and scratch his claim to them properly. That could wait until Monday.

Not to mention; poor Martin deserved at least one day where he didn’t have to see his boss. As much as Jon wanted to go into work, that more than anything stopped him. Which left him with a full Sunday to himself, without any real plans.

Jon was bad at not having plans. Not having plans meant that one of three things happened. Either Jon did work from home, which wasn’t an option, as he hadn’t thought to bring any home with him. Or he began some project or other around the flat that he was doomed to never finish as the immediate motivation would fade and he’d be left with a mess that he would inevitably forget about.

Or he would end up sitting on the couch all day trying to come up with something to do, only to realize he had wasted the entire day paralyzed by indecision. Normally a sure fire way to avoid this fate was to call Georgie, but he had already spent Saturday with her. He supposed he could go through some of his books for Sasha, he had promised to bring her some of the ones in English, but that seemed like more of an evening project.

In an effort to distract himself from his boredom, and take care of the problem of breakfast, Jon cracked open a can of sardines from his cupboard. Using the tips of his claws to pick them up, he justified that it was good practise in using them, but the reality was, that he had just been too lazy to grab a fork. He glared at the wall as though it might hold answers for how to occupy his day; only, it wasn’t just wall anymore. In fact, there was a rather brightly coloured yellow door there.

Jon didn’t want to pressure Michael by knocking, so he decided to go attempt to make some tea while he waited for the door to open. He pulled a box of biscuits from the freezer as well. He kept them there just in case he ever had human guests over. It hadn’t happened before, but his Grandmother had always insisted that it was the polite thing to do. He was pretty sure they had expired two moves ago, but the freezer prevented them from going bad right?

He had just put the frozen biscuits on a plate, immediately forgetting to attempt to thaw them in any way, and made what he thought might count as palatable tea when the yellow door finally creaked open.

“Hello Michael. Would you like some tea?” Jon asked.

“Hello Archivist.” Michael said as they emerged from the door, Jon politely didn’t try to look into the hallway. He gestured instead to the empty chair at his table, plate full of frozen biscuits and overly sweetened tea.

“How have you been Michael?”

“That is a difficult question Archivist.” Michael said, their head tilting at an impossible angle.

“Still struggling with personal identity?” Jon asked, trying to sound sympathetic. He had never been good at it, but he did feel badly for Michael.

“Identity is, hard.” Michael settled on after a moment.

“That’s ok. No one is rushing you to try and figure it out.” Michael took a bite out of one of the biscuits, the crunch much louder for how frozen it was. They didn’t seem to notice.

“You hands are sharp now Archivist, and coloured.” Jon glanced at his claws.

“Yes, I’m letting the grow natural.” He said in an off handed way, unaware of the way it made him seem more inhuman, not that it bothered his companion. Michael nodded in understanding. “Actually, I have some paint from Georgie, we could do yours too if you like? Might be good practise for me anyway.” Jon offered. There had been an iridescent polish that Jon knew he would never use for himself that Michael might enjoy.

“Alright Archivist.” Michael said holding out an ever shifting hand. Jon carefully took the polish brush and attempted to apply it by looking only out of the corner of his eye. After a moment or two of silence, he gave in to the impulse to sing. He didn’t see there being any real harm, Michael came from the Gates of Madness, it wasn’t like Jon’s song was going to drive them insane like it might if they were still human. After a while Michael even joined in, humming along to Jon’s quiet singing. It was nice, Jon didn’t get the chance to sing without fear of consequence often.

The singing also helped keep his mind off the brain splitting headache that was caused by trying to look at any part of Michael and have it actually make sense. It simultaneously looked as though he was painting normal finger nails, and finger nails that were some half a metre long.

“The flesh hive will attack your Archives.” Michael said as Jon started on their other hand.

“Why would she do that? What did I do to offend her?” Jon asked.

“She is, unstable. She does not understand her patron the way you do Archivist.” Michael said. “The flesh hive wishes only to spread, and she disliked your predecessor.” Jon sighed. He couldn’t blame her for disliking Gertrude Robinson, but that was no reason to attack his Archives.

“Do you know when she intends to attack?”

“Time is hard Archivist.”

“Yes, yes I suppose it is, still, thank you Michael for the warning.” Jon took a break from attempting to paint Michaels left hand and took a sip of his tea. It wasn’t as good as Martin’s. Which reminded him, if Prentiss planned to attack his Archives, he would have to start staying there over night. The thought of those worms touching his statements... he shuddered to even think it. It didn’t even occur to him that he might need to ask Elias for permission. The Archives no longer felt like work, the possibility of the Archives belonging to anyone else was aside from him was becoming difficult to imagine.

“Any tips?” Jon asked. Michael pointed one glimmering finger nail to the fire extinguisher next to Jon’s stove. Jon nodded in understanding, and continued to work on Michael’s nails.

This time, singing a traditional song for the Great Twisting in sirillian. It made Michael go sort of fuzzy on the edges in what Jon hoped was pleasure, given what Jon thought was a smile on Michael’s face he figured it was a safe bet. He ended up using the entire bottle of polish to finish.

***

Jon was glad when Monday finally came around. He came by the Archives early again, with food for Martin and claws ready to properly stake his claim. He wasted no time in properly gouging the esoteric symbols into the door frame, relieved he’d no longer have to worry about someone wiping them off.

He noticed with some trepidation, that caught in the web of his spider guardian, there was a familiar looking silver worm. Which didn’t bode well for what Michael had told him. Jon shifted his bag on his shoulder, a few fire extinguishers clinking together as he did so.

Jon made quick work of thoroughly marking up his Archives, he was early enough that Martin was still asleep, which was just was well, Jon scratched extra protections around where Martin was sleeping, just in case.

That done, Jon went back to his office trilling slightly in pleasure at the comfortable buzzing under his skin he could feel at properly claiming his Archives. He stopped himself after a moment, a tad embarrassed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had trilled like that. He was just lucky Martin hadn’t heard, Jon didn’t want to deal with the teasing. He was intimately aware that trilling had the tendency to come across much like a cats purr, and he figured there was enough cat comparisons to him in the office already. Especially if Tim’s gift of cat treats had been any indication, Jon may have enjoyed them, but he wasn’t unaware that it had probably been meant as a joke.

As he browsed through his emails he could hear the sounds of Martin getting up and getting ready for the day, it felt right to have him here in Jon’s Archives. Now if his other assistants would arrive on time it would be perfect. There was a knock on his door.

“Come in Martin.”

“Ah, hi Jon, I thought you might like some tea?”

“Thank you Martin.” Jon said, it occurred to him, that if he was going to be staying in the Archives to better defend his territory from Jane he should, perhaps inform Martin of this fact. “Do you have a moment? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh! Um, sure Jon.” Martin said taking a seat in front of Jon’s desk.

“I have been informed that Prentiss has plans to attack the Archives.” Martin’s face went ashen. “Now, that said, I intend to stay here for the time being to ensure that should she set foot or worm here, it will be defended. However given your previous experience with her, I understand if you would prefer to find a safer place to stay, and I’m sure we can figure something out for-“

“No! No I’d rather stay here? I, she scares me a lot, but, but the, well I don’t like the idea of you being here alone if she attacks either.”

“There’s no need to be a martyr here Martin, I am perfectly capable-“

“I- I know, but, I feel, safe here?”

“Right, well, the good news is, she’s vulnerable to CO2, so-“ Jon reached into his bag and pulled out a fire extinguisher which he passed to Martin. “I’ll be outfitting the rest of the Archives with plenty of these, that should take care of it.” Martin looked relieved.

“So there’s a way to fight her then.”

“Of course Martin everything has a weakness.” Jon said dismissively.

“What about you?” Martin froze, he hadn’t mean to ask that. “I- I mean, you, um, you aren’t human, so, uh what are you, what should I-“

“Sirens are vulnerable to very loud noises.” Jon said saving Martin from his rambling. “We have highly sensitive hearing, and can hear in ranges far above and below humans. But so long as you don’t decide to bring a dog whistle or something into my Archives, I doubt we’ll have any problems there.” Jon considered this for a moment before adding, “I hope I don’t need to tell you I would prefer Tim not be made aware of that fact.” Martin let out a surprised laugh.

“Yeah I can see that getting irritating.”

Jon nodded and sipped his tea. Martin took that as his cue to leave and Jon went back to his emails. When Tim and Sahsa came in Jon made sure to tell them about the CO2 as well.

“Love the polish boss!” Tim said unconcerned by the sharp points, Sasha gave them a more critical look, before nodding in approval. Her approval was much more enthusiastic when Jon passed her a book. It was the only one he had been able to find in English, and it had more to do with Harpies than anything, and Gaia of course; but it was better than nothing. He did warn her to be careful with it though, he suspected that one might have been a gift from Simon to his parents; and books on the esoteric could be tricky sometimes if one wasn’t careful. He cautioned her not to read it outside of the Archives, just in case.

He had never had problems with it, but humans could be weird about books like that. The conversation was cut short however by the arrival of one Melanie King, Jon couldn’t help but smile at the thought of a new statement.

***

Jonah was more confused than ever. He had crept down into the Archives on Saturday, before Martin had returned and after Jon had left, and he managed to find a tape which contained the conversation between Simon and Jon. However rather than clearing anything up it merely left him more questions. Choirs? Flocks? It was nonsensical. Not to mention Jonah felt no small amount of anger with Simon for dropping his real name to Jon. The last thing he needed was for his enigma of and Archivist to start investigating him.

What concerned Jonah though, was that somehow his Archivist was already aware that the institute was a temple of sorts. And what were the lesser? He had certainly never heard the term before, and the alliance between Simon and Jon? And the Weavers Ball? Jonah was beginning to grow concerned that Jon somehow knew his plans and was trying to mess with him, play mind games.

It had perhaps been a mistake to choose an Archivist already marked by the Web and the Spiral. Jonah still couldn’t figure out how eating raw chicken played into it all though, Jon wasn’t marked by the Flesh or the Hunt, so why risk salmonella? What was the goal there? Jonah didn’t know, but if Jon wanted to play mind games, then Jonah could play mind games. Perhaps it was time to call in for the delivery of a certain table from the Breekon and Hope delivery service.

Chapter Text

“Please state your name and the subject of your experience.” Jon said, trying to keep his voice professional, he could sense that she badly wanted to be believed and he could already practically taste the edges of it. He had to ramp down hard on the desire to kick his lips.

“Into that? You’re joking.” She said incredulously.

“I can assure you this will record just fine.” Jon said, growing irritated, he was hungry. Enhancing his claim in the Archives had taken more out of him than he had thought it would and it was taking all his patience not to just Sing it out of her.

“I knew you guys were a bit… slapdash, but this is absurd.” She continued.

“Ms. King, no doubt you have found that certain things will not record on your cameras yes? Well certain statements will not record on our computers. Now. Do you wish to make a statement or not?” That took her by surprise, and she blinked at him a few times.

“Really? Even with people just recounting experiences?” Jon sighed in exasperation. Supernatural things interacted with technology in strange ways. Sometimes even reading the statements that weren’t true he had a hard time recording his voice. He had been thrilled by the tape recorders as so long as Jon didn’t try to Sing they had no problem recording him.

“Ms. King please, are you here to discuss my equipment or make your statement?”

“I mean, now I kinda want to discuss your equipment.” She threw her hands up when she saw his glare. “Fine, fine! Uh, My name is Melanie King. I’ve got a YouTube channel called Ghost Hunt UK.”

“Statement regarding...” Jon added the tiniest hint of Song to his words just to get the ball rolling, draw it out so he could finally have something to eat.

Jon tried not to wrinkle his nose in distaste as she described the changeling she had encountered. Jon really didn’t like changelings. He was sure that plenty of them were nice enough folk, but historically changelings and sirens didn’t tend to get along very well, while their feeding styles were incredibly different, they often ended up intersecting and encroaching on each other’s territory, which didn’t lend itself to amiable relationships. Not to mention the only changelings Jon had encountered had no issue with killing people, which was just disrespectful really.

“You say you recorded video of the event?” Jon asked, he wasn’t really worried about proof of the supernatural; people tended to believe what they wanted to believe regardless of the evidence of their own eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve given your guys a copy, but watching it back, the recording is so distorted that you can’t really make anything out.” Jon nodded at that.

“I’m not terribly surprised by that.” Jon said dismissively. Melanie narrowed her eyes.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t be. Care to tell me more about your equipment then?” She asked with great interest.

“I’d be happy to discuss proprietary research with an independent contractor-“ Jon said rolling his eyes. “If, at any point you find yourself working here. What I can discuss is what I know about the being you encountered.” That certainly got her attention. Jon didn’t want to ‘out’ another supernatural being of course, but Melanie had already seen proof, and she had come to a temple of knowledge, so Jon didn’t see the harm in giving her a little bit of information. Especially since he could feel how badly she wanted it, and he was still a little hungry.

“What do you know?” She demanded.

“You encountered what I believe was something I refer to as a changeling. It’s unlikely that you’ll encounter it again, they don’t tend to stick around in one place for very long. You certainly won’t be able to track it, and even if you do encounter it again it will likely have an entirely new look to it.”

“How do you know? Are there other creatures like it?”

“You’re the ‘Supernatural investigator’ Ms. King, I will of course do what I can to follow up on your statement, though I’m afraid there really isn’t much in the way of proof. I believe you of course, but-“ he shrugged slightly. “We will be one touch if we need anything else from you.”

“Seriously? That’s it? That’s all your going to give me? I should have known this would be a waste of time.” She said leaving his office. Jon didn’t know what to do with that. He had told her what she encountered, and he’d even reassured her she likely wouldn’t see it again! What more could she have possibly wanted from him? Jon could feel people’s deepest desires but they still found ways to leave him utterly baffled. Still though, it had been an excellent meal, and even her abrupt departure had little effect on the afterglow.

Some time later there was a knock on Jon’s door and Tim made an appearance, a very particular desire simmering in the edges of Jon’s awareness.

“Come in Tim.” Jon said, he had been expecting this conversation, and now was a good a time as any.

“Hey boss, enjoy your whole-“ Tim waves a hand “psychic vampire meal thing?” Jon winced a little. Tim had an awkward smile on his face so Jon knew he was teasing, but still, it was distasteful to find himself compared to one of those things.

“Trust me I am nothing like a vampire and you’d be very lucky to never encounter one.” Jon said annoyed. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Right, sure, anyway, uh, catch.” Tim tossed Jon a small bag, which Jon set aside on his desk, without bothering to check the contents.

“You don’t need to butter me up Tim, just ask.”

“Right, it’s just, I’m, not really sure where to start?” Tim scratched at the back of his head before flipping the chair by Jon’s desk around and straddling it. “I don’t want to give you a statement, is there a way I can tell you this without you, I don’t know feeding on it?” Jon considered that for a moment. His ability to feed via statements was new, he didn’t know the limitations of it yet, but he had never fed by accident before, so he was pretty sure intent was important. Either intent on the part of the statement givers as an offering to Sirillus, knowing or not; everyone who gave a statement wanted it to be read, that seemed to count; or intent on Jon’s part to Sing. He didn’t think it would work if neither side intended it too.

“You aren’t telling me as an offering of any sort, I believe so long as I don’t Sing to you about it, it will be no different than a normal conversation.”

“Right. Ok, well, I guess I need to tell you about my brother Danny.” Tim began, and unnoticed a tape recorder clicked on in the background. When Tim finished Jon took a shaky breath.

“The, um, the Circus of the Other.” He said. Tim waited for Jon to continue, Jon swallowed hard. “I, I think that was what you encountered. Even supernatural beings have their boogie men, and I am afraid that you may have encounter them.”

“Your going to have to give me more than that Jon.” Tim said a bit impatient.

“Right yes, so- ah, a bit of history, so you will understand what I am telling you. The lesser gods are not something to be worshiped. Respect them yes, celebrate their patronage absolutely, but never worship. To worship something is to place it above you, and it upsets the balance of power. There is a reason they are called the lesser gods, and we the greater mortals. It is important never to forget that. The Circus of the Other believes differently. They are worshippers of Sekreth, they follow Sekreth in its aspect of the uncanny, the familiar made strange. I don’t, I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Circus itself, only that my Grandmother warned me to stay far, far away from it. It is something like a cult to those that have fallen under its power. You were very, very lucky you never went back. I doubt they would have let you leave a second time.”

“So what, it was just rotten luck? Danny was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Is that what your telling me?” Jon felt the weight of Tim’s intensity, but the emotion was undefinable to him.

“I- yes.” Jon said simply. There was no other answer he could give.

Tim let out a sound that was halfway between a bitter laugh and a sob.

“Tim, I-“

“No. No thank you for telling me Jon.” Tim said after a shaky breath.

“If you need to take a few days off to, um, process things I can clear it with Elias if you like?” Jon offered, at bit at a loss for how to help. Tim’s desires were all over the place, he thought for a moment he tasted a desire for a hug, but Jon had no idea how to initiate something like that, or even if it would be wanted from him.

“I- um, I don’t actually think I want to be alone right now boss.” Tim said after a moment, and Jon could feel the edges of Tim’s desire for closeness again. Jon wondered if there was a way he could subtly alert Sasha to give Tim a hug without being too obvious. Jon gave an awkward cough.

“Ah, if, um, that is the case, Martin and I both will be staying in the Archives over night for the foreseeable future, you are more than welcome to stay here later if you don’t wish to be alone.” Jon didn’t know why, but he had the strongest instinct to pull his assistants in closer, to keep them in his Archives and wrap them in song and a sticky web of knowledge.

“Why don’t we go see if Martin has any tea ready, I’m sure he’d love an excuse to make you a cup.” Jon said standing up and walking around his desk. He quickly found himself enveloped in Tim’s arms. Jon awkwardly tried to return the hug once his surprise wore off.

“Thanks boss.” Tim said when he finally released Jon.

“Right, yes, tea then?” Jon said trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Tim gave a watery laugh, and Jon could see how he carefully put himself back together. And the two made their way to the break room, to bother Martin for some tea.

It didn’t take long for Sahsa to join them in the small kitchenette, she had been attempting to read the book Jon had loaned her, but found it difficult to get through more than a page or two without a strange sense of vertigo overtaking her. One of the pages held a picture of the sky that she swore, if she hadn’t been holding onto her desk she could have fallen right into. So a break for tea and biscuits was perfect.

She distracted herself from the lingering dizziness by watching the others, Tim was upset but covering it well, and Jon was clearly trying to compensate for that. She could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable however, as he kept clicking his nails- claws together when he wasn’t paying attention. Not to mention he hadn’t told them to get back to work once.

She was paying a great deal more attention to the little signs of Jon’s alternative species status lately, especially after reading a bit about Harpies. And it definitely wasn’t just the claws or his ears, which if she paid close attention, she could occasionally spot the pointed tips of from beneath his hair. His teeth were off too, they just looked sharper than they should be. Which, Sasha supposed explained the graveyard of pens that was Jon’s office.

It had only taken Sasha a day of working with Jon to learn never to loan the man a pen. His desk was where pens went to die. Her cat was less vicious with her toys then Jon was with pens. Which was to say, that she could see him chewing on the end of his teaspoon and leaving teeth marks in it- so it was pretty obvious that whatever he and Tim had discussed had been pretty heavy. She noticed him sneaking glances back at Tim every so often and Sasha made a mental note to keep an eye on both of them, just as soon as she stopped feeling so dizzy.

***

Tim ended up deciding to spend the night in the Archives with Jon and Martin, even knowing the possibility for attack existed. He just knew his house would feel so empty if he went home. Besides, he had his gym clothes he could sleep in those and just re-wear his other stuff tomorrow. He laid claim to the singular beat up break room couch, it required some interesting contorting to fit, but it gave him a very interesting view of Jon attempting to stick some neon orange bits of plastic to the tips of his fingers.

“Whatcha doing there boss?” He finally asked after Jon actually growled in frustration. Tim was sure if he would have been sitting closer he might have felt the vibrations from that growl in chest. Jon looked at him, defeat in his eyes.

“Claw caps.” He said in frustration. “I can get them on one hand but-“ he waved the other hand around in agitation. “I can’t grip them well enough to do the other.” Sasha had told Tim about the claws, and he had noticed the new point to them when he had spotted Jon’s new nail polish. It never would have occurred to him that Jon might need to take special considerations though, if Tim though about it, he imagined the air mattress Jon had set up in his office probably didn’t pair well with a set of freshly sharpened claws.

“Need a hand?” Jon glared at the table containing the claw caps.

“Yes.” He said after a moment conceding his defeat. Tim stood up and stretched before walking over and grabbing Jon’s hand, carefully slipping the caps over the sharp claws. Jon yawned, teeth glinting in the low light. Tim was pretty sure human teeth weren’t that sharp. It was surprising how safe he felt here in the Archives.

Tim settled back down on the couch after Jon left. Between Martin in document storage, and Jon in his office, Tim felt about as far from alone as he had in years.

Chapter Text

“So Freddie Mercury, was he a siren?”

“No Tim. It doesn’t work like that.” Jon said tiredly as he sipped his tea, idly pulling the claw caps off with his teeth. He wasn’t much of a morning person, but normally he had the opportunity to wake up at home before being assaulted with Tim’s overly cheerful morning persona.

“Ok what about Alan Eustace, is he a harpy?”

“Who?” Jon asked in utter bewilderment.

“The guy with the world record sky dive jump. You know, he jumped from like, outer space or something?” Tim said leaning forward. Jon yawned teeth glinting, he fortunately missed the way Tim tensed slightly at the sight.

Jon was trying to humour Tim. He could tell he felt somewhat adrift after their conversation the night before, his desire to know what had happened to his brother had been a driving force in his life for so long he didn’t really know what to do with himself now that the mystery had been solved.

For now, his only desire was to irritate Jon it seemed. Which, loathe though Jon was to admit it, was still preferable to Tim desiring revenge on the circus. Jon was terrified that if Tim decided to go after them, he might never see Tim again, or worse, he might forget what Tim really looked like entirely if one of the circus’s changelings got a hold of him. So in the interest of keeping Tim distracted Jon decided to throw him a proverbial bone.

“It is however, a popular theory that Alexander the Great may have been a siren.”

“What seriously?” Martin said as he came around the corner, hair still damp from his shower.

“Mmhmm.” Jon agreed taking in Tim’s gobsmacked expression. “No way to confirm it of course, but the theories are certainly interesting.”

“That is wild boss.” Tim said in delight. For a moment Jon thought he had successfully earned a few moments of blessed quiet before Tim resumed his interrogation with even more enthusiasm than before. Jon groaned and decided breakfast was in order, if he was going to have to deal with this for the next hour before work officially started. Martin’s arrival offered enough of a distraction that Jon was able to get up and retrieve a can of tuna from the cupboard, which he proceeded to eat directly out of the can.

“Isn’t tuna actually super bad for cats?” Tim asked watching Jon with interest.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jon asked taking a bite of a large spoonful.

“Well like, cats are the only obligate carnivorous mammal so-“

“Who said I was a mammal?” Jon cut in dryly. He managed to hold it for a solid thirty seconds before the looks on both Tim and Martin’s faces broke him and a small smile graced his lips. Tim started to laugh.

“Oh man boss you had me there!” Tim said through his laughter. Martin just looked relieved he had never been as good at picking up on dry humour as Tim, Jon’s smile widened ever so slightly.

“Who says I’m joking?” He asked, casually taking a bite of his tuna.

“Ok, now see, I can’t actually tell if your being serious here now Jon.” Tim said narrowing his eyes at Jon. Jon’s smile widened just a hair more. Tim let out a moan of frustration and Jon finally let out a dry chuckle.

“Regardless, tuna is fine for me to eat.” Jon said with a smile as he finished the last of the small can. Stretching and making his way to his office leaving behind his somewhat gobsmacked assistants. A deep satisfaction settling in his chest at having successfully distracted Tim, who’s greatest desire for the moment was to find out if Jon had been joking. Jon decided to believe it was a sign from Sirillus that today would be a good day.

***

Jonah Magnus was not having a good day. Breekon and Hope has flat out refused to deliver the table to the Archives and Jonah had had to arrange for it to be dropped off in the front lobby instead. Which meant Jonah had had to arrange for some kind of disturbance in Artifact Storage to prevent them from coming to collect it, and since he was busy with that it meant that Rosie had to be the one to go down to the Archives and inform his Archivist if it’s arrival. Which was unfortunate for many reasons, one of which being that Jonah would be utterly unable to watch Jon’s reactions, since he still couldn’t see into the Archives.

At least he could watch Jon’s reaction to the table when he came up to look at it. He Knew Jon has already recorded the statement about it, so there would be little doubt it was of supernatural origins; and perhaps if Jonah was lucky the paranoia of one of the Not!Them so close might make him slip and Jonah may finally get some clue as to what exactly was going on with his Archivist. If that failed then there was always Prentiss. Though Jonah would need to have someone down to the Archives to repair the security camera in the break room. It had stopped working completely some days ago. All it was picking up now was white static.

It was a shame about Rosie though, good secretaries were so hard to find. Still Jonah was sure her replacement would do an admirable job, and sometimes sacrifices needed to be made.

***

When Jon arrived upstairs to observe the table, he discovered a large spider weaving a fractal pattern over the missing piece of the centre and Jon was instantly on edge.

“Rosie, why was this not brought to Artifact Storage?” He asked turning to look at her. She gave him a smile that was just a bit to wide for her face.

“The donation intake form specified that the donor wished for the table to be given to the Archives.” Jon narrowed his eyes.

“Since when do we take requests?” He asked, concern growing the longer he looked at the table. It was beautiful of course, certainly something that belonged in a Temple of Sirillus, but there was something he was missing here and it wasn’t just a piece of the table. Jon felt uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite define.

“Mr. Bouchard approved the request personally.” Rosie said, smile stretching her face just on the edge of unnatural. Jon could taste an odd change to her desire. She wanted to be free so very very badly. Jon wondered when the last time the poor woman had had a vacation was. Working a full time job could feel like a jail sentence he Knew and Rosie also worked part time for a call centre to help her youngest with uni costs. He couldn’t fault her for a desire like that. Though it was strange, normally Rosie’s greatest desire was for a warm mug of cocoa and to hold her partners hand.

“Well Mr. Bouchard should probably consult with me the next time he decides to accept artifacts on my behalf.” Jon said with some annoyance. Though if he wanted to get the fire suppression system in the Archives swapped out to CO2 he couldn’t really afford to antagonize his boss at the moment, so into the Archives the table went he supposed.

It occurred to him that he had probably been incredibly rude to Rosie, and he felt badly, he never seemed to realize he was being rude in the moment. Only ever in retrospect, but Jon had never known how to apologize and resolved to perhaps have Sasha pick her up a desk plant or something. Maybe it would help with Rosie’s longing for freedom.

Regardless of all that, it seems with Elias’s approval of the donation, the Archives were getting a new table. So Jon went and retrieved Tim and Sahsa- sending Martin off to the Institutes main lunch room for some kind of table cloth. He had a feeling that prolonged exposure to the hypnotic patterns of the table wouldn’t be good for his human assistants.

Then of course there was the matter of the changeling that seemed to be associated with the table. The trouble there, was that there was no easy way to tell if a changeling had taken over someone. He would have to check the tapes he had of his assistants speaking later, if the changeling had decided to hurt one of his people, there was going to be consequences.

“Jon, why don’t we leave the table here if you don’t want it in the Archives?” Sahsa said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Jon looked around the space thoughtfully. There was space, they could put the table directly under the web of the little spider guardian near the door. Yes. Jon decided he quite liked that plan.

“That’s an excellent idea Sasha.” Jon said. They would throw the table cloth over it and Jon would be able to keep an eye on it, but didn’t need to have it in his space. He nearly trilled in delight. It was a perfect solution.

Right then Martin came down the stairs holding a cheap plastic table cloth. It was an eye melting neon green, but Jon supposed it was better than nothing. Tim helped him cover it; though Jon made sure that the spider had the chance to get out from under the covering first. It seemed intent to Guard the table and Jon relaxed even more heading back into his Archives feeling safe and content.

Or at least he was until he returned to his office. He opened the gift Tim had brought him and rolled his eyes when he saw that it was a small collection of novelty paper clips, Jon had always had a fondness for novelty paper clips. He idly chewed at his pen as he tried to decide how best to organize what remained of his day, when he heard something- off.

Sirens had very sensitive hearing, and at the moment Jon was hearing what sounded disturbingly like pasta being stirred. He wrinkled his nose, it was a decidedly unpleasant sound, he put in a set of headphones to drown it out. Perhaps he would spend the afternoon listening to some of Gertrude’s old tapes, he wanted to see if he could find out anything more about what the horrible woman had done to Michael, and if she might have other victims that might need help.

***

Sasha spent the rest of her day attempting to read the book from Jon. The vertigo from reading it hadn’t gone away, so much as she’d just gotten used to the feeling of it. It almost seemed comforting in a strange way, like it was grounding her in this odd new world of monsters and gods.

At the end of the day, she was half way out of the Institute with the book in her bag before remembering her promise to Jon not to read it outside of the Archives. A large part of her wanted to keep going, Jon would never know, but as she paused in thought, her eye caught the sight of a spider running along the wall towards the Archives. She sighed and turned around. Her curiosity would just have to wait until tomorrow when she could finish reading the book.

Leaving the book behind was harder than she would have thought, but once she left the Archives without it she felt a great deal less dizzy. She hadn’t even realized how bad it had been. She resolved to be a great deal more careful with the book going forward. Sasha hadn’t survived working in Artifact storage without a healthy sense of self preservation; and she was starting to get the impression, that name plate or not; the book was a Lietner.

She made a note to ask Jon about it later. She wondered if he suffered the effects of the evil books in the same way as humans did, and if he considered them to be evil books at all. There was just so much she didn’t know and so much she wanted to learn and ask, it was hard to find a starting point to even begin asking.

***

The spaghetti noise hadn’t gone away, and It had kept Jon on edge all night long, it seemed loudest by his office walls, so early in the morning, Jon found himself standing one hand on the wall listening. He could hear the muffled sounds of Tim and Martin chatting in the break room, and the creak of the pipes as they carried water though their ancient lengths. He could hear the hum of the florescent bulbs as they heated up properly, and the gentle whirring of a tape recorder he didn’t remember turning on.

Jon also heard the spaghetti sounds.  Slowly he raised one hand to the outside wall of his office. Letting his claw tips press lightly into the plaster. With the other hand he very slowly knocked on the wall. For a moment, the spaghetti sounds stopped, before redoubling in their intensity. Jon has a sense of growing horror as to what it might be. Without pausing to think anything through Jon dug one of his claws deeply into the plaster and cut a small hole.

Light from his office flowed into the space where he had cut, illuminating thousands of writhing squirming bodies. Jon gasped in horror, they were eating through the plaster, and Jon could see her a little further down, Prentiss.

“Martin! Tim! Run!” He called out, grabbing a fire extinguisher and sticking the nozzle in the hole, pulling the pin as he did so. The sounds of thousands of squirming worms intensified as well as a horrible high pitched screech, presumably from Jane, but amplified thousands of times over by her worms. Jon dropped the fire extinguisher in pain clutching at his ears. The song of the worms was too much, too loud, and entirely overwhelming.

“Jon what’s going on!?” Tim said as he ran into the room.

Worms were pouring from the hole now, Jon felt someone grab his arm and haul him to his feet. His head was still ringing and it wasn’t until the door to document storage locked that Jon came back to himself. The first thing he saw was the tail end of a worm attempting to burrow into Tim’s leg. Jon didn’t even think, lunging forward to skewer it with his claws. Tim screamed in shock, but quickly caught on to what Jon was doing and the three of them spent the next few panicked minutes checking themselves for worms.

Jon had had eight partly burrowed in on his legs, Tim only had the one from rescuing Jon, and Martin had been thankfully worm free. Jon sent off a shaky text for help, but he didn’t have a lot of confidence that it would go through. The Archives has always had terrible service. He really wished they would have had time to switch the fire suppression system.

“The room is sealed.” Martin said once they were all certain of their worm free status.

“And climate controlled!” Tim chimed in. “Strong door. Soundproof.” Then with a slightly more bitter tone. “These old files are far better protected than we ever were.”

“As if Elias has ever cared about worker safety.” Jon said rolling his eyes, his head was still ringing. “The wards are stronger here so I doubt the worms will get through, but-“

“Sasha!” Martin suddenly shouted.

“Oh no! She doesn’t know about the worms!” Tim said, panic layered in his voice.

“No, I can see Sasha!” Martin said and started banging on the door to get her attention. She didn’t see them. She had made a bee line for her desk and was picking up a book, unaware of the danger she was in. Sasha may not have seen them, but Prentiss did, she was just standing there, watching, she smiled at them, and Martin felt like his heart was going to beat its way out of his chest, and ice filled his veins.

“Shit she can’t hear us.” Tim said, looking around desperately, for a fire extinguisher. He found one and was out the door before the others could even try to stop him. He tackled her to the ground away from the reach of Prentiss and the two of them tumbled into Jon’s office, the door slamming shut behind them.

“Jon can’t you do something!?” Martin cried turning to him, eyes wide. “Like, like you did before, at my flat!” Jon shook his head.

“I- I can only make people act on their existing desires, I can’t make them feel new ones, and right now the only thing that Prentiss and her worms want is to kill us. And, and get out of debt? Or- complete a-“ Jon shook his head again confused. “Something, I can’t, I can’t really understand it.” Jon looked at Martin, at the way his hands shook, at the way he clutched a corkscrew like it might save him. Then Jon looked at his own legs, and the sluggishly bleeding holes, there was no way he’d be able to run. He took a deep breath.

“I, I might be able to distract them for a moment, long enough for you to make a run for it, but, I- I won’t be able to join you.”

“What? No, Jon I’m not leaving you down here!” Jon clicked his claws together, Martin desired so badly to get out of this alive. If he couldn’t convince the man to run he might have to Sing. He didn’t want to, but Jon was quickly running out of what felt like viable options.

“I’ll be fine- but Tim and Sasha are going for run out of CO2 in my office eventually. We need help-“ There was a thump against the wall and the plaster burst Jon tensed preparing for worms, and his hands scrabbled at the remaining fire extinguisher.

Chapter Text

After Tim and Sasha had tumbled into Jon’s office, they quickly discovered that, unlike document storage, it was very much not a sealed room. The worms quickly began to pour out from under the door frame, others dropping from the ceiling vents.

“I don’t think we stand much of a chance if we stay here,” Sasha said as she sprayed at the ever coming onslaught.

“I think most of the ones in there are dead, it might be our only chance.” Tim said pointing to the hole in the wall Jon had cut. Sasha nodded at him and Tim began to smash at the wall with the butt end of his fire extinguisher. The wall crumbled under the assault and Tim and Sasha quickly made their escape into the tunnels. There were fewer worms here, but they were faster, more aggressive. They quickly developed a system, though. Sasha was in charge of dual wielding their cell phone flashlights and spotting potential worm hazards, and Tim sprayed them as she pointed them out. It seemed to be working well enough, no one had been ‘wormed’ at any rate.

Though there were several close calls though and both of them were tense enough that Sahsa almost didn’t notice the way the sound of the squirming bodies echoing around them had changed.

“Tim,” she said cautiously, reaching out a hand to stop him. “where is the ceiling?” Tim tensed as he followed her gaze upwards, to see only blackness, and the sound of churning air. All at once something moved, faster than their eyes could track in the dim light. Tim thought he caught a glimpse of feathers, of a shape that looked, wrong. Like a parody of a human being, and then he blinked. What stood before them now was an old man. He was smiling.

“Hello! Simon Fairchild at your service. Jonny texted, said you might need a little help.

***

Jonah Magnus was furious. The table had been covered up and wasn’t in the Archives like he had planned. He hadn’t yet had the chance to get someone in to fix the cameras in the Archives, and Prentiss had attacked far too soon. Worst of all he was utterly blind. He had no idea what was going on in the Archives.

Not to mention he hadn’t yet switched the fire suppression system, so there was a distinct possibility his Archivist was going to die down there. Which, while not a total loss, was still deeply frustrating. Jon already had 4 of the 14 marks, possibly 5. Jonah was convinced that he must be somehow unable to see the Flesh mark that Jon clearly bore; given his apparent taste for raw meat.

It would take ages to start from scratch, and there was no telling if he might end up with another Gertrude situation! He was already so close! A third of the way! Not to mention he had a wager going with Peter that Jon would last at least a year, and he was not keen to lose it. Jonah decided to indulge himself in a moment of weakness, leaving for the accounting department. One of the junior accountants was wearing mismatching socks, perhaps writing her up for the dress code violation would make him feel better.

***

“Do keep up, I may have some influence in the utter all encompassing vastness of the underground world, but I much prefer the sky, and I’d rather we get out of here as quickly as possible.” Simon moved at a pace that seemed frankly impossible for a man of his apparent age, though Sasha looked entirely unsurprised by this.

While being distracted by Sasha’s lack of reactions and trying to remain on the lookout for worms, Tim trailed behind. He also didn’t notice the uneven ground in front of him. There is just enough time for Tim to turn in the air, preventing the fire extinguisher from clattering and possibly rendering itself useless. The very next moment he hit the ground with a disturbing squish from the predeceased worms that sporadically carpeted the flooring.

When he looked up, the light from Sasha’s phone was gone. There was no sign of anyone. It was just— dark.

“Sasha? Mr. Fairchild?” He called desperately trying to see something in the all consuming blackness around him, while he could still hear the worms, their writhing squirming mass, he could no longer see them, and Tim felt his paranoia quickly mounting.

The crack of light that appeared out of the gloom nearly blinded him.

After blinking hard for a moment, Tim could just make out the shape of a yellow door, and then a set of impossibly long fingers curling around it.

“Hello?” He called, voice tense with apprehension as he sat up. Jon hadn’t seemed that worried about Michael, but Tim wasn’t so sure. Jon wasn’t human and his reactions to things were confusing sometimes. Tim wasn’t entirely sure that just because something was safe for Jon, that meant it was safe for the human members of the Archives. He trusted Jon, of course, but he didn’t trust the supernatural. He didn’t think Jon would intentionally mislead them, but he wasn’t entirely sure that Jon wouldn’t simply forget about the differences in their species.

“Are you in need of a door?” Michael asked, as it swung open widely, flooding the tunnel with a light that seemed to warp the very shape of the walls around them, the angles reflecting into impossible shapes. Tim squinted his eyes and peered into the hallway, behind Michael.

“Your missing the armour.” Tim said without thinking. Michael tilted their head to an impossible angle. “You can’t be my knight in shining armour without shining armour.” Tim continued. His mouth was moving faster than his brain and he distantly wondered if the oxygen deprivation from all the CO2 he had inhaled was to blame.

Michael laughed. The discordant sound echoed, bouncing off the incomprehensible walls of the hallway.

“You are odd,” Michael said.

“It’s the oxygen deprivation and your hypnotic hair,” Tim shot back. Apparently he was going to have this conversation on autopilot, it was hard to think straight while watching the strange coils of Michael’s hair twist in on themselves. He felt like Perseus facing down Medusa, only it was his mind that had turned to stone instead of his body.

Michael laughed again.

“You have a worm in your ankle.” Tim didn’t even hesitate, aiming the fire extinguisher at his feet and opening fire. When he looked up Michael was crouched directly in front of him. Reaching toward one of his ankles with fingers that glittered a strange holographic colour that Tim was pretty sure was nail polish. Michael hesitated.

“The Archivist has told me that permission is important. May I remove the worm from your leg?” They asked, their eyes meeting Tim’s, glinting in the strange swirling light.

“Uh, yeah, yes, please.” Tim stuttered out, trying not to get lost in the swirling patterns of the eyes before him. He must have inhaled more CO2 after that last blast. His head was spinning.

Michael carefully reached out, the tips of their fingers catching on something in Tim’s leg. Tim tried not to think about it and he felt the nauseating sensation of something being pulled from inside his muscle. Michael held the limp worm up, dangled from the two sharp fingers.

“Thanks.” Tim said breathlessly. The deep ache of his leg was overshadowed by the spinning of his head.

“If you would follow me, I shall return you to your Archivist now,” Michael said standing and offering Tim a hand. Tim grasped it by the wrist, allowing Michael to get a better grip while minimizing the risk of his flesh being cut to ribbons. The sensation was mind bending. He could see very clearly that Michael’s hand looked human, but he could feel the long dagger sharp fingers pressed lightly against his skin. Tim closed his eyes. It made more sense that way. Michael hauled him to his feet with little effort.

“If I go with you, will I come back out again?” Tim asked, thoughts of Danny weighing heavily on his mind. Michael still held his wrist, and Tim couldn’t bring himself to drop Michaels wrist, either. The silence lasted a long time. Longer than Tim was comfortable with.

“The Archivist believes the hallways to be a place of honour.” Michael said. “It is difficult to believe him. But I do not wish to kill you Assistant, and you will not find your way out of here without help.”

“Tim,” He said, opening his eyes to look at Michael now. “my name is Tim.” He couldn’t help but think Michael was right. Sasha still had his phone, and he had just used up the last of the CO2. His choice was between being wormed in the tunnels or possible death in Michaels hallways. At the end of the day, at least with Michael he wouldn’t die alone. Tim followed them through the door.

***

“Mr. Fairchild? I think we lost Tim,” Sasha said, the apparent calmness of her voice doing more to alert Simon to her panic than if she had screamed.

“Hmm? Oh yes, it appears we have. Well he had the fire extinguisher I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He said with the air of someone who didn’t believe it and didn’t care.

“We have to go back and-“ Simon chuckled. She stopped, memories of Simon’s somewhat miraculous appearance flashing across her minds eye. “You’re a Harpy.” She said, something starting to click in her mind.

“Why yes! I am, how very kind of you to notice.” Sasha couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic, but he sounded genuine. The book Jon had given her had a lot to say about Harpies. “You let the void of the tunnels consume Tim. Are you going to kill me next?” Simon Fairchild laughed.

“Mr. Stoker simply fell behind, I wouldn’t feed on Jonny’s pet humans, especially not in his territory, that would be terribly rude. Personally, it doesn’t matter one bit to me if you live or die, but it would bother Jonny and the terms of the treaty require me to at least try to help you.” His tone of voice never changed. Still jovial and entirely carefree.

“But we aren’t in Jon’s territory are we?” Sasha pressed. “We’re in yours. We haven’t encountered a single worm since we lost Tim.”

“Very good Miss James!” Simon said, looking at her and sounding genuinely impressed.

“That’s why we lost Tim, isn’t it?” She asked, things beginning to fit together. “He fell out of your sphere of influence, back to the real world.”

“Real is a tricky word when your dealing with gods.” Simon said, pausing for a moment. “It should be around here.” And suddenly the ceiling returned. The walls closed back in and Sahsa turned just enough that her flashlights lit up a hidden alcove, the lights illuminating the fallen corpse of Gertrude Robinson.

“Oh! I had rather wondered what happened to her.” Simon said peering around the entryway. “Not much further then, come along, there should be a wall up ahead that will lead you out.”

Sasha thought about trying to go back to look for Tim, but she got the distinct impression that Simon would leave her behind just as easily as he had Tim. Sasha took a deep breath. She couldn’t help Tim if she was dead. She would have to get out, get more fire extinguishers and come back for him. Maybe with a rope this time, so she wouldn’t get lost. She put the body of Gertrude out of her mind entirely. She didn’t have time to worry about it now. One thing at a time, first get out, rescue Jon and Martin, then save Tim.

“Here you are!” He said when they reached the backside of a plaster wall. Sasha took off one of her heavy steel toed boots and used it to hammer a hole in the wall.

***

Jon stared at the wall in confusion, when, rather than the unstoppable onslaught of worms he was expecting, a shoe broke through the wall.

“Jon? Martin?”

“Sasha!” Martin shouting leaping up to help break up the plaster. A short time later Sasha crawled through the dusty hole, followed by a deeply amused Simon Fairchild.

“Jonny! It seems you got yourself into a spot of trouble.”

“Simon,” Jon said with no small amount of relief. “you got my message.”

“Indeed.” Simon said, peering out the window at the worm filled Archives. “If you could distract the lady in red over there I’ll gladly take care of the worms.” He said. Jon nodded. Then turned to his Assistants.

“Cover your ears- wait, where’s Tim?”

“He fell behind sometime in the tunnels.” Sasha said, her voice level, but her eyes betrayed the depth of her worry.

“Flesh hive first Jonny, then rescue attempts.” Simon reminded. And Jon nodded, his stomach twisting up in knots.

“Cover your ears.” He said again. Then he opened the door, hands clamped firmly over his own ears, and screamed.

Glass shattered. Prentiss screamed, silent under the onslaught of Jons voice. He could feel her desires now, clearer than ever. She hadn’t thought of this as an attack. He had been kind to her, and she wanted to thank him, but her mind had been so twisted and consumed that the only thing she knew and understood was to spread. Someone had planted the idea in her mind that this was what was needed, that she owed this, not to Jon but—  

Prentiss went down hard and Jon’s sense of her vanished. She and her worms were falling, further, and further, the ground vanishing beneath them, until there was nothing left of them in the Archives at all.

Jon fell silent.

Simon smiled, nodded at Jon, and then he walked away, feet crunching on the broken glass that littered the floor.

Jon closed his eyes, and his world fell away, too.

Chapter Text

Tim wasn’t sure if his head hurt. He wasn’t sure, because the moment he stepped into the corridors with Michael, he lost the ability to tell where he ended and the corridor began. He couldn’t be 100% sure that he even had a head to begin with. He could smell the sound of Michael walking ahead of him and he could hear the pressure of Michaels hand wrapped around his own.

“Assistant? Tim?” The words caressed Tim’s ear, like a cool summer breeze, carrying with them an edge of concern that tasted of lilac. Tim shut his eyes tight and shook what he thought was his head, trying to clear it. When he opened his eyes again, the hallway was marginally less disorientating, and he felt a little bit more sure of the edges of his own body.

“What, what happened?” He asked.

“The corridors are lying to you now Assist-Tim.”

“So before they were telling the truth?”

“No.” Michael said, and Tim though he heard the hint of a laugh in the others voice, or rather felt the laugh. It smelt of marigolds.

“Right. Sure that makes sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t.” Michael said, and they were definitely laughing now. “This lie is just easier for you to see Assis-Tim.”

“Do you have a hard time with names?” Tim asked, desperate to get his mind off the impossibility of the corridors around him. Michael didn’t answer right away and Tim was about to try again when he felt the hand in his tighten.

“Identity is, hard.” Michael said.

“Yeah, yeah that’s fair. I think sometimes when something traumatic happens it can be hard to regain your sense of self.” Tim said, his own thoughts drifting towards Danny. “I imagine that’s a great deal more difficult in a place like this.”

“I had, not thought of it in that manner.” Their voice carried strangely in the halls, both amplified and nearly silent.

“Do you still want to be called Michael if names are too hard for you right now?”

Michael tilted their head to an angle that Tim was certain wasn’t possible.

“I, I do not know.” They said.

“How about Mike then?” Michael shook their head immediately.

“No.”

“Hey that’s progress, even if you can’t define what you are you know what your not!” Tim said with a smile. He glanced at his watch, suddenly reminded of the others still trapped in the Archives. It was spinning backwards. Tim got the feeling that time wasn’t something he could trust here.

“I am, unsure of what to do with that.”

“That’s ok, what about mika?”

“No.”

“Mick?”

“No.” Tim could hear the smile in their voice though. Michael was clearly enjoying themselves.

“Mickey?”

“I do not believe you are any better at names than I am, Tim.” Michael said finally laughing.

“Well, name or not, you’re still rocking the whole-“ Tim waved his free hand in Michaels direction. “The whole tall blonde and mon-inhuman being thing.” Michael stayed quiet for a while, but Tim saw them smile as they guided him through the endless hallways.

“Shelley.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“Before- when I was not Michael as now, I was Michael Shelley. I think- I think I would like to be Shelley again.” Tim beamed at them, as they stopped in front of a door.

“Well hello Shelley, nice to meet you. Thank you for saving me from the worms.”

“You are welcome Tim.” The door swung open to reveal the back alley outside of the Institute. Tim stepped outside grateful to see a world that didn’t make his brain melt. He turned back to Shelley.

“And Shelley? If you want to talk sometime when it isn’t all ‘exit pursued by worms’ well, don’t be a stranger yeah?” Shelley wrinkled their nose a little at the phrasing, but cautiously nodded.

“I am glad you are not dead Tim.” They said. “Or insane.” They added as an after thought. It had been a risk when Tim entered the corridors.

Tim watched as the door silently swung shut, and then vanished. Leaving Tim in an alley way desperately trying to scrounge up the courage to go back inside and try and help his friends. 999 was probably a good start.
 
***
 
Martin laid Jon out on the break room couch. While Sahsa got a glass of water. The actual communication of this plan had been somewhat hampered by the fact that neither seemed to be able to hear at the moment.
Martin really hoped it was temporary. He didn’t want the last thing he ever heard to be the sound of Jon screaming. Sasha and him had both covered their ears as best they could, but Jon’s shriek had been insidious. Creeping around their fingers and settling inside their skulls. Martin could have very happily gone his entire life without hearing that sound. It had made him want to run as far away from Jon as it was possible to go and he was furious with himself for that reaction. Jon had clearly done something that was at great cost to himself to save them, and all Martin wanted to do was run away.

Jon’s eyes fluttered. Martin was pretty sure he said Jon’s name, though he wasn’t certain. He watched Jon’s lips move, and there was no sound that came out.

Jon peeled his eyes open, they were heavy with exhaustion and it took more effort than he cared to consider. He throat felt raw and his head like it was stuffed with cotton.

“Martin?” He mumbled looking up at the other man. Martin didn’t appear to hear him, though Jon supposed that wasn’t really all that surprising. Hands were hardly proper cover for a sirens scream. The deafness wouldn’t last long though, a few hours at most. Jon’s own ears were ringing something awful, but he had the benefit of not being human, and while the scream certainly effected him more dramatically, it wouldn’t effect him as long. He looked back at Martin. When had he closed his eyes?

There was suddenly a glass of water in front of him. Sasha held it out and Jon took it gratefully. Drinking deeply while he tried to work out how best to sign to Martin that tea would probably be an excellent idea right about now.

Jon heard a commotion at the door and Tim burst through trailing a few people in various uniforms. Only for them to stop as they crossed the threshold. There were no live worms to be seen, though Simon has been inconsiderate enough to leave the dead worms and the guts from their corpses littered throughout the Archives. Jon wasn’t particularly worried about it though, the Spiders would take care of it soon enough.
Jane’s body was no where to be seen. Which Jon noted with some relief. It did however appear to confuse their intrepid rescuers.

“Jon?” Tim called out. “What happened where is Prentiss?” Jon sat up abruptly, nearly spilling the remains of his water down his shirt. Tim had not had curly hair before, that was, well it didn’t need to be concerning, but it was certainly noteworthy. Jon started to question it, but looking at all the outsiders in his Archives decided it was perhaps best to wait.

“Dead. She’s dead.”

Things moved quickly after that. The emergency response team that Tim had managed to call in quickly ushered them out of the Archives, much to Jon’s frustration. He did not want to leave his territory so soon after an attack. The Assistants were all thoroughly looked over and examined for signs of infestation, and Martin and Sasha were treated for their temporary hearing loss.
 
***
 
“And can you tell me the date sir?” The medic asked as he shone a pen light in Jon’s eye- only to flinch back violently when Jon’s eye caught the light and it reflected back, much in the way a cat’s eye might.

Jon very carefully explained to the paramedic trying to look him over why that was perhaps, continuing to treat him might not be the best of ideas. There may have been some Song involved, he was just thankful the medics assigned to him didn’t actually want to be there, and most medical professionals could be turned away from supernatural cases with a few carefully hummed notes.

No one wanted to be sectioned.

Jon’s biology was far enough off from human that it wasn’t worth the hassle of it all, he let them stick bandages on, but beyond that he would take care of his injuries himself, or he would go and see Georgie later that evening. Actually, that was probably a good idea anyway, the question about the date had made him realize that the Watched Crown was less than a week away, and Jon had done absolutely nothing to prepare to celebrate the holiday. He hadn’t even gotten Georgie a Crown gift! Not to mention the Archives would need to be decorated- it didn’t even occur to Jon as a possibility that he wouldn’t celebrate the Watched Crown in the Archives. His mind would have recoiled at the thought of celebrating a sacred holiday outside of his territory. Not to mention as a Temple it should hold a proper ceremony. It was only right.

Which meant of course that he would need to buy Crown gifts for his Humans, and somehow he doubted the traditional raw pork stuffed pies would go over well, and he was pretty sure siren liquor was deadly to humans, or at the very least likely to cause blindness. So that was out as a gift idea. He was deeply lost in thought when Elias approached him.

“Jon, I’ve been informed of an attack on the Archives, was everyone able to get out alright?” There was a hunger in his words that Jon was completely at a loss to explain.

“A few injuries, but nothing serious I don’t think.” Jon said. “I- I haven’t been able to speak with the others though, they are still under quarantine. I believe the medics wished to confirm they weren’t infected.”

“Why aren’t you in quarantine then?” The man asked the question like he already knew the answer and just wanted the satisfaction of hearing Jon say it. Jon didn’t actually have a good answer prepared, but he had a gut feeling that being honest here was a bad idea.

“I, um, I asked them to see to the others first.” He tried. Elias seemed inordinately pleased with the response, which set off warning bells in Jon’s mind. A man who wished to be king of a ruined world as all capitalists seemed to want, shouldn’t be so pleased to see that Jon wanted to look after his employees. In fact it was so out of character that Jon resolved to check if he had any old recordings of Elias’s voice. Perhaps the changeling that seemed to associated with the web table had claimed a victim after all. He recalled Rosie telling him that the table’s transfer to the Archives had been approved by Mr. Bouchard personally.

“Well, once you’ve been seen to, I recommend you go home Jon, You are being given three days of mandatory medical leave-“ Elias put up a hand to stop Jon’s protests. “The Archives are covered in biohazardous waste. I’ll need time to get a cleaning team in there. How did you manage to get rid of Prentiss by the way?” That question was a trap, Jon was certain of it. The desire Elias has to know, to understand, was so palpable that it was all Jon could do not to gag. It wasn’t a desire to know like a follower of Sirillus should have, it was a desire to hoard that knowing for himself. To know for his benefit only.

“Its- its all a bit fuzzy.” Jon said slowly. “I remember screaming, and then I blacked out. We were using a lot of Co2, to try and keep the worms at bay, I think I may have inhaled more of it than I thought, I don’t recall much.” None of it was technically a lie, Jon was a rubbish liar, but he wasn’t too terrible at selective truth telling. He had needed to be, you couldn’t always be honest with humans.

Elias didn’t seem convinced, but it didn’t look as though the suspected changeling intended to push the issue. Jon still breathed a sigh of relief when the man left though. Something wasn’t quite right about Elias Bouchard. Jon considered waiting for the others to finish up their medical checks, but he figured it would be a few hours yet, and he was more than tired enough to want to lay down and rest, and if he couldn’t do so in his own territory, than Georgie’s was the next best thing. He made sure to text to his Assistant’s that he was leaving, he made sure to imply it was a fear of doctors, but he figured the others were smart enough to realize it was less a fear and more a concern as a non human entity surrounded by human medics.

Not to mention, Jon was absolutely starving.

“Excuse me, are you the head Archivist? My name is Dr. Lionel Elliott, I’m here to make a statement.” Jon smiled. Almost forgetting to keep his lips closed over his teeth. Yes, that would do quite nicely. Dr. Elliott wanted very very badly to tell someone. To be absolved of what he had seen and to- unburden himself of- an apple? That was weird.

“Of course Dr. Elliott, please excuse the mess. I’d be happy to take your statement in one of the unused offices on the upper floor.
 
***

Jonah was conflicted. On the one hand, Prentiss had done her job. Jon had a shiny new mark of corruption, which was a good thing, no doubt about it. However, Jonah wasn’t the one to save Jon with the fire suppression system. Which meant that there was no gratitude from the other man he could use to manipulate with. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t actually get to Watch the Mark happen, but that part was more disappointing than worrying.

What was worrying, was that Jonah had genuinely no idea how they had beaten Prentiss. To make matters worse, Jon had lied to him about it. Which meant he knew something that Jonah didn’t. And that rankled.

He had approached Timothy Stoker in hopes of rifling through the man’s mind about what had happened, but all that produced was a headache. Tim’s thoughts were full of strange spiralling colours and Jonah didn’t stay in the man’s head long enough to find out there source. Perhaps he was marked by the Spiral, that should help unhinge Jonathon a little at least. So Jonah left the encounter with few concerns there, though no real useful information.

He attempted to gain access to Martin and Sahsa, but their unexplained sudden onset of hearing loss meant the paramedics were keeping a closer eye on them and Jonah was unable to get close enough to do any real digging.

He did know they had discovered the body of Gertrude Robinson. Which was neither here nor there in terms of importance. Jonah had Known they would find it eventually. Hopefully the paranoia of its discovery could help shake things up in the Archives. Jonah was thrilled that Jon had bonded so well with his Assistants. That he would put himself in harms way for them, it would make the man that much easier to Mark. All Jonah would need to do is ensure the Assistants were in the right kind of danger and Jonathan would come in like a white knight and get himself all marked up. Or, if Jon got too out of control, Jonah could always have one of them killed. Grief seemed to make people behave irrationally, and it would likely drive Jon deeper into the arms of the Ceaseless Watcher.

It did make him smile to see the hungry look on Jon’s face as he led the good Doctor away to take a statement though, that was an excellent sign of a growing Archivist. Perhaps soon it would be time to kick Jonathon from the nest as it were, with Jon out of the Archives it would be a great deal easier to keep an eye on him at any rate, and Jonah had big plans for further encounters with other entities.

Chapter Text

Jonah was going through the records of various police officers. He wanted to choose the perfect one to investigate Gertrude’s murder. Preferably, someone who might put his Archivist in the path of the Hunt. Ideally, he would have had more time to work on this. However, because of Prentiss’s attack happening sooner; he was having to scramble a little.

He would have loved to spend more time Watching the chaos of the attack, and possibly Watching Jon to see what his reactions were in the aftermath. Unfortunately, he had to concede that the short term pleasure he might get out of Watching the Archival team suffering from the aftermath of a traumatic attack would be worthless if he couldn’t arrange for a few more encounters for his Archivist. So he kept his Gaze turned away from Jon as he continued scouring the files, looking for the perfect officer.

***

Jon stared tiredly at the menu trying to fight off the lingering sense of bone deep anger and exhaustion. Between Dr. Elliott being a bigoted idiot over a few changeling children who came to him to learn, and the attack on his Archives he wasn’t really succeeding.

Martin and Sasha had  been sent home before he had finished with the doctor, so the only Assistant that remained to debrief was Tim. Jon had wanted to talk to Tim alone anyway- he had a great deal of questions for him about what had happened to him down in the tunnels. Tim however, had insisted on getting dinner. Jon hadn’t wanted to leave the Institute, not with people in his Archives, even if they were just cleaners. So they had compromised and gone to the little cafe across the street.

Jon was pretty sure the only thing on the menu that he could actually eat was the chicken fingers and ordering them felt so juvenile. He debated just going hungry, but he hated being the only one not eating at a restaurant, though. In the end, his anxious nature won out and he ordered..

“Tim, I need you to tell me what happened down in the tunnels,” Jon said once the food had arrived and Tim’s ban on speaking about work had been lifted. Tim told him about Michael— Shelley, and Jon blinked in surprise when Tim finished.

“Tim do you realize that you have received a blessing that some followers of Sirillus wait a lifetime to achieve? You have the blessing of one of the Guardians! That’s- that’s a big deal. Not to mention that you were marked by the encounter, a clear sign of favour.”

“Huh, wish I’d got their number instead. They were hot, you never mentioned that part.” Jon stared blankly at Tim.

“What?” He asked flatly.

“You know, in a mind tending swirly kind of way. Total hottie,” Tim said, immensely enjoying Jon’s reactions.

“Tim— were you flirting with the mentally scarred Guardian of the Gates of Madness?” Jon asked, like a man who knows the answer but is desperately hoping that he will be proven wrong. Tim shot Jon a grin. Jon massaged his temples with the palms of his hands, mindful of his claws.

“Don’t worry boss, I don’t think Shelley noticed anyway.”

“Your curly hair would beg to differ,” Jon said dryly. Tim’s brows furrowed in confusion. He kept his hair quite short and evidently hadn’t had time to look in a mirror. He pulled at a strand on his forehead, feeling the way it bounced and sprung back into place.

“Huh.” He said. Jon watched him carefully.

“Do you think it’s permanent?” He asked after a pause. Jon gave this some thought. He had never heard of a mark going away- not without some pretty drastic action, and even then there were always traces left behind.

“I would suspect so,” He said. Tim pursed his lips.

“Suppose I’ll have to change up my hair care routine then,” Tim said with a trace of something Jon couldn’t quite define. Even Tim’s desires were confusing. Though near as Jon could tell the strongest of those desires at the moment was to take a nap.

The rest of the meal passed without any other disturbing revelations and Jon was all too happy to slide Tim the chips that had come with his meal. After they had finished and paid, Jon began to make his way back to his Archives. He wanted to check and ensure the Spiders hadn’t been unduly disturbed by the cleaning crews and police investigators. He flinched when he felt Tim’s hand land in his shoulder.

“And where do you think you’re going, boss? Tube station is in the other direction.”

“I need to go back to-“

“Nope.” Tim said cheerfully as he began dragging Jon along with him, easily overpowering the smaller man. “Nope, you’re not going back to work. You are going to go home. Sleep in a real bed, and then tomorrow you are going to text one of us so we can make sure you're actually taking your requisite three days off.” Jon hunched in on himself, a rising anger at being cut off from his Territory colouring his mind. He unconsciously bared his teeth in a snarl and Tim took a step back in surprise.

“Boss?” The slight tremor in Tim’s voice managed to snap Jon out of it.

“I- oh god, I’m sorry Tim- it’s, well,” Jon felt the heat rise in his face. “It’s a Territory thing, the Archives are Mine. I just, I need to check in on them. I, I promise I’ll go home after— I just.” Jon was starting to shake a bit now. The shock from the attack and the anger at the statement of Dr. Elliott was finally wearing off and everything was beginning to hit him all at once. He needed to be in his Archives. He swallowed hard.

“Ok Jon.” Tim said utterly serious. “If that’s what you need, just, look after yourself ok?” Jon nodded and Tim beat a hasty retreat. Even after Jon had told them about what he was- even after being controlled by Jon, Jon had never scared Tim; not really anyway. Unnerved him perhaps, but the snarl on Jon’s face? Tim wanted a bit of distance from that.

***

Having checked in with his Archives and been satisfied that they were relatively unmolested by the strangers coming and going, Jon decided that perhaps it was a good idea to take some of that time off. His violent reaction with Tim had scared him a little and as much as he did want to hole up in the Archives and fortify their defences— they were still an active crime scene at the moment. He was probably better off avoiding the police if at all possible.

Non-human beings tended to have a somewhat strained relationship with the police. Jon more so than most, given how often he had been brought home by them from his wanderings as a child.

So Jon went home, and finally managed to get some sleep.

Much to his dismay, he found himself dreaming of Dr. Elliot. The man was gibbering in terror over a small group of what Jon knew were very young changelings. It was pathetic.

The nice thing was, that as he seemed to be aware of himself in the dream. He was able to imagine a door and leave, shifting into a deeper dreamless rest.

***

Georgie had not been impressed that Jon had waited a full day to tell her about the attack on his Territory. She demanded he come over for cuddles from the Admiral and so she could ensure he was ok. She had fussed over him for a while. He had tried his best to brush her off, his chronic inability to care for himself rearing its head.

“I think I am going to give my Assistants Crown gifts,” He finally said, in partto distract her from the attack on the Archives and the poorly bandaged worm injuries, but mostly because he did actually want her opinion on the idea.

“Jon are you sure? That’s a huge step!” She said, eyes wide in surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to gift-give this quickly.”

Jon pressed his face into the warm fur of the Admiral and mumbled into the cat's fluff.

“Jonathon Sims have you already given your Assistants gifts?” Jon mumbled into the Admiral again, but upon glancing up and seeing Georgie’s glare he sat back up and cleared his throat.

“Only Martin,” He muttered. Then, a little more defensively, “and it was only because he didn’t have any proper food in the Archives. I brought him breakfast.”

“Oh, Jon,” Georgie said fondly, shaking her head. She wondered how long it would take her ridiculous ex to figure out he had feelings for Martin. “Ok, well if you're going to properly celebrate the Watched Crown in the Archives, I suppose I had better come and join you.”

“What!? Georgie- no, you, you should be with your choir! It wouldn’t be fair to-”

“Jon, you are well on your way to becoming a Priest, and this is going to be the first time you will perform any proper rites in your temple. Of course, I’m going to be there to support you. Besides, knowing you, you’ll celebrate during work hours anyway. My choir’s not planning on meeting up until 6.” Jon offered Georgie a hesitant smile, it would be nice to have her there for him.

“But you-” she said, poking him in the chest. “will need to carve a new crown.”

“What? Why?” Jon asked. She gave him a look.

“Jon you are a budding priest, do you really think yours is going to cut it?”

“Hmm, you may have a point,” He conceded, thinking of his birch bark crown- it was fine for the solitary celebrations he’d had the last few years, but for a temple ceremony he may require something a little more traditional.

“Thankfully, one of my choir is a blacksmith- so consider this your early Watched Crown gift.” She said standing and pulling Jon to his feet, forcing the Admiral to jump gracefully to the ground. “Come on, I’ll give her a call and then we are going for a fitting.

***

Jon spent the remaining days of his medical leave preparing for the upcoming holiday. He found if his energy was focused on preparations, he didn’t feel the pull to return so strongly. Though he was very excited to get back and read a few statements, he was beginning to get hungry.

When it was finally time to return to his Archives, Jon made certain he was there early. He checked that the Spiders had been left alone, and was presently surprised to see that a few more had arrived, bringing the total up to 5. Jon felt deeply blessed.

The table was still sitting outside his Archives. The table cloth he had put over it was now held in place by thousands of web strands, making Jon smile. If Elias was a changeling, Jon would know if he came back to look at the table. There would be no way to see it without breaking the delicate strands.

He took extra care to retrace the sigils carved into the door, carving them deeper and adding on with sigils he didn’t even remember learning, though he must have at some point, because he just, Knew somehow were right. As he carved them, he sang power into them as loud as he dared. Though, it was unlikely anyone would be here this early.

After he had given his Archives a very thorough inspection, and re-carved his claim into as much of the space as he felt reasonable, Jon began to decorate. The Watched Crown wouldn’t be celebrated until Friday, but Jon had always enjoyed decorating  and this was a temple after all. He couldn’t see the problem with making the place a bit more festive. Within reason, of course. Nothing that would get in the way of his Assistants doing their jobs and the like, but Jon thought that after the attacks of the previous week; it might help make the space feel brighter and safer.

Of course Jon failed to realize that perhaps hanging eye themed decorations might have the opposite effect on humans who had never celebrated a Watched Crown before. So when Sasha arrived to work that day she was understandably unnerved.

“Jon? Is everything ok?” She asked looking around nervously. The Archives always made her feel like she was being watched, but this was a little ridiculous.

“What?” He looked up from the string of eye themed streamers he was affixing to the wall. On a table behind him a tape recorder clicked on. “Yes! Of course, how are you feeling? Has your hearing recovered?” Jon could see, if he squinted and tilted his head sideways that she had a mark of sorts from Gaia, presumably from Simon, though possibly from the book he had loaned her— which gave him an excellent idea for a gift.

“Oh, yes, full recovery, no more ringing either- and, I do have a lot of questions about what happened. But first, Jon why are there eyes like, everywhere?” Sasha thought she did an admirable job of keeping her voice level and not panicking. Jon looked around at the eye themed decorations hung on nearly every wall. In hindsight he may have been over enthusiastic.

“Ah, they, um decorations?”

“Decorations for what, exactly Jon?”

“Oh! Ah, well.” It occurred to Jon that despite his Assistants knowing that he was a siren, and knowing about the lesser gods, he hadn’t really told them about any of the holidays, aside from the Great Twisting, and that was more in relation to Mic-Shelley; not the actual celebrations. “This, ah, this Friday is a holiday. I thought it might be nice to put up some decorations?”

“Right, and which holiday involves thousands of eyes exactly?” Sasha asked with infinite patience.

“The Watched Crown.” Jon said.

“Ok, so, I’m gonna text Tim and Martin and warn them about the eyeballs.  And then, I think it would be a good idea if we sat down and you shared with us, what exactly we should expect from an eyeball holiday.”Jon tried not to be offended by the phrase ‘eyeball holiday.’ Judging from the way Sasha’s eyes softened he doubted he succeeded.

“I don’t mean that in an offensive way, it’s just, a lot of eyes.”

“I- ah, I can see how it might be startling if it wasn’t expected,” Sasha gave him a flat look.

“You will pay for that pun. I hope you realize that Tim is going to be a million times worse with those.” Jon bit back a groan, he had no doubt she was right about that.

Jon went into his office while Sasha texted the others, a knock on his door not long after told him that the others had arrived, and Jon quickly found himself in the break room; he noted that the Spider guardian there had already rebuilt its home in front of the security camera.

On the table were two tins of homemade cookies. One contained what appeared to be chocolate chip, and the other, labeled Jon, was some sort of salmon based baked good. Apparently, Martin had been so happy to be back home that he decided to bake for everyone. Jon felt touched that Martin would have made something special just for him.

“So boss, what’s up with the eyeballs?” Tim asked after everyone had taken a cookie- Martin’s baking was nothing to scoff at- even at 9 in the morning. Tim’s hair Jon noted was very carefully styled this morning- gelled back as much as possible, though already escaping the hold of the product. Marks of the Hallways didn’t like to be contained.

“Right, it’s well, the Watched Crown is one of three holidays sacred to Sirillus- whose temple I will remind you, you all work in. One aspect of Sirillus is that of watching, or seeing and learning. Once a year we celebrate that aspect with the Watch Crown. It is a holiday that celebrates being seen, and Knowing what those around you desire. There are traditional songs, which better allow other sirens to read the desires of the others singing, and it’s a time of closeness and openness.” Jon gave an embarrassed cough before adding, “it’s, ah, my favourite holiday.”

“It’s neat that you want to share your, uh, culture with us like that Jon,” Martin said.

“Yeah, the eyes may be a bit creepy, but I can get used to them, and the idea behind them seems nice enough.” Tim added, playing with one of his newly freed curls. Jon smiled at them and took a bite of his cookie.

***

Jonah Magnus had ensured a few more cameras had been installed in the Archives, in addition to several microphones. He had come into work early, in anticipation of his Archivist doing the same. So, he was watching as Jon stared at the cloth covered table,before  he began scratching something into the door.

The microphone had let out a horrible screech of feedback and Jonah had to rip the headphones out of his ears and hastily mute the microphones before the noise deafened him. As he watched Jon go inside and continue to  scratch something into the doorways, the feedback was always the same.

Some of the cameras were down, too- which was to be expected. The Archives did have a great deal of interference from  all those statements housed in close proximity. There were enough cameras up, however, that Jonah could see Jon hanging up streamers decorated with stylized eyes. What did Jon know about the Eye? Was he already powerful enough to use artificial eyes to peer through? Jonah had never heard of an Archivist with such an ability!

He tried to look through the eyes that his Archivist was pinning to the wall, but found he was utterly unable to. Perhaps that had been the purpose of the strange symbols Jon had carved into the doors? A way to keep him out? How could Jon have learned something like that? Jonah hadn’t even known such sigils existed! Jon was quickly becoming more powerful than Jonah was comfortable with.

He watched with interest when Ms. James entered the Archives, she seemed unnerved by all the eyes. Jonah decided to see that as a good thing. . That meant Jon hadn’t trusted his Assistants with whatever arcane knowledge he had uncovered. So surely that meant Jon didn’t trust his Assistants all that much. The paranoia was good, Jonah could work with that.

When the others came in they seemed more amused by the eyes than afraid, but Jonah was sure that was because of Ms. James warning them, not Jon. He eagerly watched them head towards the break room, only to realize that the camera in there had already stopped working, showing only white. He tried one final time to access the microphone, only to be met with distortion and static.

Fine. If it was going to be like that then Jon needed to be out of the Archives. With how powerful he seemed to be already, perhaps it was time Jonah upped his timeline, lest Jon became  wise to what he was attempting before he got the chance to initiate his grand ritual.

Jonah shut his laptop.

He needed to make a few calls.

Chapter Text

The Archives looked a great deal different now than when Basira has seen them only a few days before. She had come in initially to see if she couldn’t land an interview with the Head Archivist. Try to get a feel for him- maybe  give a statement if need be. She wanted to rule him out as a suspect for Gertrude’s murder first, since he objectively had the most to gain by her death. She hadn’t had a chance to speak with him yet, due to all the chaos of the worms in the Institute, and then his immediate medical leave.

Jonathan Sims certainly had an interesting record.

According to the file she had collected on him, he had been questioned about the disappearance of one Thomas Edgar back in 1995. The statement he gave had been deemed borderline section 31 material. The child had claimed a giant spider ate the boy for messing with a holy artifact. Basira would have done what the original investigating officer did; written it off as an 8 year old kid saying weird things... except now he worked for the Magnus Institute. A veritable hotbed of weird, as the Head of weirdest part of all:

The Archives.

The department was certainly living up to its reputation, she was unnerved to find every inch of the walls were covered in party streamers that looked like eyes. All sorts of eyes:  snake eyes, human eyes, goat eyes— it seemed the decorator had been more concerned with the quantity rather than any kind of matching.

“Hey, can I help you?” She was greeted by a relatively attractive young man with some of the curliest hair she had ever seen struggling against the confines of whatever product he had used in an attempt to tame it.

“Yes. I’m here to see Jonathan Sims?” She said flashing her badge.

“Oh, this about the whole thing with Gertrude?” He asked, casually leaning against his desk in a way that Basira got the impression was definitely practised.

“Why? Do you have information?” She asked.

“If you think Jon did it you’re way off base, that guy hates Gertrude Robinson, but he only started hating her after he became Head Archivist. He’s not exactly a fan of her filing systems.” He said with a smile at some private joke.

“Right, and how do you know he didn’t hate her before?” She asked, watching his reactions. He shrugged.

“I’ve known the guy for years, besides he hates her cuz of how bad her filing is, that’s no reason to shoot someone. Knowing Jon he’d have much rather given her a stern talking to.” He didn’t add that Jon’s talking to might have a little more umf than most peoples, but Basira got the impression that a ‘talking to’ from Jon might be something to be avoided.

“Ok, thank you?”

“Tim, Tim Stoker.”

“Thank you Mr. Stoker, and Mr. Sims office is?”

“Oh, just down through there.” Tim said pointing her to a door with some curious markings carved into it.

“Right, one last question, what’s with all the eyes?” Tim looked a little embarrassed at that.

“Boss man had an interesting upbringing so far as I understand it. I think this is how he copes.” Basira couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. The man was unflappable. She nodded at him and left— she came here for a reason.

***

Basira’s statement hadn’t been anything unexpected for Jon, there wasn’t really any new information in it. Not to mention she hadn’t really wanted to give a statement in the first place so it was about as nourishing as a rice cracker. The fact that he was gaining anything from it at all was actually quite surprising.

“July 18th, 2014. I remember because it was the hottest day of the year, and the air con in the car was out, so we were really suffering. It was me and Alice Tonner, who… everyone calls her “Daisy”, but I-“ Jon perked up at that immediately.

“Wait, you know Daisy?” Basira blinked hard as if coming out of a trance.

“Yeah, we’ve worked a fair amount of cases together, why?”

“Oh, I’ve known Daisy for years- do tell her I said hello?” Basira filled that away for later use and continued her statement. Afterwards she mentioned the tapes to Jon, but he wasn’t particularly interested in them. Nothing Gertrude Robinson had to say was of any real interest to him. Frankly, he wasn’t sorry the woman was dead, and wouldn’t mind shaking the hand of her killer. After what she did to Michael Shelley, she didn’t deserve mercy as far as Jon was concerned.

***

When Basira finally left, Jon heard a knock on his office door followed by Sasha’s sheepish expression.

“What can I do for you, Sasha?” Jon asked, he could sense that she desired to tell him something and that she very badly didn’t want to.

“Hey Jon, have you seen my notebook anywhere?”

“No I don’t believe so, why?” Sasha sighed in frustration.

“I think I must have dropped it in the tunnels, while I was running from the worms. It- um, well I was keeping notes on the book you gave me and— ”

“Ah, so we should probably go looking for it then.” Jon cut in. It was unfortunate, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t eager to explore the tunnels for himself.

“I- yes,” Sasha took a deep breath. Jon could feel how deeply she didn’t want to go back into the tunnels.

“Why don’t you give me a description and I’ll take Martin to go look for it?” He offered, and her brief desire to hug him in gratitude would have made him stumble had he been standing.

“Are, are you sure? I, I can go—”

“Sasha, it’s fine. Send Martin in and we’ll go look for it.”

***

Martin wasn’t exactly thrilled to be down in the tunnels. But, when Jon had asked him if he could help he hadn’t been able to push enough of his crush to say no. Martin was already missing the breakfasts they had shared together when he had been living in the Archives. So, he was unwisely grateful for the chance to spend some more one on one time with Jon.

Jon had his own ulterior motives for asking Martin down to the tunnels. He already had gifts for Sasha and Tim, but he had no idea what to get for Martin. Martin’s desires confused him. Martin desired things deeply, but they seemed mostly to be non material desires. Which made gift giving very difficult. Jon was hoping to ask Martin a few leading questions which might allow certain desires to flicker to the surface without Jon needing to actually invade Martin’s privacy.

“So... the Watched Crown, what’s the point of it? Or, sorry, I mean like— most holidays sort of have an, an origin? I guess?” Martin said as they walked through the tunnels, glad the light from their torches meant the deep blush colouring his face wasn’t visible.

“Oh!” Jon said not so secretly thrilled to hear Martin taking an interest. “Well, it’s- hmm, so the lesser gods have many different aspects. One of the aspects of Sirillus is that of the Watcher. The unblinking sight. The concept of being utterly known and loved for yourself in your entirety. Those of us who are patronized by the lesser gods celebrate holidays that allow us to bring those aspects of the lesser closer to our reality. The Watched Crown is a celebration of what it is to truly Know the people around you and be Known in turn.” Jon had to stop himself here, he knew he was prone to rambling.

“So why all the eyes then?

“It’s something of a short hand—  the actual crowns that are traditionally worn allow a stronger connection to Sirillus once the singing begins, but beyond that- I suppose it’s similar to tinsel at Christmas. Ah, sometimes there is an exchange of gifts—  though it’s, ah, it’s not done unless you are quite close.” Jon could feel his face heating up as he spoke and was entirely unsure as to why. “We, um, well, if you can sense desire exchanging gifts can be a very personal experience.” He managed to stammer out. Jon kept his senses carefully attuned to anything Martin might fleetingly desire as he spoke.

He managed to just catch the edge of a desire and blinked in surprise. Not at all what he had been expecting.

“That’s, a um, huh, I, I never thought about that.” Martin could feel his face warming again as he thought about Jon sensing his desires, and the start of a poem about how he was feeling began to stir in his mind. “And, and you celebrate the Watched Crown on Friday then? Is that— ” Jon stopped walking, putting a hand out to stop Martin as well.

There was something else in the tunnels with them. It was breathing very hard. Jon took a step back. Then grabbed Martin’s hand and began to run. When he couldn’t hear it anymore, he slowed and Martin turned to him wild eyed, panic clear on his face.

“What was that!? What’s happening Jon?!”

“There’s something else in the tunnels with us. I- I could hear it breathing. We— let’s get out of here.” Jon said, making sure to scratch extra protections around the trap door to guard against any unwanted supernatural intruders after their hasty exit. He instituted an Archive wide ban of tunnel exploration.

***

His heart hammered as he heard the words Watched Crown. Surely not, His hands shook as he mourned the idea that all of Gertrude’s work would be for nothing. He was not a brave man, but he clenched his fists. Surely, surely there was something he could do to stop it.

There had to be.

***

Tim was suffering. He had possessed straight hair all his life, and sure it had plenty of natural volume, but it had nothing  on the mop of curls that exploded from his head these days. His experiments with gel had been abject failures, and it was looking like the £8 he had spent on a hair straightener wouldn’t be a viable long term solution, either. He was pretty sure it was also longer than it had been pre-curl, which meant it must be some weird supernatural bullshit he didn’t really want to think about.

He was pretty sure if he could actually figure out how curls were supposed to work he would absolutely rock the look. But so far, all they seemed to want to do was frizz; no matter how much he brushed them. It was infuriating. He glared at the mirror.

“There has got to be a way to make you behave.” He said staring intently at the ball of fluff his hair had turned into as soon as he touched the brush to it. Maybe if he wet it? “Come on Tim,” he said to himself. “You have a masters in Anthropology. You can manage curly hair.”

There was a sudden peal of echoing laughter. Tim whipped around to see Shelley standing in a doorway that had definitely not been there a moment ago.

“Oh hey, Shelley,” Tim said, attempting to run a hand through his hair to smooth it, only for his fingers to get stuck. Shelley laughed even harder.

“You seem to be struggling, Tim,” They said through their laughter. Tim was actually pretty sure he still heard them laughing as they spoke, which was enough of a head trip that he decided not to think about it too hard.

“I— alright, yeah, I’m a little lost with the new ‘do.” He said as he attempted to extract his hand from the frizzy mess on his head. Tim was a man who knew when to accept that he was far, far out of his depth.

“You shouldn’t bush it,” Shelley said when they had finished laughing. “and you need more conditioner. The—  the me before I was not, had hair like that. There are... things I could share, I think.” Shelley said, tilting their head to a familiar bizarre angle, watching Tim. Tim’s eyes went up to where he could see some of the frizz sitting in his forehead.

“Yes, please,” Tim said, accepting defeat. Tim had to admit that Shelley’s curls were a true sight to behold. If Shelley could get his to look half as good he’d be back in business.

Shelley laughed again and took the brush from Tim’s hands.

***

Jon was excited. He had baked some specialty biscuits for himself and Georgie, and bought an assortment of what he was pretty sure were human safe baked goods. Originally, he had tried to bake some human safe food too, but he had no way to test if it was edible and Jon couldn’t imagine something that smelt that unappetizing could possibly be edible.

The velvet bag with his new crown was heavy in his grip as he walked up the front steps of the Magnus Institute. The ever present feeling of being watched was stronger today, and Jon welcomed it like a dear friend. He could hardly keep the smile off his face— until he saw Elias chatting with Rosie. Directly between him, and his Archives. Jon had to fight to keep the snarl off his face. He still wasn’t sure if Elias was a changeling or not, but the suspicion that he might be made it even more difficult to like or respect the man. Considering that if he were a changeling, the original Elias Bouchard was likely dead.

“Ah, Jon. I was hoping to speak with you, would you join me in my office for a moment?” Jon awkwardly shifted the boxes of food. And followed Elias up to his office. The man’s desires and fantasies of kingship were more violent than usual.

Jonah Watched Jon carefully as the man trailed behind him up to his office. The horrific and twisting singing in Jon’s head seemed to have a different tone to it today- Jonah hoped he was slowly gaining the ability to understand it. It was infuriating, normally his beloved god granted him the power to Know any language he desired. Now, it wouldn’t even tell him what language Jon seemed inclined to think in. Simon hadn’t been much help, either. Jonah knew he couldn’t really afford to push too hard with any of the Fairchilds, if he wanted their continued funding. All Simon had done when Jonah asked him about Jon was laugh and say their families went way back, which was deeply useless information.

“What is this about, Elias?” Jon asked when they arrived in his office.

“Ah yes, well the security cameras in the Archives are malfunctioning again, so there will be a repairman down on Monday to take a look at them.” Jon nodded, unsurprised to hear it. The spiders seemed to enjoy covering the cameras with their webs as much as possible. Jon trusted their judgement, so he didn’t bother to fix the problem.

“That said Jon, it’s come to my attention that you have decorated the Archives with some, unconventional styling choices, if I may ask—”

“They will be down by Monday,” Jon replied sharply.

“...I see.” Jonah said. He really didn’t. “Was there a reason for the decorations or-“

“Just, just trying to improve Tem- office morale,” Jon managed to get out.

“Hmm, well, in the future do try to keep from cluttering up the Archives.” Jonah noted with interest that the skin beneath Jon’s eye twitched slightly at that. And the painful singing in the man’s head took on what seemed like an angrier tone. Interesting.

“Of course, Elias.” Jon bit out.

“I do hope you don’t mind if I take one of those pastries, Jon. Think of it as insurance that I look the other way about you bringing so much food into the Archives. We do have a mouse problem, you know,” Jonah added reproachfully.

Jon barely managed to keep himself from snarling. First of all, they had a mouse problem, but between the exterminators called in to deal with Prentiss’s leftover worms and the spiders, there weren’t mice in Jon’s Archives anymore. He also didn’t want Elias to have any of the things he had brought for his people. Elias wasn’t his, Elias hadn’t earned a Gift of any sort from Jon. And the way his fingers were reaching out to open the lid of the very top container made Jon want to claw the man.

Jonah took a moment to delight in Jon’s utter frustration. He didn’t have to be able to read minds to see what was telegraphed across Jon’s face. So caught up in his momentary victory, he wasn’t really paying attention to which pastry he grabbed. Unfortunately, this meant that it was only after he brought it up to his lips and took a large bite, that he heard Beholding screaming at him not to and recognized the look of dawning horror on Jon’s face.

Jonah had tasted meat pies before and had lived through the horrors of the 1950s’ obsession with gelatine. This was some unholy combination of both.

Animal blood being turned into some kind of jelly, with bits of ground bone, and some kind of shredded raw meat were tucked inside the innocent looking pastry. With a great deal of care, Jonah forced himself to swallow as he put the pastry back in the container in front of him. However, the worst of part of it all, was that it was spicy. Very very spicy. He tried to suppress a cough.

“That’s-ahem, that’s an interesting recipe,” He managed.

“It’s, um, it’s an old family recipe.” Jon said looking on in horror. “It’s a little spicy for most people.” He offered, trying to give Elias a way to save face.

“Hmm, well! That was all then, Jon. You may go.” Jonah said. Aware that sweat was beading on his forehead and that his face was beginning to turn red.

“Right, uh, right... I’ll just— ” Jon beat a hasty retreat and Jonah waited an impressive two minutes before pressing the buzzer on the intercom.

“Rosie, could you bring up a carton of milk from the cafeteria, please.” He said, managing to keep it together just long enough to get the words out.

He then made his way to his private bathroom at what he considered to be a reasonable walking pace, but was in fact a half mad graceless stumble.

***

Jon couldn’t help but wince as his sensitive hearing picked up Elias’s plea for milk after he left the office. Traditional Siren food tended to be quite spicy, and by quite spicy, it meant that the pastries that Jon had made for Georgie and himself contained several Carolina reapers, and a combination of various other spices that Jon was pretty sure might actually kill a human. It was a good thing Elias had only eaten one bite.

Still Jon didn’t feel too bad, hopefully now the man would know better than to take Gifts that we’re not his to take. At the very least, Jon figured it would probably be enough to keep Elias out of the Archives for a while. Siren food tended to linger and Jon doubted Elias would be getting much work done today.

He smiled as he crossed the threshold into his Archives. He could practically feel the thrum of energy that soaked through the velvet bag of his crown. When he had been a child, he had worn it all day long, hardly able to bear taking it off. He never felt so utterly seen and accepted as he seemed to on the day of the Watched Crown. It was impossible to feel lonely when you felt that there was something out there, even if it wasn’t on your plain of existence, that truly Knew you in your entirety.

Jon couldn’t help but hum as he laid food out for everyone, making sure to label the items for himself and Georgie clearly. Then he carefully placed the gifts on the counter.

He checked his phone, Georgie had sent him a message saying she would be there soon, with a little yawning emoji. Jon made sure to turn on the ancient break room coffee pot in addition to the kettle.

Jon had absolutely no intention of getting work done today. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t make up for the lost time on Saturday. So, while he waited for the others to arrive, he began selecting statements at random and putting them into his bag. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to take so many, but the Watched Crown was a good day to follow your instincts, so Jon didn’t really question it too much.

He was glad to see that Georgie arrived first, it would give him a chance to give her her gift and a proper tour of his Territory. It felt a little wrong that she had never seen it, and a part of him wished she could have brought the Admiral with her, too. Though considering the dog incident of his first day, it was probably for the best that the no animals policy stayed in place.

“Wow Jon, how many spiders do you have in here? I’ve counted three but-”

“Five.” Jon said with pride noting that it appeared that yet another camera had been obscured by the web. If Sirillus didn’t want cameras in his Archives, then perhaps it was meant to be a sign that Elias wasn’t to be trusted, considering how much he seemed to want the cameras working. Something to consider later certainly. Jon had always found it was easier to figure things out on the day of the Watched Crown.

“That’s incredible, Jon.” Georgie said with a smile. “For what it’s worth I think you’ll make a great Priest.” Jon felt his face heat up. He took a sip of tea to hide it, before setting it down on the table again. There wasn’t a lot of room with all the food, but there weren’t a lot of great places to sit in the Archives with drinks.

“Well the spiders are a good start I suppose,” He conceded.

“Speaking of which—! Put on your Crown! I want to see it!” Jon smiled, her enthusiasm was infectious, reminding him how much he loved the holidays. He reached into the velvet bag and pulled it out. Georgie whistled appreciatively and Jon trilled in delight. It really was beautiful.

It was silver, set to look like branches. The gaps created by the branch pattern made the eyes set in the space appear to be looking out from behind the forest. The eyes themselves were lovingly painted glass, a wide variety of colours and species represented. Jon passed it to Georgie for inspection while he parted and braided his hair. The Watched Crown was about honesty; so Jon made sure that the style allowed the pointed tips of his ears to show. When he was finished he leaned forward and allowed Georgie to place the crown on his head.

“Right, now my gift for you.” He said as he adjusted the crown. He passed her a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. Inside was a handwritten book of Hungarian recipes written in Sirilan. It hadn’t been easy to find, but Jon had managed to get in touch with a Choir from Hungary and they had shared their favourite siren safe recipes.

Georgie’s eyes lit up as she realized what the book was.

“Thank you Jon, it’s perfect,” Jon tilted his head to the side.

“The others are coming down the stairs now.” He said standing up.

“How can you tell?” Georgie asked, she couldn’t hear anything, and her hearing was just as good as Jon’s.

“I, I’m not sure actually,” Jon said with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Wow boss, that’s a good look for you!” Jon glanced up to see Tim coming around the corner, Martin and Sasha in tow. Tim’s curls were, not tamed, but managed. There was a chaotic energy about them, but they were significantly less frizzy so Jon assumes Tim was making progress in learning how to manage them.

“Happy, uh, Watched Crown, Jon.” Martin added, and Jon gave him a small closed smile.

“Yeah, oh, and um, hi, I’m Sasha,” Came the third voice as she managed to get out from behind the two men.

“Oh! Uh, this is Georgie, she’s um, she’s like me.” Jon said, he hadn’t really thought about how best to introduce Georgie to his humans. He knew with cats you were supposed to keep them in a separate room for a while and allow them to get used to each other’s scent. But people were trickier than that. He watched Georgie carefully for her reaction. He really wanted her to like them.

“Hi everyone, nice to meet you!” She said offering them a big smile, not bothering to hide her pointed teeth. “You guys wanna see embarrassing pictures of Jon?”

In hindsight, it may have been a mistake to introduce the four of them.

Chapter Text

Jon was afraid to look. 

His Assistants were all crowded around Georgie’s phone looking at pictures. He did not want to know what pictures those were. Georgie once had access to Jon’s childhood photo albums. A dangerous fact that Jon was now painstakingly reminded of.

“Are those googly eyes?!” Sasha asked in excitement. Jon sighed, finally giving in as he walked over to glance at the picture Georgie had displayed. A much younger version of him was sitting on the living room floor, construction paper and cheap plastic googly eyes spread out and intense concentration in his posture. Jon rolled his eyes and went to go eat a meat pie. He would let the assistants and Georgie have their fun, after all, it was in the spirit of the holiday.

Art by ThisIsGreat(ao3)

the-arlunwyr(tumblr)

“So what exactly are the eyeball crowns for anyway?” Sasha asked. Georgie had put her own crown on now. It was a more traditional birch bark, but little eyes had been painted along the edges, in an electric green.

“They amplify our connection to Sirillus,” Georgie replied.

“That’s an oversimplification-“ Jon cut in.

“Yes, but I doubt they want to hear your ten page rant on cultural significance, Jon.” She countered fondly. He crossed his arms irritably.

Martin felt like his heart was going to explode. First, he comes down into the Archives to find Jon, silver streaked hair expertly braided back and a silver wrought crown upon his head- the man looked like an elven King. That was bad enough, but then Jon’s friend had pulled out the pictures.

Martin had never been able to picture Jon as young. He carried himself with so much self possessed pride and dignity that it was hard to imagine that Jonathan Sims had even been a teenager let alone a child!

But staring up at him from Georgie’s phone, was a young boy that was unmistakably Jon. He was happy in a carefree way that Martin has never seen from the present day Jon. The desire to see that carefree smile on the adult Jon’s face burned in his heart.

***

Jon was slowly beginning to come to a realization about Martin. He had Screamed around the man, so there was absolutely no possible way that Martin could still be under his influence. And yet... Jon Knew that there was something there, an emotion, perhaps. It was deeper than just his innate ability to sense Martin’s desires. He could not deny that Martin desired to see him smile, and to hold his hand and—  

Jon was beginning to think that Georgie had been right. That Martin might have a crush on him. 

An actual human crush.

Jon wasn’t really sure what to do with that.

“Hey Jon, pass me one of those cakes.” Georgie said snapping Jon out of his musings. He obediently passed one over. “Did you make enough for me to take a few home?” She asked, humming appreciatively as she took a bite.

“I did, though Elias stole one this morning,” Jon said with some distaste. Georgie slapped a hand to her forehead.

“Jon, you do remember what happens to humans when they eat Siren food, don’t you?” She asked with more patience in her voice than she felt.

Jon narrowed his eyes. This felt like a trick question.

“I am fairly certain that Elias isn’t human.” Jon said, and Tim choked on a cupcake he had been eating. “Besides, he only had one bite.”

“Jon, I know you were homeschooled and didn’t really interact with humans until uni but really-”

“What happens when a human eats siren food?” Sasha asked.

“Aside from burning their oesophagus from the spices?” Georgie began. “Well you know the myths about Fae food?” Sasha nodded. “I’m fairly certain siren food is the origin of that. One bite is enough to pretty much strip a human of their taste buds, especially the way Jon makes it.” Georgie said shooting a look Jon’s way.

“I don’t feel bad about it at all.” Jon said primly. “He stole a Gift. Any consequences he incurs from that are his own fault.” Georgie snorted.

“Yeah ok, that’s fair, from what you’ve told me he’s a bit of a douche anyway.”

“Speaking of Gifts, though,” Jon said with a nervous cough. “I- well, I have something for all of you.” Jon’s face felt hot, and he intentionally didn’t look at Georgie as he reached in his bag and pulled out three small inexpertly wrapped packages. “I wouldn’t expect you to-”

“Oh! We have something for you too Jon!” Sasha said standing up. “Martin told us what you said to him in the tunnels about gifts and the importance of them. And, well we didn’t want to overstep our boundaries, so we all chipped in together to get you something.” She handed Jon a medium sized box. He was too surprised to try and refuse so he accepted it without protest.

“I, I don’t know what to say.” He said looking down in surprise.

“Then don’t say anything and open it!” Tim said cheerfully. Jon did, carefully slicing through the tape with a claw.

“You didn’t give us a lot of time to brainstorm ideas. So it is a little slapdash.” Sasha added a little reproachfully as Jon pulled the box open.

Inside there were several things. 

Jon pulled out a mug that said: “I eat statements when Elias isn’t looking”. He immediately looked over at Tim and got a shit eating grin in response. Jon couldn’t help the small smile that teased at the corners of his own mouth. Next there was a package of chewable pen toppers as well as a titanium pen which proclaimed itself ‘indestructible.’

Underneath there was a soft hand knit pair of black fingerless gloves and a matching scarf.

“I, um, I figured normal gloves might be a bit of a challenge to wear with your claws.” Martin said blushing when Jon looked up.

It was a deeply thoughtful gesture and there was a strange weight in Jon’s chest that he was entirely at odds to explain. He blinked hard at the box

“I- thank, thank you. All of you. This is, well, unexpected but, thank you.” Georgie was beaming at him and Jon quickly focused on handing out the small packages he had for his Assistants so that he didn’t have to look at her.

Tim opened his first, it was the largest by a fair bit, and beneath the wrapping was a box label “Curly Hair Care Kit 3c”

“It’s, um, I thought it might be beneficial.” Jon said awkwardly as Tim tossed the wrapping away.

“Thanks boss, this looks like it will be very useful.” Tim said with a big smile. He recognized the names of certain products Shelley had recommended on the side of the box and he was looking forward to giving them a try. His hair did look better now, and on Shelley’s advice he had thrown away his brush— but he was certain that the kit would help a great deal.

Sasha had opened her gift largely unnoticed and had immediately dove in. It was the promised ‘monster manual’. She was already nose deep in an entry about Banshees, who were apparently aligned with Averis. Georgie glanced over her shoulder, but Sasha hardly noticed.

“How did you get comprehensive information on Banshees?” Georgie asked Jon. “I thought they were pretty cagey about that sort of thing.”

“Mmm, yes,” Jon agreed with a slight smile at Sasha’s reaction. “They don’t often talk with choir sirens.” Jon said with some degree of smugness in his voice.

“Seriously?” Georgie said. “That’s it? They just don’t like choirs? Rude.”

“It’s more complicated than-“ Jon began.

“Jon this is incredible!” Sasha interrupted, unaware of speaking over everyone. She had only just managed to pull her eyes away from the page long enough to remember to say thank you. She very intentionally shut the book and tried to reassure herself that it would be there to read through later. “Seriously, thank you so much!” Jon gave her a bemused smile. The interruption not phasing him in the least, before turning to Martin who was finally removing the wrapping from his own gift.

It was a hand bound leather journal. Martin has been eyeing a similar one for months, but he couldn’t manage to justify the cost of it. He couldn’t help but feel that his poetry wasn’t worth that kind of money. But here it was. Sitting in his hands.

“It, um, it was made by a siren who claims to sing to every page. Supposedly helps with inspiration.” Jon said, the tips of his ears were on fire. When he had purchased it, it hadn’t seemed so intimate. He could feel Georgie’s eyes on him and, well between how thoughtful Martin’s Gift for him had been and his Gift to Martin there were certain conclusions a siren might draw. Jon desperately hoped she kept her teasing reserved for when they were alone.

“It’s-! I, thank you, Jon.” Martin squeaked out. Georgie thankfully took mercy on them all, clapping her hands loudly once.

“Right, well I can’t actually stick around all day, so Jon if you want to lead the ceremony?” Jon blinked a few times at the abrupt change in topic, before shaking his head.

“Right, right! Yes, of course. Ah- hang on,” he dug around in his bag for a moment, before pulling out three sets of construction grade earmuffs, with various sigils carved along the band and over the ear coverings. “Here, these won’t completely block out the singing, but it should prevent any undue side effects.”

The three Assistants put the ear muffs on without complaint, more than aware of the power behind a siren’s voice.

The ritual itself wasn’t overly complicated. The Assistants watched as Jon and Georgie began to move in a predetermined pattern. Then the singing began. Through the protective barrier of the ear muffs they could barely hear it, but what they could hear was breathtaking. There were far more tones than two people should be able to create and a haunting melody lingered, caressing their skin and coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Martin was suddenly aware that something was watching him. That he was, Known somehow. That he wasn’t alone, and never would be again. For a brief moment, he looked at his coworkers and he Knew that they cared about him. There were tears flowing freely down his cheeks, but the same was true for Sasha and Tim.

Jon closed his eyes. 

He could See so much! 

Never before had his connection to Sirillus been so strong, he Knew with utter certainty that if he only reached out he could Know his Assistants in their entirety. He let the Knowing wash over him. He Knew where the tile they danced over was imported from. He Knew when Georgie had bought the necklace she wore. He Knew the exact temperature of the air and he Knew that Elias Bouchard had killed Gertrude Robinson.

That revelation nearly shook him out of the song and he stumbled in the dance, a single discordant note clawing its way out of his throat. He tried to focus on something else, he would deal with that revelation later. He tried to Know the exact time or Know the face of the man who had made his shoes. What he Knew instead was that Jurgen Leitner had just begun laying charges in the tunnel below the Archives to blow them all up.

Jon’s eyes snapped open. 

His voice fell silent and he looked at Georgie in panic. Then he took off towards the entrance of the tunnels. There was a moment of surprised hesitation, before the rest of them took off after Jon.

Jon wasn’t quiet when he wrenched open the trap door to the tunnels. Jurgen had took off running, the walls of the tunnels beginning to shift. But Jurgen had had no way to know that he needed to cover his ears. 

Jon stopped running.

He began to Sing.

Jon had Sung many times in his life. For a siren singing was as natural as breathing and significantly more pleasurable. Singing when truly done, with nothing held back, resonated in the spirit. It echoed through the soul. Jon had Sung with no holds barred very few times in his life. Almost exclusively for ceremonial purposes.

Here though, in this place, at this time: his territory on the day of the Watched Crown to a man who had tried to kill him and all of his people — Jon sang.

Jurgen Leitner never stood a chance.

The man stopped running, turned and began walking towards Jon in a trance. The book in his hand dropped from numb fingers. When Jon was certain he had the man fully in his power, he made his way back to his Archives. Jurgen Leitner trailing along like a macabre child’s toy.

***

Not!Rosie didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be working this stupid job, for the stupid Eye, and she certainly didn’t want to work for stupid Jonah Magnus. She believed in the cause, of course, and the Circus of the Other had a plan. She didn’t know what it was, but that was rather the point.

However, that didn’t mean she had to like it here. So when, in a slightly strangled voice, Elias asked for a carton of milk Not!Rosie saw in the request the perfect opportunity.She dumped half a container of cayenne pepper into the milk before she brought it in.

The man seemed to be in far too much pain to do much Knowing anyway.

She got away with three cartons of spiked milk before he caught on. If he hadn’t been in so much pain it was entirely possible his threat of Knowing her might have held more weight. As it stood, however, she just decided to go home early. Leave the man to find his own milk.

Chapter Text

Art by The-Alunwyr / ThisIsGreat

The man had been tied to the rolling chair in Jon’s office via an excessive amount of the eyeball streamers from the walls and a few rolls worth of duck tape. The office was more or less soundproofed as it was where statements were recorded, so the man’s terrified gibbering was meaningless. Blood dripped down his cheek from where Jon had slapped him- his claws having taken out a small chunk of the flesh there. Tim had been left to guard the explosives, they had no real way to know if he had been working alone, aside from Jon’s strange insights at least, and no one wanted to trust their lives to a feeling.

“Right. Jurgen Leitner.” Jon spat the name like a curse. “You are going to tell me, why you tried to kill my People and destroy my Territory.”

Martin didn’t think Jon looked like an elven prince now- he looked like a king. Regal and righteous. A few strands of hair falling from his braid, the crown an intimidating presence- the weight of its eyes barring down upon his quarry.

“You, you were trying to destroy the world!” The man squeaked out, terror clear in his voice.

“Why on Earth would you think that?!” Jon asked, taken aback.

“The, the girl’s journal,” and Leitner's eyes fell on Sasha, “talked about the Watcher’s Crown—  you, you said yourself in the tunnel that you intended to enact it- you planned to summon Beholding!” Jon blinked at the man in utter bewilderment. The only desires he could sense now was the desire to live. The man really did think that they had been trying to end the world. It was mind boggling. Jon didn’t even know where to start with that. Though at least it solved the case of Sasha’s missing notebook.

“Right— we are going to start at the beginning. You are going to tell me what you think you know.” There was an implicit threat in Jon’s tone, and his Assistants shifted uneasily. It was easy to forget that Jon wasn’t human. Not the little things, things like his carnivorous diet or the claws that one didn’t often forget, but the deeper things. It was easy to forget that Jon was a predator. Jon leaned towards Leitner, one hand on the table, claws digging groves into its surface.

“Statement of Jurgen Leitner regarding his library and the apparent end of the world,” Jon said. Though he couldn’t have said why. The words felt ritualistic somehow. He could taste static on his tongue and the crown upon his head felt warmer than it should have been. To his left he could hear the hum of a tape recorder, and then Jurgen began to speak.

He told about his library, his desire to to collect the books, not to use them, not really— to simply have them. Understand them if he could, though that was secondary. He spoke of callously sacrificing his assistants to his cause both those whose names he knew and those he had forgotten. Finally, he spoke of his downfall, of those who broke into his library and took back what was theirs. Though Jon was almost certain there had been infighting amongst the group that freed the books, otherwise so many of them wouldn’t have ended up in human hands.

“It was easier to let the world think I was dead and, to one degree or another. I’ve been in hiding ever since,” Leitner finished. Jon scoffed.

“You mean to tell me, you collected— no, you stole all those holy texts, with no idea how to properly handle them, just to— to have them? For your sick collection? Are you mad?” Jon asked in disbelief, and Leitner looked at him with something like disapproval and despair.

“Of course, you’re one of the ones that believes the Fourteen are gods. I suppose that was why you were trying to end the world,” Jon snarled at the man, pointed teeth glinting in the dim light of the Archives. Something like a growl, but layered upon it with far richer tones hummed in his throat.

“What. Are. You. Talking about.” It was not a question. It was a demand.

Georgie had never seen Jon get territorial like this. She didn’t blame him for it, of course. The bound man had tried to kill them all, but she did worry that this was going to get out of hand. She grabbed Jon’s phone from the table where it lay abandoned and quickly scrolled through his contacts before finding the name Daisy.

She sent a quick text explaining the situation. Georgie had only met Daisy a handful of times, but from what Jon has told her about the other woman, well it would be good to have her here. At the very least the police would be needed for the explosives below them.

“I— you— the Watcher’s Crown, Beholding’s ritual! The ritual to bring the Eye through and reshape the world in its image.” Jurgen squeaked out, trembling under the pressure of Jon’s fury.

Jon blinked. Confusion taking the place of anger for a moment.

“Wait—  you, you thought the Watched Crown was going to end the world? Why would you think that?”

“The— the rituals, they are meant to bring the entities through to our world! To destroy it!” Jon’s eyes narrowed.

“So, you believe the same nonsense as Gertrude Robinson then. That a harmless holiday meant to deepen the spiritual connection to a patron deity is somehow a world ending event. Good lord, and I thought you were a fool before.” Jon crossed his arms, claw tips leaving little indents in the fabric of his jacket.

“A harmless holiday?!” Leitner babbled. “No! No it’s- the Watcher’s Crown is meant to bring Beholding through, to shape the world in the image of the Eye! You can’t lie to me, Archivist I know about the entities!” Jon very carefully pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Your repetition is exhausting, Mr. Leitner,” Jon said trying to keep his voice level.

“For the record, it is the Watched Crown. Not the Watcher’s Crown. The entire point of the holiday is to be seen, not to be the one seeing, not unless you’re a priest.” Georgie said with a brief glance at Jon. “And, what exactly is the Beholding?” Leitner looked at Georgie like she was some kind of salvation, she had removed her birch bark crown so it was entirely possible he thought her a victim rather than an active participant in the holiday.

While Georgie had never been particularly observant of the holidays, celebrating them more as a way to be close to her choir and Jon; she was still, at her core, a Siren. She had still grown up knowing the importance of Knowledge and the comfort of being truly Seen. Sirens were, whether they chose to accept it or not, creatures of Knowing and the level of ignorance that oozed off Leitner like a bad smell was borderline painful. So, in the interest of correcting it- Georgie figured fine, good cop bad cop. She could play the role.

“The Beholding, the Eye, the Ceaseless Watcher, it has many names, this place is a temple of sorts to it, it feeds on the fear of being known, of being seen.” Leitner began desperately. Eyes darting around at the silent Assistants desperately hoping for some kind of support or rescue.

“No, this is a Temple to Sirillus. One of the lesser gods. Patron of knowledge.” Jon said and the air seemed to crackle with the proclamation.

“I- I don’t understand,” Leitner moaned, the blood from his cheek had dripped into his shirt collar, staining it a deep scarlet.

“How can you have collected nearly a thousand holy texts and not know about the five lesser gods?” Jon asked, teeth still bared.

“No, no that’s, there’s fourteen, the fourteen entities, the fears.” Leitner said, voice trembling.

“Fine. What are these supposed fourteen?” Georgie asked, trying to keep the peace at least a little bit. Though there was no love lost between her and Leitner. The man had tried to kill them after all.

“Sasha would you be so kind as to go up to the front desk and make sure Rosie lets Daisy in, she should be here shortly.” Jon said without looking away from Leitner. Georgie wondered how he knew that. “You’ll know her when you see her.” Jon added to her unasked question. She shrugged at Martin and turned to leave.

“The, the fourteen. There’s, uh, Beholding obviously, um, the Corruption, that, that was the worm woman who attacked— ” at the eye roll Jon gave Leitner picked up the pace. “The Dark, Viscera, the Stranger, the Hunt, the Buried, the Vast, the Web, the Distortion—” Jon snorted. The Distortion, as a ‘fear god’! It was ridiculous. Leitner cleared his throat and continued. “The Slaughter, the Forsaken, Terminus, and the Desolation.”

“That is the most patently ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Jon said after a brief pause. “Who on Earth came up with that nonsense?”

“R-Robert Smirke first classified them but they were around for centuries before, from the dawn of man really I—- ” Jon growled.

“Yes, Mr. Leitner, I’m well aware that the lesser gods existed before some Victorian colonist decided to slap labels on something he didn’t understand.” Jon had begun to pace. He turned to Georgie. “I need some air.” He said, heading towards the door, Georgie went to follow, calling after him.

“Right, I’ll just, go make some tea then,” Martin said to their retreating backs. He looked at Leitner for a moment. He had begun to babble incessantly, begging Martin to free him. Martin put a strip of duct tape to the man’s mouth.

***

By the time Jonah had managed to find an untainted glass of milk, and look in through the security cameras in the Archives, he was just in time to see the emergence of one Jurgen Leitner. Jonah let out a frustrated whine. The man could well ruin an already delicate situation with his Archivist. He was only able to peer through the single still working camera in the main archives, but it had been angled to show the door of Jon’s office. Which was where the unfortunate librarian had been led. He watched the closed door in frustration for a while.

When he saw Jon and the woman leave he jumped on the opportunity, making sure to shut off the recording of the cameras first; he headed for the Archives, stopping briefly to grab a pair of rubber gloves and a pipe wrench from a supply closet. He paused before he entered the Archives. As he had walked down the stairs he had felt the phantom touch of cobwebs, pulling at him as though to try and stop him. He snarled, before pushing forward. If the Mother of puppets didn’t want him to murder Leitner she would have to try harder than that.

Entering the Archives his ears popped in an unpleasant way, a high pitched ringing painting his senses. It was immaterial. He was careful to avoid Martin in the kitchen; and he headed directly to Jon’s office.

How sweet, they had gift wrapped the man.

***

Georgie lost sight of Jon almost immediately, but she found Sasha at the front desk, at least. It would be easier to just wait for Daisy with her. Besides, it would probably do Jon good to have a few minutes to himself, though Georgie did wish he would have thought to take the crown off first.

Still, it didn’t really matter, from what Sasha was saying the Archives weren’t really taken seriously by the rest of the Institute anyway. Georgie decided to stay focused on the conversation. She was glad that they were the only ones at the desk for the moment. There was something off about the receptionist. It set her teeth on edge, so she was happy not to have to deal with that. Soon enough, she spotted Daisy at the door. She was finally glad to get back to the Archives.

***

Jon only went outside for a brief moment, before he remember that he definitely didn’t have a cigarette with him. It had been a long time since he had quit, but sometimes the need for one was so automatic he’d only remember that he quit after he was outside reaching for a lighter he no longer carried.

Jon sighed, barely resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair, settling instead for scratching a deep gouge into the mortar of the Institute before heading back inside.

He passed Elias on the way back down to the Archives, but the man seemed to be in a rush and didn’t bother to acknowledge Jon. In fact Jon rather doubted the man had even seen him, he had seemed rather intently involved in dabbing at the cuff of his shirt sleeve with a handkerchief.

Jon saw Martin in the kitchen as he passed, but he didn’t bother to say anything, Martin looked like he was making tea. Honestly, Jon felt like he could use a cup. He wasn’t looking forward to hearing more of Jurgen Leitner’s utter hogwash. He opened the door to his office, not looking up as he closed it.

As he took a further step into the room, something wet squelched beneath his shoe.

Jon quickly lifted his foot and stared at where his shoe had been. There was a deep red puddle. Very slowly, and with a deep dread suffusing his every muscle, Jon let his eyes drift to his prisoner.

***

As Martin opened the door to Jon’s office carefully balancing his tea tray in one hand with the ease of a man who had worked as a server before, something struck him about the odd dripping sound. He really hoped the ceiling didn’t have a leak, he couldn’t imagine Jon taking that well.

When the door finally swung open, the tea tray clattered to the ground. A leak would have been better.

Chapter Text

“You really know how to get into it don’t you Jon.” Daisy said, staring at the bloody mess of the former esoteric librarian.

“I would like to emphasize once again, how much this wasn’t my fault,” Jon said, nervously picking at one of his claws. He had known Daisy since he was 15— it was the first time he had ever been arrested; and sometimes, when she turned her ‘cop’ voice on him he still felt 15.

“If it helps, I don’t think you did it,” Georgie said, her eyes still glued to the gore dripping off the walls of Jon’s office.

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t really help us all that much.” Daisy said. “Your prints are all over the scene, you actively tied the man up, your claw marks are on— what’s left of his cheek. Not to mention you have a well documented dislike of the man. No witnesses saw you return, and your whereabouts are unaccounted for, for long enough for you to have killed the man. Honestly Jon, you couldn’t have framed yourself for this better if you had actually killed the man.” She sighed.

“Which, again, I would like to emphasize that I did not kill Jurgen Leitner.”

“I know Jon.” Daisy said. “However— someone did, and that someone called the police department. About 5 minutes before I arrived, we revived a call about a body at the Magnus Institute. So it’s likely the killer wanted to set you up.”

“So... what your saying is you won’t help me hide the body then.” Jon said, with mild annoyance.

“Jon.” There was a great deal of warning in Daisy’s tone.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but what happens now?” Sasha asked. She was the only Assistant present. Martin had been sent down to the tunnels with tea for Tim after Jon (and Georgie) had sensed his desire to be as far away from the brutal scene as possible. Jon couldn’t really blame him.

Daisy turned to look at Sasha, giving her an appraising look. She looked back at Jon, and he could sense that she desired to know if Sasha could be trusted. Jon had to stop himself from trilling in delight. It was a serious situation, after all. Daisy’s control over her own desires, and tendency to use them as a simple code between them always made Jon feel safe and accepted. He gave a small nod to her.

“Well I have to report this, and it doesn’t look good for Jon. So legally— I’m going to have to bring him in for questioning.” Sasha opened her mouth to say something but Daisy cut her off. “However, a being that feeds on people’s desires— often causing them to act out those desires—  in a closed prison system? Yeah, that’s a really bad idea.”

Sasha’s eyes widened as she considered the implications. They, well, they weren’t good.

“So what does that mean then?” She asked instead.

“It means that Jon here.” Daisy said, nudging him with her shoulder lightly—  though with his small frame it was still enough to make him stumble. “Is going on the run.”

“I’ll be staying in the tunnels, of course.” Jon said. The idea of leaving his territory was not one he could even fathom, especially after an attack like this so close on the heels of Prentiss.

“Yeah, no you won’t.” Daisy said. Jon stiffened.

“No! No, I can’t leave!” He said, voice creeping up in tone.

“Yes, you can. And you will in fact— because I can’t have a siren in prison.” Jon bared his teeth, but so did Daisy, growling at Jon in a way that would have made his younger self back down in a heartbeat. However this was his territory. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Jon.” Georgie said, she spoke with the sirillian inflection, the musical tone echoing between the shelves of the Archives.

“Georgie it’s— ” he began whipping around.

“No, Jon. If you go to jail you’ll never see your territory again. I know how hard this must be, but it’s not safe! Think about your Humans! Do you think they want that for you?” Georgie was mostly speaking English, but there was a lyrical tone to it that held a dangerous edge. Sasha considered trying to find a pair of the ear muffs.

“I— ” Jon began, but stopped.

“Jon. I promise I will guard your territory, but you can’t stay here.” Daisy said looking him directly in the eye. Jon slumped, folding in on himself.

“Fine.” He said in a quiet defeated voice. “Fine. Will I at least be able to stay close—  to, to keep an eye on things?”

“Jon, I promise you, I am going to do my very best to get you back to your territory. But we both know if you are anywhere near here, you won’t be able to resist coming back. Don’t try and protest— I know how powerful instincts can be. Now, go say your goodbyes to the humans in the tunnels and get out of here. You know what to do,” Daisy gave him a fond smile, and ruffled his hair. He shot her a glare, but had long since given up trying to stop her.

Daisy handed Jon her phone.

“You can use mine for now, yours is too much of a risk. Julia will get in touch.” Jon nodded.

“Sasha, I expect daily updates to my email about my Archives. You’re in charge until I get back.” He fixed her with a sharp look, an attempt to convey the weight and importance of the task he was laying before her. At her nod, he turned to Georgie, but was bowled over by her hug before he could get a word out.

“You better keep me in the loop,” She whispered fiercely into his ear. He couldn’t find the words to respond so he just nodded.

***

Martin was pacing when he got down to where he and Tim were in the tunnels. His fear and desire for everything to be ok left a strange taste on Jon’s tongue.

“Jon!” Martin said as soon as he caught sight of him. “What’s happening?” Jon gave them both a sad smile.

“I, uh, I’m going to be taking a somewhat... unplanned vacation while Daisy finds the real killer.”

“Wait seriously, boss? You're going on the run? Doesn’t that make you look, well, really guilty?” Tim said standing up.

“I—  well, yes, but it would be much worse if I were incarcerated.” Tim tilted his head. “I, um- with my, uh, dietary restrictions, either I wouldn’t survive or the penitentiary wouldn’t.” A look of understanding dawned on his face. Jon’s heart sank slightly at the look of frustrated concern on Tim’s face.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Martin asked. His fear was now resting heavy on Jon’s tongue.

“Yes—  well there’s a plan. The less you know about it the safer we all are.” He answered. Tim nodded.

“I guess this is goodbye for a while then, boss.” Tim said, holding out his hand to shake. Jon reached out carefully, mindful of his claws. But as soon as his hand touched Tim’s, he was pulled into a bear hug. One of Tim’s arms left Jon briefly, only to return with Martin, sandwiching Jon between them. Jon considered struggling— for appearances sake, if nothing else. However, after a moment of tension, he couldn’t help but let himself relax into it. He was going to miss them.

art by the-arlunwyr or ThisIsGreat

***

Jonah watched with great interest as the Hunter the police had sent to respond to his tip about the body interacted with his Archivist. He would have hoped it might result in a Mark from the Hunt, but the shewolf didn’t seem overly inclined to violence. At least, not towards his Archivist. It was fascinating. He couldn’t see much from the grainy footage- but Jonah was certain he saw her ruffle the man’s hair!

No matter, there were always other Hunters he could send after him. Jonah watched as Jon went down to the tunnels, and then finally left the Archives all together.

Jonah took a sip of coffee, and made a face. It was utterly flavourless. He made a note to have, words with the cafeteria staff.

***

Simon Fairchild was entirely too happy that Jon had called, but sitting across from the man in his private jet as Jon fled the country was insufferable.

“You know Jonny, I once helped your father flee the country after a murder, except of course your father had actually killed a man.” Jon couldn’t help himself, he was curious. He knew very little about his father, so he indulged Simon and asked about it.

“Yes, a mugging gone wrong if I’m not mistaken. Well, it went wrong for the mugger, at least. Your father reacted in a panic and well... what is an alliance for if not to help cover up a murder? Like father like son and all that.” Simon looked gleeful at the thought of sharing more anecdotes.  Jon wondered how long the flight was going to be.

***

The Archives felt wrong without Jon. The space between the shelves echoed in the wrong way, and the silence from Jon’s office sat like a weight on their ears.

Sasha had taken to reading the book Jon had given her rather than actually filing statements. It didn’t feel right trying to organize the Archives without Jon there.

Not that they could really do all that much filing at the moment anyway, not with all the police presence. Daisy seemed to have moved into the Archives, permanently. Apparently, taking her promise to Jon to guard his territory quite seriously. Sasha was pretty sure Daisy wasn’t human, not with the sharpness of her teeth, or the growl in her voice. She wasn’t entirely sure what Daisy was, though.

She had narrowed it down to three possibilities. Siren, Banshee, or Werewolf. Initially she had included Mermaids in the running, but it seemed by all accounts mermaids wouldn’t stray this far inland.

Daisy had claws like Jon, teeth that were too sharp, she appeared to share his dietary preferences, although Sasha had seen her eat vegetables too sometimes. Her eyes would even glow like Jon’s when the light hit them just right. That was where the similarities with her and Jon ended, though. Her voice didn’t have the same resonance that Jon’s did, and she seemed more inclined to growl than Jon.

Banshee also had its merits. 

She did have the overly pronounced canines, and there was sometimes a sort of fire about her when she got too intense. However, she was missing the markings on her throat for the venom glands, so Sasha had her doubts about that possibility.

Werewolf though, seemed like the more promising option. 

Even if Daisy was less hairy then the book might have suggested was typical. Sasha thought about emailing Jon to ask, he had been pretty quick to respond to the daily updates she would send, but she didn’t want to worry Jon, he had enough to worry about.

So Sasha Watched. 

Daisy was Jon’s best chance at freedom and Sasha wanted to make sure she was doing her Job. Daisy however, did very little actual investigating. She seemed primarily concerned with ensuring Elias and Rosie were kept out of the Archives.

Sasha had been devising a plan to try and ask- or set up some kind of situation to figure the other woman out. Though she needn’t have put the effort in, because two days later in the break room Tim outright asked.

“Is it rude to ask what species you are?” Tim said to Daisy. She shrugged.

“Probably.”

“Hmm,” Tim pretended to look thoughtful. “So what species are you?”

“Look, just because Jon trusts you, doesn’t mean I do. I’ve known him for years, he is a good man. But historically… he has not been the best judge of character. He dated a Banshee, for goodness sake.” The last bit did exactly what it was intended to do, distract the assistants from the question of Daisy’s species and redirect their curiosity to gossip about Jon.

***

Jon did not enjoy America and he was enjoying living with Julia and Trevor even less. As the days turned to weeks, Jon grew hungry on top of being irritated. Jon had met werewolves before, they were one of the more common non humans out there. Werewolves being one of the only nonhuman beings able to transmit their heritage outside of normal reproduction.

Jon even liked the werewolves that he had met so far— even if some of them were a little intense about the concept of packs. Living with werewolves on the other hand, was an entirely different experience. Jon was so very sick of waking up with fur in his mouth. He didn’t understand where all of it was coming from. He had never seen either of his hosts shift, yet somehow at every hotel they ended up at, there was fur.

In addition, neither Trevor or Julia talked much. Their desires weren’t overly complicated, either. It meant that as Jon began to run low on statements, he had very few options.

“Look,” Julia said in frustration when Jon had tempted her to eat another bite of her dinner for the third time that meal. “You need to feed, we get it. I have a solution, but you have got to stop feeding me or I’m going to hurt you, favour to Daisy or not.” Jon nodded hastily. Julia pulled out a book and set it on the table. Jon’s eyes widened.

“Is that— ” he began.

“Yes, it’s a skin book. I’m pretty sure someone in there will want to tell you their story, feed off one of them.”

Jon took the book with some reverence. He wanted to ask how Julia or Trevor came across it, and more concerningly what they were using it for. Banshees rarely let skin books out of the hands of one of their matriarchs. Jon’s hand trembled as he ran his fingers along the cover.

“I—  thank you.” He said.

“Yeah, just, do it in the other room. That thing gives me the creeps. And Trevor don’t like it either.”

Jon nodded, eyes still fixed on the book cover as he got up to leave. Slowly flipping through the pages as he stood. Searching for something that called to him. Finally he settled on a page near the end. As Jon shut the door, he began to read.

““His consciousness faded in and out like the tide. He tried to refuse their drugs, though for what purpose even he could not have said.”

Chapter Text

“You’re new. Did you kill them?” The man had a faint bluish glow about him.

“Uh, who?” Jon asked, taken off guard.

“The Hunters. They had this book. Are they dead?” Jon couldn’t sense any desire from the man at all, just, pain. It was hard to think clearly with all that pain.

“N-No,” He stammered out— why did it hurt so badly?

“Then piss off. I told them I’m not talking.”

“Sorry, what?” There was something Jon was missing, something wasn’t right. Something about the book— had Gerard been bound improperly? No, that wasn’t it. The answer was on the edges of Jon’s mind. The man before him wasn’t— finished somehow.

“I’m not their bloody Monster Manual. I’m done.” Gerard continued, heedless of Jon’s internal debate.

“I-I-I didn’t – I mean, that’s not what this is.” Jon said distractedly, he was so close to figuring it out. Had Gerard been a siren? Was that what it was? Jon was fairly certain now looking at him that he hadn’t been human before he had died. No, there were markings on his throat, Jon could see the familiar lines that cradled the man’s jaw. Definitely not human.

“No? They didn’t hand me over for you to use, like I’m a bloody dictionary wrapped in a special box?” Jon flipped the book over to look more intently at the cover, hoping it might offer a clue. He could See the touch of Averis all over it— horror dawned. Suddenly, he Knew that Gerard had only died once.

“Oh, oh god, I am so sorry .” Jon gasped out as he realized what exactly had happened. He didn’t know how, but he Knew exactly who had bound Gerard. “Gertrude, she— god, I am so sorry that this happened to you! I, please let me make this right.”

“... what?” Gerard was thrown off by Jon’s apparent panic. “What are you talking about- you can’t ‘make this right’ not unless you burn my page— ”

“I’m not going to help you commit suicide!” Jon said horror colouring his voice.

“What are you talking about? I'm already dead.” Gerard said, incredulous.

“No, you aren’t.” Jon said, shaking his head. “You, you really don’t know?”

“I don’t know what?”

“Banshee’s have to die twice,” Gerard tilted his head.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said, eyes narrowed in confusion. Jon sat down, running a hand through his hair and letting it settle behind the sharp points of his ears.

“Right, right I— ok. Um, what do you know about what’s happened to you? Maybe I can fill in the blanks?” Jon did not even want to think about moving towards a solution without the man being aware of the truth. Honestly, Jon wasn’t even certain he would be able to get Gerard out at all. He wasn’t familiar with the rites of Averis, he would probably need to give Oliver a call.

“What like a statement? You’re not the Archiv—  oh. How did she die?”

“She was shot.”

“Good. I can’t imagine her dying peacefully. She wouldn’t have wanted that. So, you’re the new guy then? Following in her footsteps?”

“I sincerely hope not!” Jon said, offence clear in his voice. “Gertrude Robinson was a monster . She hurt innocent people and was actively and violently prejudiced against different religious groups.” Gerard wrinkled his brows.

“I don’t, I don’t think we are on the same page here.” Gerard said after a moment. Jon stared at him, it took Gerard a moment to realize what he had said, he groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not- you know what I meant.”

“I believe you may be correct.” Jon said looking at Gerard intently. “I would very much like to make this right, reparations for my predecessors crimes is something of an unofficial job at this point.” He added with a sigh. “I would very much like to help you, but I don’t know if I can- if you don’t tell me what you know.” And there- Jon could sense it, the tiny spark of hope that accompanied Gerard’s desire to be free, to stop hurting. Jon pushed, just a little. “Please Gerard.” The musical tones colouring his voice.

“I— no. I don’t have many bargaining chips here. I won’t tell you anything until you promise to destroy my page.” Jon considered that. He was 99% certain that he could, with the help of Oliver at least, get Gerard out. Jon supposed there wasn’t any real harm in destroying the empty page after that.

“Alright. I promise.” Jon said, voice echoing with a quiet power. Gerard took a deep breath he didn’t need.

“Ok, I want you to take out my page. So, I know you can’t back out.” Jon pursed his lips, he desperately hated the idea of defacing the book like this, but Gerard was the Banshee, and the book did belong to his culture and not Jon’s. Jon didn’t bother to ask if Gerard was certain, he could tell he was. Besides, the book would likely belong to Gerard once he was freed anyway. Jon couldn’t imagine what use it would be to werewolves, anyway.

He very gently used a claw tip to slice along the page, being as careful as he could. Gerard sucked in a sharp breath, fists clenched in pain and jaw tight. His throat markings glowed slightly brighter than the rest of him for a moment.

“What are you anyway?” He asked, clearly suppressing a sigh of relief as his page finally came free and Jon shut the book. Jon looked at him in worry, how could a fully grown Banshee have so little Knowledge? It made Jon ache deep in the part of himself that was more realized priest than not. “Because last I checked being an Archivist didn’t grant you claws, not that Gertrude ever said much about it. You have an encounter with the Hunt or something?” Jon blinked in confusion.

“I’m a Siren. I don’t see what being an archivist has to do with anything.”

“You… are a very confusing man— ”

“Jon. Jon Sims.”

“Jon, then. I don’t really know where to begin, obviously you know about the dread powers if you’re the Archivist. And as for what happened to me— I died. Not sure what else to tell you, it was a brain tumour. And I suppose Gertrude bound me to the book— she never was one to let a resource go to waste.” Jon couldn’t keep the appalled look off his face.

“That’s horrible!!” Jon said unable to keep it in.

“Well, I mean obviously. It hurts. Being like this. And it’s not like any pain you can feel when you’re alive. It’s… it hurts to exist. To be dead and still here.”

“Of course it would! That monster bound you while you were still transforming! She trapped you in the moment of Death before you drew breath again! I can hardly imagine how much pain you must be in. Seconds from rebirth, but forever stuck on the precipice!” Jon began nervously clicking the claws of his left hand together as he gestured.

“Yeah, see... I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Right. Right, of course.” Jon said, taking a deep breath. “You are a Banshee. Do you know that much at least?”

“See, you’ve lost me again.” Gerard crossed his arms, shifting on his feet.

“Hmm, I— ok— so there are five lesser gods...” Jon began, quickly running through the same explanation he had given his Assistants. Gerard listened in baffled fascination.

“I, um I was raised with a very different understanding.” Gerard was unsure of how to feel. A small part of him wanted to believe Jon. He wanted to believe that they could live in a world where the horrors that he had seen were less malicious, and more unintentional. A bigger part of him though, thought that Jon must be nothing more than a naïve fool. The Powers didn’t have positive sides. “You, you’ve read the statements, did you ever come across any with my mum?”

“Hmm, yes, a Mary Keay. Pinhole Books was mentioned in a few statements. I hadn’t realized she was a Banshee, of course.”

“Right.” Gerard said, he still had no idea what Jon meant by Banshee. “Well she had her own ideas about the occult. She had her ambitions. She’d never have even admitted it, though. She was too proud for that. She saw herself as a real working class type, always said the occult was just a club for rich boys, playing politics with things they didn’t understand.”

“I’m beginning to see that more and more,” Jon agreed half under his breath.

“Yeah. But deep down, what she wanted wasn’t all that different from the ivory tower idiots she hated. Y’know, I think, secretly, she dreamed of starting a little mystic dynasty of her own. With me.” Gerard said with a sigh.

“I, I don’t really understand.”

“These forces- the lesser gods you called them? They aren’t gods. These things, these forces, they are our fear. Deep fears. Primordial. Always looking for ways to grow and spread.”

“No.” Jon gasped, barely whispering the word. The idea was abhorrent. “No, that’s not— that doesn’t even make sense! Fears, fears are cultural!” He said in disbelief.

“A lot of them, yeah, but others are deeper than that. And when our fears change, so do these things. But it’s not quick. Gertrude reckons they’ve basically been the same since the Industrial Revolution. She and my mum both liked to follow Smirke’s list of fourteen.”

“Th— I mean, there are a lot more than fourteen things to be afraid of in the world. Where do you draw the line?” Jon had begun to pace. None of this made any sense. Sure, Gerard’s very faint desire not to be confused was nourishing in its own way, but Jon wasn’t sure it was worth suffering through so much wrong information. Jon wondered if this was what it must be like in the hallways of madness.

“I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: ‘oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac’, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you can group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it is kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red? Y’know? I don’t know, that’s just how it works.”

Jon blinked at the explanation.

“And like colours, some of these powers, they feed into or balance each other. Some really clash, and you just can’t put them together. I mean, you could see them all as just one thing, I guess, but it would be pretty much meaningless, y’know, like… like trying to describe a… shirt by talking about the concept of colour. O-Of course, with these things it’s not a simple spectrum, y’know, it’s more like — ”

Jon abruptly stopped pacing, pinning Gerard with his gaze.

“No. No, I’m sorry Gerard, but that’s— you’re wrong. Who, who came up with this nonsense?” Jon started pacing again, and there was a low stressed humming in the back of his throat that he couldn’t seem to quiet.

“Robert Smirke is the one who categorized them into 14.”

“Right. Ok, no, no—  where did you learn this? Didn’t your parents raise you with the rights of Averis? You are a Banshee, I, I know—”

“Look, why don’t I give you my statement. I’ll tell you about my mother and then maybe you’ll get it.”

“Ok, ok— that, yes.” A tape recorder clicked on to Jon’s left. “Statement of Gerard Keay, regarding— ”

“Regarding the death of my mother,” Something about that didn’t feel right, and Jon let his instincts guide him.

“Regarding the true death of his mother Mary Keay. Statement recorded direct from subject. Statement begins.”

Gerard’s statement was not what Jon expected.

It made no mention of banshees, and when Gerard began to describe exactly what his mother had done to herself, Jon almost had to stop him. He felt physically ill just thinking about it.

“You, uh, you ok there Jon?” Gerard asked once he was finished. Jon sat down hard on the floor, legs practically collapsing underneath him.

“I, um. That was a lot to take in. I- I think I know where I need to start, at least.” Jon said, staring directly ahead, unable to meet Gerard’s eyes. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. The inherent horror of it all, because the statement givers, they were largely ignorant, and the horrors that came out of the statements had that buffer of ignorance around them. But Mary Keay had known, she had known exactly what she was doing. That somehow it made it so much worse.

“Right.” He said, taking in a deep breath. “Right, so Gerard, I’m sorry you had to find out this way but you aren’t human,” Jon could feel the man’s ghostly eyes digging into his shoulders.

“So what am I then? Aside from dead, that is,” Gerard asked, he sounded like he was humouring Jon.

“You are a Banshee.”

“Huh, let’s say, for a minute— that I believe you. What exactly does that mean?”

“I don’t— that is a deeply philosophical question. One I don’t think I am prepared to— ”

“No I mean, what is a Banshee? How could I possibly be one if I’ve been human my whole life?” Gerard asked with a note of amusement in his voice.

“Oh” Jon sighed in relief. Biology he could do, philosophy— well, Martin would probably be a lot better at it. Jon felt a strange pang in his heart at the thought. He was too young for a heart attack surely? “Right, uh, Banshees then. Banshees are creatures blessed by Averis, the lesser god of rebirth. So, such as their patron, they must live and be reborn through death. Banshees are born closely resembling humans for the first part of their life. However, sometime between the ages of 23-36, they die. Often this death takes the form of a disease, as is the purview of their patron. After they die, however, they are reborn as banshees.”

“Right, I’m not saying I believe you, but let’s say that was true. What does that mean for me now?”

“Oh, well you died, of a brain tumour, a pretty common death for a Banshee. When we get you out of the book, so you can complete your rebirth, you will experience a few minor physical changes, along with a shift in dietary requirements.” Jon said matter of factly.

“And what exactly are those dietary changes?” Gerard spoke like a man who thought he knew the answer to the question but had to ask it anyway.

“Oh, um, well a craving for carrion, I suspect. Banshees are scavengers. Ah, the other banshee I know was fond of mushrooms, and um, bones. Oh! And, of course, you feed on the life force of those about to die.”

“Right, you want to elaborate on that last bit?”

“I mean, I’m not a banshee, but Oliver used to say it was like, he knew when someone was near death. Banshees have an innate ability to sense when people are going to die, down to the second. And I’m, how did Oliver put it? Ah, it takes energy to keep a body alive. And when the body dies that energy dissipates, and vanishes. A banshee can consume that energy. All they need to do is ensure the individual close to death hears their scream— it acts as something of a homing beacon to the energy as I understand it. You’ll have to talk to Oliver for more information I’m afraid, I don’t have much more information other than that.” Jon looked up at Gerard for a moment. The man was staring intently at the same spot on the wall that Jon had fixed his eyes on moments before.

“Look, can you prove any of this? Cuz I want to believe you Jon, your world sounds a lot nicer than mine. But after the things I’ve seen— ” Gerard trailed off, eyes still intently fixed ahead.

“I’m not human, either.” Jon said softly. “I’m a Siren, as I stated previously. None of your fear entities have beauty, you said? If there are no good ways to serve these beings as you understand them. Would you believe me if I Sang you something safe?” Gerard didn’t say anything for a long time. So long in fact, that Jon was worried he was fading back into the skin book.

“Ok. Prove it then.”

And Jon began to Sing. There was really only one Song he could Sing in a time like this. It was a cradle Song, in his native Sirillian. He Sang quietly, though it didn’t matter much, Julia and Trevor both had gone outside, and secluded away in the woods as they were, there were unlikely to be any humans around to hear. But this Song was not meant to be Sung loudly. This was a Song Sung to a newborn as they drifted off to sleep, this was a Song Sung to the lost son who has come home. This was Sung to the mourners of a dear friend. It was a Song of sadness and comfort. It was a Song that gave to the soul the warm caress of a sunbeam and the cool balm of shade on a hot day. It was a Song of homecoming. 

And Jon Sang Gerard home.

There was another long moment of silence when Jon had finished. Jon looked away to give Gerard some privacy, as silent tears streamed down his face. Slowly though, they stopped and he took a deep breath.

“Gerry.” He said.

“What?”

“I feel like— we have reached that point. I, I always wanted my friends to call me, Gerry.” Jon beamed at him.

“Gerry, then.”

Artwork by the-arlunwyr / THISisGREAT

Chapter Text

Daisy hadn’t left the Archives since Jon had. Martin was sure of it. He was also sure that... that was not how investigations were supposed to work. Since Daisy didn’t appear to be doing any actual investigating. She mostly patrolled between the stacks and shelves of unsorted statements.

Tim has asked her once when they could expect Jon back, and Daisy had merely shrugged, and said that sectioned cases were often closed unsolved. They just needed to wait. That wasn’t good enough for Martin, though. Even if the case was closed with no one in custody and Jon free and clear— there was still a killer somewhere in the Institute. Someone that could hurt Jon— his friends.

The trouble was, whoever had killed Leitner had done a masterful job of framing Jon. All evidence that Martin had managed to uncover on his own, pointed to the Archivist having done the deed, which Martin Knew was ridiculous, he had seen how deadly sharp Jon’s claws were, why would he have bothered with a pipe wrench? Not to mention, Martin wasn’t even sure the man would be able to lift said pipe wrench; let alone swing it with the force required to give his office walls a new paint job.

That left him at a dead end though, and worse, he had no one to bounce ideas off of. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other Assistants, but the only other person without an alibi who might have been able to do it was Tim. While Martin didn’t think Tim had done it, he was hesitant to include him in the investigations— at least until Martin had hard evidence clearing him.

As for Sasha, she had thrown herself into research, not of the murder— or even of the statements, but of one tall, broad and scary police woman. Martin was glad of it, of course, if Sasha was looking into her that meant it was one less person for Martin to worry about. But he didn’t want to risk distracting Sasha with his own concerns so he continued his investigation alone.

Martin was not a researcher, he was barely a passable Archival Assistant— but what he could do, was make tea. So, that was where he decided to start his investigation. There was only one person in the Institute that Martin was pretty sure knew everything. This was how he ended up bringing Rosie a cup of tea once a day at 3. His claim that he had originally made an extra cup for Jon wasn’t even that far from the truth— though Rosie took significantly more milk in her tea than Jon did.

Chatting with Rosie over tea was odd, Martin had always thought he had a good memory for people, but Rosie seemed to hardly ever mention her family anymore, and got a little cagey if Martin tried to ask about it. He assumed there must have been trouble with her marriage or something. What Rosie did like talking about however— was office gossip, which was perfect.

Martin wasn’t a hacker like Sasha.  He instead asked Rosie very nicely and she had given him the password to access the Institute security cameras. It had been odd, too. She hadn’t even asked why he wanted to know, but Martin wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. All the security footage showed, however, was that it had been turned off for “maintenance” before the murder.

The cameras could only be accessed by a few key individuals. The way Martin saw things, that left the security guards and one Elias Bouchard as suspects. Martin was friendly with the all the guards, his stay in the Archives ensured that he knew even the night watchmen by name. He couldn’t see any of them doing something like this, Elias on the other hand...

Martin didn’t want to be suspicious of his boss— not really, but, well— no one really knew anything about Elias’s personal life. Not since he had become Institute head. at least. Some of Martin’s old coworkers from the library had mentioned the guy used to be a total stoner, but Martin was pretty sure they were joking. He didn’t think Mr. Bouchard would even be able to name a slang term for pot, let alone use it.

So, Martin figured investigating his personal life was as good a place to start as any. Rosie has been ever so accommodating in telling Martin about Elias’s upcoming plans. According to the timetable that Rosie had, he was going to be out at meetings all morning on Friday, and would be leaving early for a dinner meeting with a Mr. Lukas, one of the Institute’s biggest donors. Martin decided to use the perfect opportunity the morning allowed him to do some snooping in the man’s office.

Martin wasn’t really sure what he was hoping to find. A signed confession that he had framed Jon for murder? Bloody foot prints from the night of the murder? It certainly wasn’t a handwritten note inviting the man out for dinner.

“Elias,” it began, “I’ll be in port tomorrow at 4 o’clock sharp. Dinner at our usual spot at 6, I wish to discuss the continued terms of our wager about your Archivist. - P. Lukas”.

Martin had heard about the Lukas’s before, they had been mentioned in a few statements, so Martin knew from doing follow up that they owned a large shipping company, and were major donors to the Institute. Presumably, P. Lukas was one Captain Peter Lukas of the Tundra. Normally Martin might not have bothered investigating that angle any further— but it mentioned a wager about Jon and considering Martins suspicions, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

He took a picture of the note and decided that he should actually go grab lunch, like he had told the others he was doing. He hadn’t wanted to get them involved if he got in trouble for snooping around. He idly wondered how much it would cost to get a hold of a listening device of some sort. Something small and portable— he didn’t have a lot of money to spare.

He went to the small sandwich shop across the street, it was by far the cheapest option for food in the area. Even if Martin’s promotion to the Archives had come with a pay raise, his mom’s nursing home was expensive and he had a hard time justifying spending more than a few dollars on himself for lunch.

The shop was completely empty save for a single woman in black, which should have been the first clue that something wasn’t right. But he brushed it off, it was a bit late for lunch after all, it made sense that the shop wouldn’t have as many people in it as Martin was used to.

He went up to the counter to make his order, but before he could even open his mouth the employee slid over a freshly made sandwich. It wasn’t the one that Martin normally ordered. Martin normally ordered the cheapest option on the menu, this was the sandwich he always thought about ordering. But at a full £5 more, he could never quite manage to convince himself he was worth it.

“Courtesy of the lady in black,” The cashier said nodding to the shop’s only other patron. Martin was immediately reminded of Sasha’s first encounter with Shelley. He ran a few quick mental calculations.

Jon had said that in a lot of the encounters from the statements, the fact that the statement givers were afraid was seen as a sign of disrespect. He had emphasized the need to be respectful, and Martin supposed the woman in black hadn’t actually done anything yet. Martin was a little worried about being in her debt though; should he accept the sandwich.

Half remembered faerie tales and Jon and Georgie’s warnings about their own food flashed through Martin’s mind. In the end though he decided that there really wasn’t anything he could do that wouldn’t risk offence aside from accepting the gift.

So, silently, Martin took the plate and went to sit down across from the woman in black. Her expression didn’t change, and Martin took a moment to take in her appearance now that she was so close. He tried to look for the signs that Jon had warned them about, triangular nail beds, pointed ears- but the only thing that marked her as any different from anyone else aside from her choice of clothing was six black dots painted on her face. Four in her forehead, and one below each of her eyes. They were small, no bigger than the head of an eraser, but they were very obviously intentional.

“Martin Blackwood.” She finally said after a tense minute of silence.

“I, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I mean no disrespect, but I have no idea who you are.” Martin tried to channel Jon, his voice didn’t waver, and he kept his hands out of sight so as not to reveal the slight tremor.

The woman in black laughed. Too quickly for Martin to see if her teeth held the unnatural point like Jon’s or Daisy’s.

“Annabelle Cain.” She said. She did not hold her hand out to shake, so Martin didn’t, either. “I have a message for Jonathan Sims, for when he comes back of course.”

“I am not in contact with Jon, he is currently a wanted person of interest,” Martin couldn’t take the risk that this wasn’t a supernatural encounter and was in fact an encounter with a very sneaky police woman. Daisy had assured them that wouldn’t happen, but Martin was hesitant to trust mysterious sandwich purchasers.

Annabelle laughed again.

“Yes, I know, but he won’t be on the run forever.” She gestured to the sandwich. “Please, eat.” It felt more like a command than an invitation, and Martin took a hesitant bite. Annabelle smiled. “So suspicious! Jonathan picked his Attendants well.”

Martin narrowed his eyes at the new title, though he said nothing. Sometimes the best way to get information from people was to say nothing at all. He took another bite of the sandwich.

“Hmm.” Annabelle said, crossing her fingers under her chin and leaning forward. “Yes, he chose very well. Alright, Mr. Blackwood, will you make a deal with me?”

Martin said nothing, taking his time to swallow, and put the sandwich down. And properly look at his dining companion once again. Her face gave away nothing.

“What sort of deal?” He asked, his words slow and measured.

“One that works out far more in your benefit than mine,” She said leaning back in her chair.

“I’m listening,” Martin said.

***

Jonah was furious. It had been days and the only thing Jon had done was hide out in a disgusting log cabin in the middle of nowhere in America, with hunters of all things and eat—  Beholding forbid, cat food. Somehow, managing to avoid being Marked entirely, much to Jonah’s frustration.

Not only that, but Jonah had cracked open a bottle of his best wine to keep him company while he Watched his wayward Archivist, only to find the wine had no flavour. He may as well have been drinking a £500 bottle of water.

To make matters worse, this was not the first time that his food and drink didn’t have much in the way of taste. And no matter how hard Jonah tried, he seemed unable to Know how to fix it. He Knew what had caused it, of course, that strange pastry he had taken from his Archivist. This only increased the questions Jonah had about the man. But with Jon hiding out in America of all places, it was too inconvenient to arrange an accident for him, not to mention he didn’t want to lose to Peter.

However, with that decision out of his hands for the moment Jonah was forced to relent, that if he wanted to try and get his taste buds back, he would need to go in and see a mundane doctor. So here he was sitting in a waiting room like a common man. Having lied to Rosie about having several meetings on the docket for the morning. He didn’t much care for the Stranger knowing his every move.

He missed the days that doctors just gave you heroin to fix your problems. Still, he was meeting with Peter later that evening and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take advantage of the man’s pocket book and go someplace exorbitantly expensive. He needed the exuberant distraction, whether the doctor could fix his taste buds or not.

***

When Martin returned to his desk after lunch, he was surprised to find two things on it that he did not remember placing there. The first solved his problem of the listening device— and the solution was so simple that Martin felt a bit stupid for not having thought of it. The tape recorder innocently whirring on his desk should be perfect— so long as he was able to sneak it close enough to Elias’s table as not to be noticed.

The second thing was a bit more worrying.

On top of the tape recorder was a Spider. It was not a large Spider, not like the other ones around the Archives that Jon had called his attention to back when he was still living here; but it was hauntingly familiar nonetheless.

Martin looked around, but Tim and Sasha were still out for lunch, and who knew where Daisy was— probably prowling the tunnels or maybe document storage.

“Hello, there,” Martin said to the Spider. He tried to very gently brush it off of the tape recorder. “Sorry, I just need this recorder here, Mr. Spider. Or, or you know Mrs. Spider. You could be a girl spider I suppose— oh.”

The spider had climbed onto his hand— wrapping its legs around his middle finger, then it just froze, in a very literal sense. Martin gently reached out a finger from his other hand to carefully stroke it. The Spider was cold like metal to the touch. And it’s little furry back had no give. It looked, for all the world like a black metal ring. Martin thought about trying to remove it, but his conversation with Annabelle, and Jon’s warning not to harm the Spiders stayed his hand. Besides, it didn’t seem to be harming him any. He stroked it one final time, reassuring himself that it was in fact solid, before deciding to put it out of his mind for now.

He didn’t notice that the tape recorder had stopped whirring.

***

Again, Martin wasn’t a hacker like Sasha, but what he was— was good with people. It only took about 6 phone calls to some of the fancier restaurants in London, before he was able to track down a reservation for one Captain Lukas. Martin found it very telling that the man insisted on being called Captain, and he mentally promised himself that should their paths ever properly cross he wouldn’t use the over dramatic honorific.

By the time Martin had confirmed the restaurant, by pretending to be the secretary of one P. Lukas wanting to confirm the reservation and private room. He had to rush to leave work early to get there ahead of Elias. Martin has never been inside a restaurant posh enough to have a private room before, but he had worked plenty of weird jobs, so it wasn’t too much effort to snag a clipboard and one of Tim’s stolen ID badges from the electric company and walk right in the front door with confidence.

Martin was lucky it was the sort of restaurant that had been around for long enough so as to be declared a historic building. It meant that routine inspections from electricians weren’t all that out of the ordinary as old buildings like that often had trouble with the wiring.

Martin slipped quietly into the reserved room quickly shutting the door behind him before turning around to try and find a place to hide the tape recorder. It clicked on.

“Hello, you must be Martin,” Martin froze. The voice was cheerful, upbeat and in no way reached the empty eyes of the man before him. “Elias said you would be popping by, and I must say, I’m very curious as to what you might hope to gain from your little spy escapade.” Martin swallowed hard. He felt as though the room had dropped several degrees in temperature. He could only see one option. He had to hope that Peter Lukas didn’t know about the murder. Maybe if he could get the man on his side he could escape without Elias killing him, too.

“I— it’s just—  Elias killed a man and framed Jon for it. I, I’m trying to gather evidence!” There, that should do it.

“Oh! That doesn’t sound like the Elias I know. He killed someone himself?” Martin coughed slightly, Peter’s tone hadn’t changed at all from that fake overly cheerful dead eyed timbre.

“I mean I wasn’t, I wasn’t there,” Martin said quickly, he didn’t want to get slapped with a defamation charge if Peter were that sort. “But, but I saw the body, and, and— he’s the only one who could have turned off the security cameras!”

“Elias Bouchard, getting his hands dirty… ah, well. Must be the end times,” Peter replied, still perfectly unbothered. Martin felt a drop of sweat run down his spine, despite the cool temperature. Was that his own breath he was seeing?

“I mean— ” Martin began.

“Still, I was told to keep you distracted until Elias could get here. I’m afraid he wasn’t very specific as to how,” The tape recorder in Martin’s hand let out a chilling squealing sound.

“Oh don’t worry Martin, you’ll have plenty of time to yourself before Elias gets here. And really, in the end we only have ourselves, wouldn’t you say?”

“I, um, I guess?” Martin said, the squealing sound increased.

“Yes, yes I agree,” Peter said with a smile, as fog filled the room.

Chapter Text

He was cold? He thought it might be cold. It was hard to tell, though. Everything just felt— distant somehow. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was, or how he got there. He could hear voices though, if he listened hard enough. He could just hear— they suddenly got louder.

“Peter, you idiot, I told you to keep him distracted! Not hurl him into the Lonely!” That voice was familiar. He knew that voice, the name was so close, so why couldn’t he remember it?

“Well you weren’t exactly specific were you, Elias? You just said to ‘keep him occupied, Peter.’” A second voice— Peter? said. The tone of the last sentence was clearly imitating the voice of the first speaker.

“Yes! But how much do you think he even remembers now?! He’s useless to me!” There was a weighty silence and he could feel the tension in it even in the strange floaty state he found himself in.

“Well? Bring him out!” The posh voice— Elias? demanded.

He was suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder and then he was blinking in the unexpected light of a private dining room.

“Hello, Martin.”

Martin! That’s right! He was Martin! He had a name! He had a name, and he didn’t like the way Elias said it.

“Where— where am I?” Martin asked. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. His mind was scrambled and his memories felt like soap bubbles, popping as soon as he reached for them, too fragile to really hold onto. The posh one, Elias, turned to glare at Peter.

“London.” He said shortly, before turning back to Peter. “This is exactly what I meant! He’s useless now! Even I can’t pull knowledge from his mind, if there’s nothing there to pull!” Peter looked uncomfortable, but Martin got the feeling that it was more because Elias was making a scene then for any real contrition. Martin fiddled with the ring on his right hand. Spiders, there was something about— the Weaver’s Ball! He was meant to tell Jon— how could he have forgotten Jon? As soon as the thought crossed his mind he could feel the razor edged gaze of Elias settle on him.

“Tell me Martin, what is the Weaver’s Ball?” Martin’s tongue felt heavy, and the spider ring upon his finger seemed to tighten its grip somehow.

“I-I don’t, I don’t know, I- Jon. I’m supposed to tell Jon.” The words were ripped from his throat even as he tried to hold them back.

“And why exactly would Jon know about that?” The tone was bland, but Martin was sure he could feel the malice heavy in the air.

“It’s, it’s a siren thing? I think?” Elias’s eyes gleamed with predatory intent and Martin shook his head, still not sure what he was saying, memories still popping the second he reached for them.

Peter flinched at Martin’s words and a look of disgust crossed his face. Of course, Elias would choose a goddamn Mermaid as Archivist. He had no idea they even came this far inland! Peter had been under the blessed impression that mermaids couldn’t survive out of the water, and he wasn’t pleased to learn his fishy nemeses were able to wander around on the surface. Mermaids had been stealing Peter’s sacrifices to the Lonely for years, calling down lonely sailors and— as far as Peter could tell, eating them alive. It was very hard to feel alone when you were being eaten alive. Peter hated mermaids.

“And what exactly do you mean by Siren?” Elias asked, Martin tried to remember, but the memory slipped away. He shrugged. Elias threw his hands up and glared at Peter. “Useless. Utterly useless.” Martin felt a lonely chill settle in his bones at the words. He was useless wasn’t he?

“He’s all yours then Peter.” Elias said dismissively. Peter smiled.

“Oh, before I send him off... did you actually kill Jurgen Leitner yourself, Elias?” Peter asked, the bland smile on his face, betrayed by the delight in his eyes at annoying the other man. The way he saw it, if Elias was going to hire a goddamn mermaid, he was allowed to annoy him, at least a little bit. Especially, since he would be paying for dinner. Elias glared at him.

“Yes. Why on earth does that matter?” He said, annoyance clearly achieved. Peter laughed, delighted.

“Elias Bouchard, finally getting his hands dirty,” He said with a smile, the words were so familiar Martin could almost remember— Peter might have said something else, but static filled Martin’s ears again, and then—

***

The tea didn’t taste as good as when Martin made it. Sasha thought as she stared despondently at the mug. She didn’t know how he managed it. Even though she had watched him dozens of times, mimicking exactly what he did; somehow, his was always better. Sasha hadn’t had to make her own morning tea since Martin had been under siege by the worm woman. He wasn’t responding to texts, but Rosie had said he called that morning saying he wasn’t feeling well.

Sasha tried not to worry.

After the worm incident, though, they had worked out a system in the group chat to confirm that they were actually sick and actually ok using specific cat memes. Sasha tried to tell herself that Marin was probably just sleeping and would respond when he woke up. She always liked to sleep in when she was sick. It was still early she told herself.

“So, how long has your receptionist been a changeling?” Daisy asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from her. Sasha blinked at her, startled out of her worried musings.

“What?”

“A changeling. Your receptionist? I think her name should have been Rosie?” Daisy prompted. “She tried to come down here this morning. I’m getting sick of chasing her out.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sasha tried again. Daisy rolled her eyes. And tapped her nose.

“I can smell it. She’s a changeling. Jon didn’t tell you then?” Daisy sighed. “Never mind, I doubt he knew, not exactly the most observant man, that one.” Sasha tried to process that information.

“Are you telling me—” she said slowly, “that Rosie is dead?”

“Sort of,” Daisy replied with a shrug.

“Sort of?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna explain that?” Sasha asked annoyed. Daisy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Wasn’t going to, no.”

“Well you are now,” Sasha said with fire in her eyes. She stared Daisy down for a long moment, before Daisy finally let a small smile grace her lips. She gave Sasha a sharp nod.

“Alright,” She said, and Sasha got the distinct impression that she had been assessed and found worthy somehow.

“Good.”

“What did Jon say in that little monster handbook he gave you?” Daisy asked, amusement in her eyes at the concept.

“Changelings replace people. He doesn’t specify what happens to them, but he implies it isn’t good.” Sasha replied instantly.

“A changeling doesn’t really kill their victim so much as absorb them.” Daisy said. “They are sort of a collective rather than an individual. So, if the changeling is young, then it will pretty much be the human that was absorbed with a few extra memories and abilities. The older a changeling gets, and the more people it’s absorbed, the less of the person that’s replaced survives.”

“Oh god,” Sasha said, hand moving to cover her mouth. “What’s going to happen with, well, Rosie’s family?”

“Won’t notice the difference.” Daisy interrupted. “Changelings alter memory of the person taken. It’s why no one in the Archives noticed.” Daisy frowned. “I didn’t mean to tell you that much.” She said, her expression halfway between thoughtful and frustrated. Sasha decided to push her luck.

“How do you know all this?”

“There’s a number of Sectioned officers who are non human, we keep in touch to help out other non humans.” Daisy’s temper flared now, and Sasha fought back the urge to flinch. “I definitely didn’t mean to tell you that.” Daisy sniffed the air. “You’re still Human, mostly. You better watch how hard you push for information, though. This happens again? I won’t be so forgiving.”

“What? I, what do you mean mostly human!??” Sasha asked in a panic. Daisy frowned at her.

“I said to stop doing that.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing!” Sasha cried.

“Hmm,” Daisy replied. Sasha attempted to stare her down.

“Alright. Did Jon mention anything in your little monster manual about Scribes?” Sasha was thrown off by the abrupt change in topic. She blinked.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he said they are the ones who write the ‘holy books’ the ones we used to call Leitners.” Daisy shrugged.

“There you go, then.” Sasha blinked at her.

“You’re kidding,” Daisy sighed, a hand coming up to rub her eyes.

“Look, you got a much better introduction into this world than I did. Take your victories there. You’re not likely to change any more than you already have.”

“And how exactly have I already changed?” Sasha asked. She was vaguely aware that the conversation was getting way off topic. She found it hard to care though in the wake of this new information. Daisy shrugged.

“If you want information, and you ask for it with the right kind of emphasis, people will be compelled to tell you. It’s not like a Siren’s call, though. If they are aware of it they can resist, you aren’t that powerful yet.”

“I, that’s— ” Sasha took a deep breath. “Ok. I’ll deal with that later. How do I not force people to answer me?” She pushed the information of her questionable humanity deep into a little box in her mind and firmly decided to deal with it later. Preferably when Daisy, who was still an unknown element as far as Sasha was concerned; was somewhere else. Preferably far away.

“I don’t know. I’m not a Scribe. Experiment with your coworkers,” Daisy said. “just avoid asking questions for now.” Sasha nodded.

“Right. Right, ok, so then Rosie.” She said, giving Daisy a pointed look, hoping the question would come through without asking it. She itched to write the new information down, but she knew from Jon’s ‘monster manual’ that the urge was just further proof that Daisy was telling the truth. One issue at a time. Rosie first, she could freak out about the whole Scribe issue later.

Daisy smiled.

“How do you feel about using those abilities for a little recon?” She said with a wolfish grin.

***

Tim could hardly stop himself from whistling on his way to work. He knew he should be stressed, his boss had been accused of murder, worms had attacked his place of work, a cop had taken to prowling the space between the shelves and desks, and monst— non-human beings existed everywhere and seemed to crawl out of the wood work the second he turned his back.

But that said, there was a non-human being that he had lunch plans with in the creepy tunnels below the Archives, and Tim was struggling to find a downside there.

New people made Shelley nervous. They still had so much they were dealing with, and while Tim could see they were doing better, Jon ending up halfway around the world and unreachable certainly wasn’t helping. Tim had been surprised to learn that he himself could be located anywhere. Since he had actually entered through the halls of madness. It was nice. Tim liked Shelley, they reminded him of Danny sometimes. Tim’s long rusty big brother instincts were soothed by the fact that if Shelley needed help they knew to come to him and where to find him. Tim had suggested meeting in the tunnels, rather than the Archives where Daisy seemed to have set up permanent shop; to help offset some of Shelley’s anxiety about the whole situation, and so far it seemed to be working out well.

Shelley didn’t really eat anymore, or at least they didn’t eat anything Tim would consider food, but they seemed to like it when Tim brought interesting shaped bits of plastic. One time, they ate the corner pieces of a puzzle Tim had brought for them to work on.

They would still drink tea if Tim brought them some, though he had to make sure to bring it in a styrofoam cup. He had once watched Shelley eat the mug, and that had been a little much for him. Though, Shelley only seemed to actually enjoy the tea if Martin made it. Tim could relate.

Actually, when he arrived at work that morning, only a little late (not like Jon was there to yell, and he slipped in the back way anyway just to be safe.) he was surprised not to see a cup waiting for him, Martin usually managed to be in a few minutes early to make some for everyone, and especially since he was running behind, it was strange not to see any sign of tea. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Rosie that morning, either... and now that he was in the Archives he could see that Sasha was MIA, too. He didn’t see Daisy, but that was never a surprise. She moved like a cat, and hid like one, too. Tim frowned at the empty Archives. Something wasn’t quite right. Tim checked his watch.

The others should be here. Tim heard a crash outside the door to the Archives. Coming from right around where they had left that strange web covered table.

Tim ran.

He was just in time to see Rosie take the tacky plastic cover off the table and desperately try to scrabble to pull herself— over it? It was hard to tell what she was trying to do. It didn’t much matter because Daisy swept in, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed Rosie by the ankle pulling her away from the table onto the ground. A set of handcuffs snapping onto her wrists as she restrained the other woman.

“What the hell?!” cried Tim.

“Tim we can explain.” Tim looked up to see Sasha’s panicked expression. “Yeah, I’m thinking you’d better.”

***

Martin was cold. He knew that he was cold. He tried to focus only on the things he knew.

He knew his name was Martin Blackwood. He had pulled out his driver’s licence to hold in front of him so he wouldn’t forget again. He knew he worked for the Magnus Institute, an organization that researched the supernatural, because he had his employee ID card out, too.

Martin was also pretty sure he knew that whatever was happening to him was supernatural. Something in him was saying that he needed to get to the Magnus Institute. He didn’t know what that something was, but given that he was all alone in the strange fog of London, he figured it couldn’t hurt. Martin was just... so cold.

***

They had dragged Rosie into Jon’s office. The blood from Leitner had been cleaned up, and a new chair requisitioned, but seeing yet another person be interrogated in that room sent a chill down Tim’s spine. Especially with Daisy there. Tim was more aware then he’d sometimes like to be of just how nasty cops could be sometimes, and nothing about this situation seemed above board. But Sasha has explained that it wasn’t really Rosie, and Tim just kept thinking about the Circus.

It was hard not to.

“Why are you here?” Sasha demanded.

“I— the, the table... I, I’m trapped by it,” The changeling said, like the words were ripped from her throat and that they pained her to say. “Please, please don’t make me tell my secrets! The Stranger isn’t meant to be known!” She pleaded.

“How many have you taken?” Sasha’s voice sounded, different somehow. More resonant than it should.

“F-four!” Gasped the woman who wasn’t Rosie. Daisy swore.

“It’s a fucking kid,” Daisy said. “ask it why it’s here.” She said to Sasha.

“Why are you here?” Sasha asked.

“I—  the, the table. I can’t leave the table. I’m— bound to it.”

“Shit, I think I read a statement about that!” Tim said snapping his fingers.

“Right,” Sasha said, she had read that statement, too. “What is your story?” There was something not quite right about that. Tim was surprised to see that Sasha had gotten out her notebook.

“I, the Circus,” Tim flinched. “I was raised by the Circus. They want to bring the Stranger through to this world. In the great Unknowing. I got trapped though, the first time they let me out on my own.” There were tears streaming down her face, and Tim hoped he was deluding himself with the idea that they were tinged with red, but the stains on her white sweater told him he was not. “I’ve been so alone! Trapped! I don’t want to go back! People are so much nicer away from the Circus! Don’t send me back!”

“Are you talking about the Circus of the Other?” Tim demanded, barely able to keep himself from shouting. The woman who wasn’t Rosie nodded meekly.

“Please!” She begged. “Don’t ask me anymore! It hurts to share the Secrets!” Sasha opened her mouth but closed it when Tim looked at her. He had finally figured out why her voice sounded so off. She sounded a bit like Jon had when he had Sung to Tim.

“Sasha, we need to talk. Outside. Now.” He said looking at her. She slowly nodded.

Chapter Text

Martin wasn’t sure how long he had been walking for. Time didn’t really seem to work right, if it ever had. He was still a little fuzzy on the details of things from his past. His name was Martin Blackwood. He was pretty sure of that. He worked for the Magnus Institute, according to the work id. He had managed to remember enough to pull his phone out at some point and had pulled up the photos on it. He was pretty sure he remembered the people there. He could remember feeling warm and, surprisingly, loved.

He couldn’t remember their names, but Martin could tell they were there, just out of reach.

Martin kept walking.

He hadn’t seen another person in a long time. He had to glance back down at his phone occasionally to remind himself that other people existed.

He had tried to use his phone to call out, but the second he tried it had died and hadn’t turned back on for a long time. This left Martin scared to try again, he didn’t want to lose his remaining connection to the faces of the people he cared about. At least, he was pretty sure he cared about them.

Martin wasn’t sure which direction he was going in, the streets looked off here, and there were no signs, but he Knew deep in his gut that he was heading in the right direction. It was like there was a string pulling him. Actually, it wasn’t really his gut that was guiding him, come to think of it. The hand Martin held his ID cards in also bore the heavy spider ring, and sometimes, Martin could swear that through the fog a silver string glinted, guiding him forward. Martin was reminded of a myth, so much so that he could almost even remember it through the fog.

His name was Martin Blackwood. He worked for the Magnus Institute. He had friends.

It could have been minutes or years later, when he finally entered through the doors of the Magnus Institute. No one was there of course, though at this point Martin was hardly surprised. He hadn’t seen anyone for a long time. At least, he thought it had been a long time. The clock on the wall flashed 00:00 just like his phone, so time had no real meaning here. Martin glanced back at his phone to remind himself that there were people who probably cared about him.

Martin took a deep breath and repeated his mantra. His name was Martin Blackwood. He worked for the Magnus Institute. He had friends.

He followed the silver string down a flight of stairs and passed a partially uncovered table, it held a strange and hypnotic pattern but something told him that wasn’t what he should be focusing on. He pressed forward. The first thing he did was go to Jon’s office— Jon! How could he have forgotten about Jon?

Martin shook his head. He needed to focus. Where Jon should have been there was— well Martin, even with his mind addled as it was, didn’t think he had ever known the name of what the- creature? Being? was. It was more of a shadow than a person, and it’s form seemed to shift more the more he looked at it.

It was tied to Jon’s chair, and even though it didn’t appear to have anything that Martin could call a face, he got the distinct impression that the being was sad? Somehow?

“Hello?” He called out cautiously. The thing didn’t move, or at least, Martin didn’t think it did. It was hard to tell, the edges were sort of, fuzzy. Martin got the distinct impression though, that it was looking at him now. “Hello there.” He tried again.

“Are you a Secret?” It wasn’t a voice that Martin could have described. The question was felt more than it was heard, but Martin Knew it had been asked.

“I, I don’t know.” He answered honestly. His mind was still foggy, and memories unclear. He supposed he could have been a secret. Whatever that meant. The thing in Jon’s chair purred. At least Martin thought it was purring. The edges of its silhouette seemed to grow even fuzzier.

“Are you here to kill me?” It asked.

“What?! No!” Martin said in surprise. “No! Why would I be trying to kill you?”

“Because I revealed the Secrets,” The thing said. It sounded, felt? so sad. Martin wanted to try comforting it, but he didn’t even know where to start.

“Well, I’m, I’m not here to hurt you. I— don’t suppose you could tell me where here is? Exactly?” He tried. The thing gave off the impression of cocking its head.

“It’s the Secret place,” It said. “it’s where you go to tell Secret things, and to forget them.”

“Oh!” Martin said, the phrasing triggering something in his mind that Jon had said a memory coming back to him. “Like the Hallways? The, um, what did Jon call them? The Gates of Madness? Like that?” The thing remained still for a moment.

“Yes,” It said after a while. “we aren’t supposed to know about it. The Circus told us it was bad, but the Secret place is safe. Can’t tell a Secret, if you can’t remember it. Can you tell me a Secret Martin Blackwood?”

“I—  how do you know my name?” He asked instead.

“It’s not a Secret.” The thing said, and Martin sighed when it didn’t seem inclined to say anything more.

“If, if I tell you a secret will you help me leave here?” The thing seemed to consider this.

“Yes.” The thing said.

“Ok, ok, um I don’t— ” Martin began, thinking of all his lost memories, when suddenly, just as they had left him, they returned. “Oh.” He said. “I, um, I lied. On my CV. I don’t really belong here. I shouldn’t be working here at all and I am terrified that someone will find out.” It came out in a rush, and the thing seemed to hum with energy. “Now, now help me get out of here.” Martin demanded, his Voice shaking slightly, though he couldn’t have said why.

“I can’t.” The thing said simply.

“What?! No! You promised that you would help me leave!”

“I did. You must follow your connections back. Get someone to call you home.” It said. It began to fade until there was only a faint impression of a shadow. Hardly anything there, and it refused to respond when Martin called out to it.

The Tape recorder in his pocket clicked off.

Martin shoved his ID cards and phone back in his pocket and pulled the recorder out, giving it a thoughtful look. If it worked for recording the statements about the lesser gods, then maybe?

Martin took a deep breath and pressed record.

***

Tim began to pace as Sasha shared what she knew. He started to say something as she finished but stopped. There was a soft hissing sound coming from Sasha’s desk. He looked at the tape recorder sitting there. It hadn’t been there five minutes ago— he looked at Sasha.

Very slowly, she pressed rewind. They both held their breaths, though none of them had any idea as to why. Cautiously, she pressed play.

“Hello there.” It was Martin’s voice. “Sorry, I just need this recorder there Mr. Spider. Or, or you know, Mrs. Spider. You could be a girl spider, I suppose— oh.” There was silence for a while, the sound of things being shuffled around, like the recorder had been in a bag for a while before—

“Hello, you must be Martin,” The voice gave Tim chills. The conversation that followed was worse. They listened in horror as Martin was threatened by the man, Peter? And then, with growing shock and disgust, as Elias admitted, on tape to murder.

There was quiet for a while again, just the gentle whirring of the tape recorder. Tim and Sasha had no words. Tim slowly reached out to turn the recorder off.

“Hello?” It spoke. He froze. It was Martin again. “I, this is Martin Blackwood. I don’t know if this is going to get through. I, I’m in the Archives. I’m, I’m all alone here.” He sounded scared. Tim swallowed hard. “I’m not hurt I don’t think, but, but it’s hard to stay focused long enough to remember things here. It’s, it’s so cold.” He trailed off and Tim felt his heart skip a beat.

“I, if there is anyone hearing this, I can’t see you, I, I think I can hear the tapes, though. And, and I think if you wrote a message for me I could see that, too. I don’t know how to get back— and, and it’s so cold. There’s a, a being here. It’s, it’s sitting in Jon’s chair. I don’t know what it is.” Martin sighed. “I’ll, stay in the Archives for now. Again.” There was a beat of silence. “Oh, um, recording ends I guess.”

Sasha looked at Tim.

“I- I think I may need to email Jon early today.” She said and he couldn’t help but nod.

***

Jon had never been more frustrated with his forced isolation. He hadn’t been able to get in touch with Oliver, as it meant risking revealing his location to Daisy’s partner, who was still actively looking into the murder of one Jurgen Leitner. Daisy had figured it would be another couple of months and the case would be permanently shut. Sectioned cases didn’t stay open long and the people in the Network made sure that once they were shut they stayed that way.

However, this meant that both him, and now Gerry were left in limbo, in the middle of nowhere with two werewolves. Jon’s sense of smell was not his sharpest sense, but he was starting to grow very tired of the occasional whiff of wet dog. Gerry, who had been spending less and less time tucked away in his page always laughed when he saw Jon’s face change at the smell.

To top it all off, Jon was hungry. He didn’t much want to return to the skin book, he was afraid of what he would find. Jon wasn’t sure he could handle knowing how many improperly bound beings laid between its covers. Gerry helped, of course. He had been a surprisingly good sport about it, allowing Jon to tempt him into staying manifested; and tempt him into asking his questions about the lesser gods.

Gerry insisted that it was fine, but Jon still felt wrong knowingly feeding off a friend, to say nothing of a friend in Gerry’s situation. Jon wished he had done a better job of rationing the statements he had brought. He was starting to suffer from the occasional dizzy spell, but more than that, the last day he had had a persistent feeling that something was very wrong in his Archives.

He couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth through the small woodland cabin. An anxious hum permitting the air that he couldn’t quite suppress. Trevor and Julia both had left, frustrated by his continuous pacing and singing under his breath.

As it turned out, Trevor was a smoker and Jon had managed to get his hands on a pack of his cigarettes. It helped with the hunger, at least a little bit, and it helped keep him from outright singing. Not that Gerry seemed to mind much, but Singing without realizing it was a very dangerous habit for a Siren to get into.

So, it wasn’t really a surprise when Jon’s burner phone alerted him to an email that he jumped on it. He was even more excited when he realized that it was a message from Sasha about his Archives. Her emails had mostly at this point contained things regarding the more mundane aspects of running an Archive, but Jon was so hungry and bored that at this point it hardly mattered. He was almost certain watching paint dry would be more interesting than pacing the small cabin for the millionth time.

He changed his mind on that about one sentence in.

The baby changeling was concerning, and Jon couldn’t stop himself from anxiously clicking his claws together, mind racing. Then Sasha got to the part about Martin, and Jon felt his heart drop.

He needed to make a call. He needed to get back to his Archives.

Chapter Text

Getting out of America and back home to the UK was proving to be significantly more difficult than it had been the other way around. Simon, unfortunately, was off galavanting somewhere meaning his private jet wouldn’t be available for another two weeks, and obviously commercial airlines weren’t really an option.

Which meant Jon was left with three choices. None of which were good options.

He could wait, which really wasn’t a choice at all not with Martin trapped and a child loose in his Archives, not to mention the fact that his temple was apparently run by a murderer.

He could take his chances with commercial options, try to get a fake ID perhaps, and hope he wasn’t arrested. That route was still far too risky, even with a bit of Song to try to smooth the way. Besides, it wasn’t just himself Jon had to worry about now, if he got arrested his belongings would be taken. That would mean Gerry’s page would be trapped in evidence, which made it a risk not worth taking.

Which meant that Jon would have to take a less conventional route. He hated the less conventional route. It would still take three full days, and those three days would be miserable as far as he was concerned, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about customs. Besides, it wasn’t like he was legally in the country in the first place. Jon sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face, stressed enough that he nearly forgot about his claws, nearly stabbing himself in the eye. He let out a low hum like growl.

“Right.” He said. Gerry looked up from the iSpy book Jon had left open for him on the table. Jon took a steadying breath. “Do you think ghosts can get seasick?”

***

It didn’t take long to pack up his things, Jon had no real interest in keeping the ridiculously coloured button ups the two werewolves had provided him with in his time as a fugitive. Though like them or not, they had been a gift, so Jon couldn’t exactly refuse them. He was pretty sure the two werewolves had been entirely aware of that little cultural quirk and had chosen shirts they knew he would hate on purpose.

Jon was able to fit most of what he had into two small bags, which was manageable enough. Perhaps Tim might like some of the brightly coloured shirts? Or Gerry? They were big on Jon, so they might fit— Jon tried to shake his head to stay on task. He shifted the plastic bag in his hand, it had begun to drip a deep red.

It wasn’t a good idea to zone out while down at the marina after dark. There were all sorts of shady characters doing business on the docks at midnight.

“Mighty shady to be doing business down at the docks at midnight.” Gerry said from his left. Jon snorted. In the darkness of the docks, Gerry’s ghostly glow was more pronounced and he provided far better light than the singular flickering bulb above them that acted more as a magnet for insects than illumination. “You sure this is the right place?” He asked.

“Unfortunately.” Jon said, staring into the black and churning water. The smell of salt and leaked gasoline was heavy in the air, Jon could feel it settle into his hair and cling to his clothings. Gerry was lucky he was a ghost. If Jon wasn’t so worried about the state of his temple then he would have just waited the two weeks for Simon’s private jet.

But desperate times and all that.

There was a resonant trilling that came from below the dock. Jon tensed, but let out an answering call. It was not his normal happy trilling, this was more like the call of a seabird, sharp and high, the edge of a threat carrying along the ocean breeze.

A clawed and webbed hand appeared over the side of the dock, claws digging into the old wood as a second hand appeared, hauling a dark figure out of the water. It’s colour was impossible to see, but it’s razor pointed teeth glinted ominously. Scales covered what little of it the light fell on, and even the fins decorating its tail had long spikes capping them. It sat on the dock dripping and gave the distinct impression of being incredibly slimy, despite the light being far too dim to really be able to tell.

“We seek passage to the land on the other side. I bring payment.” He held the dripping bag aloft, and something metallic clinked inside. The creature snatched the bag away from Jon, riffling through its contents before dropping it into the water and nodding.

“Why does a Giowon need passage? We don’t see many of your kind in the proper world.”

Jon suppressed a flinch at the slur and clenched his jaw at the very idea of the ocean being the ‘proper world.’

“Do you accept our payment or no?” He said, his voice utterly devoid of expression, he couldn’t risk slipping any trace of song into it, lest they turn them away. The mermaid seemed to consider this.

“Sir Banshee, do you vouch for this VizUxñu?” Jon turned to look at Gerry, who seemed to take a second to clue in that he was being addressed.

“Jon?” It was as much an answering question to the mermaid as it was a question to the siren. Jon tried an encouraging nod, though with the tension in his shoulders it didn’t really come across as anything more than a confirmation.

“Uh yes, I’ll vouch for- ‘this-’” Gerry seemed to stumble in the face of attempting to pronounce what the mermaid had called Jon. Jon was glad of it. It would have hurt more to hear the slur coming from the lips of a friend, even if Gerry didn’t know the meaning. “Jon. I’ll vouch for Jon.” Gerry finished awkwardly. The mermaid nodded.

“We will take your passage.” They held up a hand to stop Jon as he opened his mouth. “But only because we are taking the Lady with us this night. She will ensure your good behaviour, dry-throat.” Jon tried to resist the urge to glare. He was only marginally successful.

“Very well,” Jon said. He didn’t see any other option. The mermaid nodded, as if this was a forgone conclusion, and dived back into the water.

“So, you wanna tell me what the fuck that was all about?” Gerry asked, crossing his arms.

“Oh, ah, just, um, just watch,” Jon said pointing to a spot beside the dock which was beginning to bubble ominously.

It was not, in the most traditional sense, a submarine. It was, in point of fact, a great deal more like what one might imagine an underwater horse drawn carriage to look like.

It was long, perhaps 20 metres in length, though it was quite narrow, about the average width of a one lane city street. A hatch on top swung open.

“You know Jon, somehow, I actually have more questions,” Gerry said as Jon began to pick up his bags and head towards the submarine.

The interior of the submarine was lit with a warm glow, which left it all but impossible to see out the windows into the blackened water beyond. Gerry nervously eyed Jon’s bag as they got settled in, it was bad enough that he was still bound to a piece of paper, he wasn’t keen to find out what might happen to him if it got wet.

“Ok Jon, you better start talking.” Gerry said once Jon had stored the luggage.

“Right, uh, well, mermaids,” and Jon only just managed to avoid sneering at the word. “have a particular fondness for certain land animals, and certain precious metals, so if you can provide some, in exchange- they will provide transportation to any shoreline in the world.”

“No no, I figured that part out, I’m talking about the weird names? And the— Lady?”

“Oh. Right.” Jon looked down a little awkwardly. “The, um, the first one- giowan means, uh, failed mermaid? Or soiled mermaid? It’s not a one to one translation. The uh, second one- VizUxñu, means, well, um, soul stealer. Sirens and mermaids Uh, supposedly share a common ancestor, but sirens evolved beyond the ocean, and, actually it might be easier to explain if I just tell you the myth?” Jon was feeling a little guilty of adding a hint of Song to the question. He was hungry, and Gerry did desire to know, plus he had consented to Jon’s occasional snacking. Gerry settled into the couch and crossed his arms.

“Alright ‘Professor Sims’, hit me with it then.” He said with a fond eye roll.

“Right, so, um.” Jon took a deep breath, and his words took on a lyrical cadence. “There were once two sisters, twins. They lived along the Great Shore, for there was only one shore in that time. They loved each other dearly, though they often fought as family are wont to. Both were blessed with the curiosity of Sirillus and as they were blessed of Sirillus, they both had a longing to know what lay beneath the waves that crashed on the shore of their home.

The Younger Sister was smart, and built a machine to allow her to See, and through Seeing to Know what secrets the ocean held. But that was not enough for the Elder Sister. She needed more, and as her hunger for the sea grew, it became an obsession. It consumed her, so she began to consume others. Eating raw from the waves what life she could find, hoping to absorb its power. As she did, she tricked her Younger Sister into eating the life of the ocean, too. The Elder Sister hoped to catch the attention of Gaia, and to gain favour, so that she may live amongst the life she consumed. But, it was not Gaia who took notice. Instead Felor, the patron of Hunters, of Blood, and of War who approached the Elder Sister.

The Elder Sister had been unknowingly sacrificing to Felor with each creature she killed, and with every bite of its raw flesh. The Elder Sister was afraid when Felor came to her in a dream, but she accepted the god’s blessing, for so great was her love of the sea. But the Elder Sister did not wish to leave the Younger behind, and she begged Felor to bless her sister as well.

Felor agreed, for her sister too, had consumed the life force of the ocean, and eaten the raw flesh of its bounty. But while the Elder Sister delighted in her new found ability to live among the waves she so loved, the Younger was furious. She had not chosen this life and she did not desire it. The ocean was so limiting, she wanted to see everything, and now she would be trapped below the waves forever.

The Younger Sister was clever though, and Sirillus took pity upon her. She was granted back her lungs and once more the power to walk above the waves, but the need to consume meat remained, for it is hard to undo such changes. The Younger Sister missed her Sister terribly though, and she begged Sirillus for the power to call her Sister home to her.

Sirillus once again was merciful, and agreed to grant her the power. And the first siren was born. Given the power to draw her sister out of the ocean, so long as it was truly what she desired. But the Elder Sister had grown too fond of her power, and her love of the ocean was greater than her love for her Sister.

Sirens and Mermaids have hated each other ever since. They call us ‘failed mermaids’ and ‘soul stealers’ for they believe that a being’s desires are their soul. For all mermaids desire to be a part of the ocean.”

“That’s— ” Gerry shook his head. “very different from the sort of stories I grew up with.” He finished.

“I imagine it would be,” Jon agreed, trying not to look like he was still hungry.

“But that still doesn’t explain who ‘the Lady’ is and why her presence here means they’ll tolerate a siren.”

“That would be me.” The voice had a sort of false friendliness, and the figure who appeared was accompanied by a sudden chill and a gentle gasp of mist. “Hello, Rachel Lukas, at your service.”

Chapter Text

While Tim and Sasha had their ‘talk’ and emailed Jon, Daisy had made a phone call. It wasn’t the sort of call she liked to make, but she figured with how scared the changeling was, they might need a bit of time to calm down before she spoke with them. Besides, this wasn’t really her area of expertise, and Daisy knew when she needed to call in reinforcements.

She wasn’t thrilled to learn that it was going to take those reinforcements a full three days to arrive, but it was still better than nothing. Tim and Sasha seemed quite distracted by a tape recorder, she could have listened in on it. However, she figured that it might be a better idea to try and give them some privacy. The tapes were Jon’s thing, she didn’t need to know. So instead, she tried to soften her facial expressions, took a deep breath, and went back into Jon’s office to deal with the kid.

They had stopped crying at least, so Daisy counted that as a victory. Though a small one, since they whimpered when Daisy started to come to close. She bit down a growl. Kids were not her specialty. For the millionth time, she wished Basira could be the one to handle this. She had always been better with kids— the supernatural on the other hand, well maybe it was best Daisy handled it.

“Hey kid, I’m not going to hurt you ok?” They sniffled, eyes widening in consternation. “I’m going to untie you now, you know there is nowhere to run— I just want to talk ok?” Very slowly, the being who wasn’t Rosie nodded.

“P-please I, I’ll cooperate, but please, keep Sasha away. Her questions hurt.” Daisy sighed.

“I promise. Sasha won’t be allowed back in, ok?” Daisy, watched them nod. “I’m going to approach you now to untie you, alright? The door is closed and I’m faster than you— but I don’t want to hurt you, are you going to be smart about this?” Daisy waited for the nod before approaching.

“I want you to know that what happened here was wrong. And I’m sorry that we hurt you.” The being who wasn’t Rosie’s brow wrinkled. They didn’t seem to understand. “You are a child, and I shouldn’t have reacted so strongly. This isn’t an excuse, I just want you to understand, ok? We didn’t know you were a kid, and we didn’t know what your intentions were. I thought you might have helped the person who killed Jurgen Leitner frame Jon.”

“I- I didn’t! I promise!” They said, shaking their head frantically.

“I know,” Daisy said, watching as they shakily rub at their wrists. “I have to ask you a few questions now- and I know you don’t want to answer, that’s ok. After these questions, I promise no more. I am only asking so I can help you ok? And I am going to ask them, not Sasha, do you think you can do your best to answer me? You can take as long as you like.”

“I- ok.” They whispered, looking down, fear clear on their face.

“Ok. Do you remember your family before the Circus?”

They shook their head.

“Ok, thank you.” Daisy said, trying to keep her voice gentle. Straining her mind to remember those seminars on abuse victims she had attended when she first became a cop. “Can you tell me how you got bound to the table?”

“It, it was my first time away from Nikola.” They whispered. “I picked badly, and the man trapped me. It, it was so scary.” They started to cry again.

“It’s ok, take your time. You don’t need to tell me more than that. I don’t need details.” Not about that at least.

“Ok.” The being who wasn’t Rosie said miserably. They shifted anxiously in their seat unable to make eye contact.

“Alright, now, I’m going to explain what is going to happen next alright? No one else knows yet, so it’s a Secret ok?” Daisy said, the changeling lit up a little then tried to hide it, and Daisy had to bite back a smile. “I’ve called a priest of Sekreth, the lesser god of secrets to come and talk to you, she’s not like you, but she knows lots of secrets about people like you, and she is going to make sure that you get looked after ok? She’s a trained social worker, and she’s very good at it.”

“What, what about Rosie’s family? I like them, they are so nice, they are the nicest I’ve ever stayed with. Her, her memories are warm.” Daisy bit her lip.

“I don’t know kid, but I’m sure if you’re happy then that’s something you can talk about with the social worker, I promise she’s very nice, too.”

“Ok,” The changeling said. Clearly still nervous.

“Now, it’s going to take a few days for her to get here, so at least for now you get to keep being Rosie, ok?” The changeling brightened up a little at that.

“I get to keep messing with Elias?” They asked excitedly.

“I’m counting on it,” Daisy said, reaching out and gently ruffling the changeling’s hair, pleased when they didn’t even flinch. The annoyed look was an excellent sign, and Daisy let out an internal sigh of relief. Child abuse cases were always hard to deal with. “When you’re ready, you can go back upstairs, or if you need to spend some time with the table that’s ok too, no one will stop you.” The changeling looked up at Daisy through their eye lashes.

“Thank you, Miss Toner.” They said, and Daisy ruffled their hair one more time.

***

Peter has originally planned to stay longer in port. He had actually been looking forward to Elias’s semi annual begging for funding. It was one of his favourite times of the year. Elias actually made a semi passable attempt to be nice to him, and the clear falseness of his kindness was so delightfully isolating.

Not to mention it was one of the few times a year that Peter could get away with irritating Elias, and the man still had to pretend to be nice. It was really the only reason he thought he could get away with tossing Mr. Blackwood into the Lonely. Apparently though, that had been a step too far. Peter had been genuinely surprised to find Elias had such limits, considering the man had hired a goddamn mermaid as his Archivist.

Still, Peter knew exactly who to take his vengeance out on. That irritating little caravan the Mermaids liked to toe through one of his main shipping routes, should be arriving soon, Peter was sure he’d have the chance to send a few merfolk into the Lonely—  they seemed to hate it, even if they did always manage to escape.

So Peter paid his men a little extra to cut their shore leave short. Armed with a new harpoon and the desire to irritate some fish people, he set off on the open sea.

***

Neither Tim nor Sasha were particularly surprised, when, despite the time difference Jon replied to the email almost immediately after it was sent. There were two replies, the first saying he was calling Simon to try to get back immediately, the second about two minutes later; saying they would be there in three days time. Tim and Sasha weren’t sure who ‘they’ entailed, but figured they’d find out when Jon got back.

Sasha wrote a note on the office white board for Martin telling him that Jon would be back in three days and to hold tight, they would try and find a way to get him back. Daisy was still in the room with the being who wasn’t Rosie, and Tim, Tim was feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Ok Sash. Not sure there’s much we can do about Martin till Jon gets back, and Rosie— I’m not gonna touch that one, Daisy can deal with her. But you, are you doing ok? The whole, Scribe thing? That, that sounds an awful lot like what happened with Shelley and-”

“I’m fine, Tim,” She interrupted. So obviously, Tim thought, she was not in fact fine. She was worried and stressed, and really who could blame her? Tim gave her a long look, and Sasha sighed. “I can’t deal with that right now Tim, not with Jon gone, Rosie—  absorbed? And, and Martin trapped in Secret— which, hang on, how do I know that’s what it’s called? I don’t, I didn’t know that before.” She looked at him, eyes wide. “Tim, I didn’t know that before.”

“Ok, ok, Sash, deep breaths, calm down.”

“Right, right, not the priority,”

“No, Sasha! That’s not what I meant, I mean- actually you know what? Come with me.” Tim said grabbing her by the hand and dragging her towards the tunnels.

“Tim? Where- what’s- I mean, I’d like to know where you’re taking me.” She settled on.

“Tunnels.” Tim said.

***

Martin stared at the words that had appeared on the white board.

‘Hang in there, Jon’s will be back in three days, and Tim and I are gonna do our best to help you get back. - Sasha <3’

She had actually drawn less than three too, not even a full heart, and Martin’s soap bubble memories were almost clear enough for him to remember the inside joke that led to Sasha writing it that way.

Martin sighed. It was getting a little easier to remember things now that he was back in the Archives. He thought he might have even seen Tim and Sasha’s shadows walk past him, even if it was only for a moment.

Martin stroked the little Spider on his finger. It squeezed his finger a little before relaxing, and suddenly Martin could see a strand of webbing again, he bit his lip. He had told Tim and Sasha he would stay in the Archives, but he was pretty sure they had gone to the tunnels, and it wasn’t like anyone would notice his absence anyway. The fog seemed to roll in a little thicker and Martin shivered. He looked at the white board again. Less than three. The chill faded a little.

Well, his little Spider friend hadn’t steered him wrong so far...

“Alright Charlotte,” Martin mumbled. “lead on.” It felt strange to speak into the stillness of the place, but it was stranger to say nothing at all. The strand led onto the upper most floor of the Institute, a place Martin was certain that, even if he had all his memories would be just as unfamiliar and foreboding.

There were portraits of the previous institute heads lining the walls leading up to where the strand of web was taking him. It was odd Martin thought, one of the few memories that he was able to hang onto for this place he recalled the eyes following him no matter where he stood, but now, every painting had its eyes missing, with only gaping black holes to show for it.

He felt the chill begin to creep in again.

“Jon is on his way, Tim and Sasha are going to get me out. My name is Martin Blackwood and I work for the Magnus Institute.” He tried to reassure himself, but the closer he grew to the door at the end of the hall the more unsettled he felt.

The office, like everywhere in the strange fog cover world he now inhabited was empty. Above the large oak desk hung a portrait of Jonah Magnus, clearly labeled with a gold plaque.

The eyes- there was something, wrong with them, Martin couldn’t put his finger exactly on what it was, they just looked more- real somehow, less like a painting than the rest of the face.

Martin shuddered.

The desk had a shiny name plate on it, proclaiming it to be the desk of Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute. Martin couldn’t really remember the man, aside from the distinct impression that upon meeting him Martin had felt like an ant under a magnifying glass without understanding why.

He brushed the thought aside in favour of opening the desk drawer the web strand had led him to.

Martin wasn’t sure what he had expected to be in the drawer, but a human skull had not been on the list. He stared at it for a moment, before he carefully— compelled by a force he couldn’t entirely understand, removed it from the drawer. It was lighter than he expected. The jaw lay abandoned still in the drawer, Martin held it up to examine it, his fingers naturally fitting in the place where the jaw was meant to sit.

“I would greatly prefer that you not hold my skull like that.” Came a voice from behind Martin. He nearly dropped the skull in his panic to turn around and see who had spoken.

The figure was insubstantial, his colours as bleached and muted as his bones. He was not a tall man, and the weight of his clear exhaustion shrank him even further. His clothes were decades out of date, his facial hair—  even more so. Even Martin could recall that much, and the man spoke with the sort of accent that made it clear he was well educated.

“Oh, um hello, ah, sorry, I’ll, um, just put it back then?” Martin stammered out.

“That is probably best, I am unsure as to what might happen were they to break.” The ghost, for Martin was certain that’s what he was talking to shifted slightly, and spoke as though he had not done so in a very long time. “Barnabas Bennett, at you service.” He said once Martin had placed the skull back in the safety of the drawer. In lieu of offering his hand to shake, the man gave a slight bow.

“Oh, um, Martin, Martin Blackwood.” Barnabas tilted his head slightly, giving Martin an appraising look.

“Yes, yes I can see the resemblance. I must confess though, I am surprised to see you here. I would not have thought Mordecai would bestow such a fate upon his nephew. Jonah always said he was fond of his sister, in his own way.” Barnabas shook his head sadly.

“I, don’t know what you're talking about? I’ve never met anyone named Mordecai?”

“No, no I suppose it has been some years hasn’t it? Time is difficult to track in this place.” Martin couldn’t help but agree with him there. “But it was the Lukas family that trapped you here, correct?”

“I- yes, how did you know?” Martin asked.

“Mordecai Lukas trapped me here many years ago as payment for a debt. Jonah had warned me not to cross them, but I’m afraid I did not listen. It is one of my deepest regrets. Still, are you not the descendent of Elizabeth Blackwood?”

“I, I mean, yes? How do you- no, why does that matter?” The memory of his great grandmother popped into his head unbidden.

“She was Mordecai’s sister; but I suppose it doesn’t matter now, you're trapped here, same as I was.” There was a heavy sadness to the shake of Barnabas’s head.

“So you were trapped here, too! Do you know how to get out?” Martin asked, he wasn’t entirely sure he liked this conversation, but if it was a way out then perhaps that was why the spider had led him here.

“Alas, I do not. I had hoped that perhaps my dear friend Jonah Magnus might have been able to intercede with Mordecai on my behalf, but he was either unable to or perhaps chose not to. I do not know. I just know it was he who retrieved my bones when at last I succumbed to this place.” Martin let out a disappointed sigh, and fought down the urge to roll his eyes, did the man have to be so overly dramatic?

“Do you know anything useful?” Martin asked in frustration. Barnabas looked offended for a moment before his features smoothed out.

“Forgive me, I have been trapped in this place for a very long time. It has been many years since I last spoke to another person.” At least he had the decency to look chastised. “I do not know how to leave this place, but I may know how you can. There is so much I could tell you that I have learned from this place, but- where to start? And should I even tell you? You are a Lukas after all, even if not in name.” Martin wasn’t entirely sure that Barnabas meant to say that last bit out loud.

“Look, Mr. Bennett, I don’t want to be rude, but if you can’t help me get back to my friends, and you don’t want to tell me anything because of some distant relation I’ve never met, then you can quite being irritating and I’ll go talk to the weird shadow being downstairs.”

“Oh; yes, yes of course you’re right.” Barnabas said, waving a hand, he floated towards Martin and gently laid a hand on his own skull. “Have you ever met a ghost, Mr. Blackwood?”

“No, I can’t say I have.” Martin said, his patience beginning to wear thin.

“That is, because as far as I’m aware, they don’t exist normally. I’m still here though. I’m still here because my dear friend Jonah Magnus chose to keep my bones in this place. I am trapped in Secret, and bound by Knowing, I am wrong Mr. Blackwood, and I would like to rest. If I help you leave, do you promise to pass on a message for me?”

“Yeah sure, if you can help me leave I’ll pass on a message.” Martin no longer really believed the man could help him, but he supposed he had some time to kill before Jon would be back.

“You need to be called home. I have learned much about this place, you need to find someone who truly knows you and follow that home. I was alone Mr. Blackwood, I had no close ties, and no one who really knew me. So there was no way to break the hold of this place, but if you have family, or companions, people who know you. Then I think you may well be able to leave.” Barnabas sighed. “I think you will succeed Mr. Blackwood. I have a good sense of these things. I have lived, such as I can, in Secret for a long time now. I think you will succeed in coming out of this. So this is my message. Please tell Jonah that I forgive him. I forgive him, but I can not forget what he did. And that inaction will be his downfall.”

With that Barnabas Bennet seemed to fade even further from view, until he was swallowed by the fog.

“Well that was useless.” Martin said, partly to the Spider on his finger and partly to himself. “Jonah Magnus isn’t even alive anymore!” Martin sighed. He supposed there wasn’t much he could have really expected from a ghost in this strange and lonely place. He went back down to the Archives.

Martin was moving on autopilot, making tea for four. Black for Sasha, more milk than tea for Tim, just honey for Jon, and a dash of sugar and milk for himself.

Chapter Text

“Shelley?” Tim called as he dragged Sasha along. She hadn’t spent as much time in the tunnels as Tim had, and they still creeped her out. She kept expecting to hear the disturbing squish of worms beneath her feet.

There was the creak of rusty hinges and she could practically hear the smile in Tim’s voice.

“Shelley! How are you? I brought you something!” Tim pulled a bag out of his pocket, and Sasha was 90% certain it was filled with tide pods.

“Tim, Sasha.” Shelley acknowledged. They reached out excitedly for the tide pods and Sasha watched with horrified fascination as they popped one into their mouth. She had so many questions.

“Do you— can you—        do you actually need to eat?” She settled on.

“I do not know,” Shelley answered promptly and then frowned, their face creasing in ways that shouldn’t be possible. They turned to look at Tim, a question clear in their eyes.

“Yeah,” Tim said, scratching the back of his head and thoroughly messing up his curls. “That’s sort of why I brought her here.” Shelley turned to look at Sasha, tilting their head at an angle that made her neck twinge in sympathy. Shelley walked around behind her in a circle, examining her. Once or twice reaching out with a hand that looked normal, until you blinked— and playing with a lock of her hair.

“You are... incomplete.” They said after their examination, there was an air of finality to it. “You are... Becoming.” They added, as if that meant anything to either of them. It was said with a slight apologetic air. Which worried Sasha more than anything else had so far.

“What exactly does that mean?” She asked and Shelley flinched, the edges of their form fizzing out in static and colour for a moment.

“You are not like me. But you are not like him, either.” Shelley said pointing to Tim. “Not anymore.” They held up a finger, to stop Sasha’s oncoming questions. “Please don’t Ask like that. It is— painful.” They said, looking at Tim. “Boundaries are important right?” Tim nodded encouragingly, and Shelley nodded to themself in confirmation.

“Shit. I’m sorry Shelley. I don’t— I don’t really know how to stop, or, how to ask without— ” Sasha sighed, and slid down against the wall.

“Becoming that which you were not is hard.” Shelley said, moving to join her on the floor. “Identity is... difficult. I, I do not know if there is a way to stop your— conversion. I am still learning to understand my own Becoming. Struggling to understand the concept of me, myself, and I.”

“I’m scared,” Sasha whispered. The confession felt heavy on her tongue. “I don’t— Jon’s not human and he seems quite happy with that, but I don’t, I don’t know how to be this new thing... I don’t know what the rules are. I never would have thought my humanity was important.” She shut her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall of the tunnel. Tim had slipped away at some point to give them some privacy, and she fought back a chill. Two monsters left alone in the tunnels. Shelley didn’t say anything, but she got the sense they understood. “I used to love fantasy as a kid. I always loved the idea of witches and elves, I mean there’s a reason I started working for an institute that studies the supernatural and it wasn’t just because getting academic jobs are difficult. I wanted to believe in something more. And if it wasn’t going to be God, it may as well have been spooks.” She sighed. “Just didn’t figure I’d end up a spook myself.” She shook her head, surprised at how easy it had been to say. She looked over at Shelley.

“There is much I do not understand.” They said. “Identity is hard, time is harder, and the relationship between what is, what was, and what is coming, is far beyond my understanding. But you were Sasha yesterday, yes?” She nodded. “And you are still Sasha today?” She nodded again. “Then who or what you will be tomorrow does not matter. Because right now you are Sasha.” They shifted and rippled along the edges. “Perhaps you will not be Sasha tomorrow, but that has not changed since yesterday.” Shelley offered a hand to her and she took it, ignoring the way it felt like plunging her hand in a bucket of purple. She gave it a tentative squeeze back. They sat like that until Tim came back with a tea tray, three cups of tea, and a peculiar look on his face.

Sasha didn’t understand the look until she took a sip. Only one person could make tea like that.

“Martin?” She asked. Tim frowned slightly as he nodded.

“Must be.”

Shelley hummed in delight as they took a bite out of the mug, the tea Tim had given had clearly not been meant for them, but they enjoyed the warmth and crunch anyway.

For a moment, Sasha thought she heard Martin’s voice echo through the tunnels. But then again, she thought as she looked over at Shelley, maybe not.

***

“Ms. Rachel?” Jon asked in utter bafflement.

“Hello, Jon.” She offered him a smile.

“Jon—” Gerry said, irritation clear in his voice. “At your convenience, I’d love an explanation. Assuming, of course; your convenience is right bloody now.”

“Oh! Ah, yes, Gerry, Ms. Rachel was my caseworker, after, um, my parents died.” Jon swallowed, and didn’t meet Gerry’s eyes. Seeing Ms. Rachel again after so many years, well it felt strange. So, Jon settled for nervously examining his claws. He recalled the first time he had met Ms. Rachel was the first time they had been filed— at his grandmother’s insistence when he had moved in with her.

“There are supernatural social workers?” Gerry asked in confusion, there was something about the name Rachel Lukas that seemed familiar somehow. Gerry just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was hard to think bound to the book like he was. The pain often made his brain feel foggy.

“Of course! We can’t trust the human system to be able to handle nonhuman children.” Jon said.

“So what are you then?” Gerry asked, there was something he was forgetting. Rachel Lukas laughed.

“Oh I’m human, no doubt about that, but my family has had... something of an arrangement with Sekreth for a very long time. Actually, Jon, I wanted to congratulate you, I hear you’re well on your way to a priesthood.”

“Oh, I- um. Well, I, I suppose.” Jon said, continuing to anxiously pick at his claws.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d end up on such a path, isolated as you were from a proper choir. I had a lot of concerns leaving you to grow up alone there, but I’m glad it worked out alright. Though I have to ask, why do you have a Banshee Book of the Dead?” She asked, glancing over at Gerry. Jon’s face went dark.

“Gerard was bound during Bashí dar, he’s still alive. The book is rightfully his, passed down from the matriarch.” There was a sharp lurch as the submarine began to pull forward, and Rachel Lukas pursed her lips.

“It’s late. Perhaps this conversation is best continued in the morning,” Suddenly everything clicked in Gerry’s mind.

“No. Not until someone explains to me what the hell is going on. You’re a Lukas.” He said pointing at her. “I know what the Lukas’s are. You serve the Lonely, or Sekreth or whatever you call it—  and I don’t care what weird spin you want to put on it—  Peter Lukas occasionally worked with my mom, I know exactly what the Lukas’s can do. I don’t trust you not to kill Jon in his sleep, so start talking.” There was silence for a while, and Rachel sighed.

“Peter is an ass,” She said. She did not seem particularly inclined to say anything more than that, she sat down on one of the benches that lined the main room.

“Go on,” Jon said, there was an edge to his voice, it wasn’t the Song Gerry had gotten used to either, this was different, more like static— more like Gertrude. In Jon’s bag a tape recorder clicked on. Rachel pulled a very strange face, then spoke as though the words were ripped from her throat.

“My family has a long tradition of secrets. Our god has blessed us, but to truly receive the blessings of Sekreth you must uncover their secrets for yourself. If they were simply told to you they would hold no power. So, the children of the Lukas family must discover the secrets for themselves. We have an advantage, of course, the vast library of my family's estate holds a great deal of secrets, and is an excellent place to start. The shipping business that is held in our name allows the younger of us to travel and to meet others, learning more secrets as we grow.

Not all of us become priests, of course, and not all choose to continue the family traditions, but enough have that the line continues. I discovered the truth of the lesser gods as the Sirens call them at a young age. By ten, I knew I was bound for priesthood. But not all of us succeed in uncovering the truth, if the secrets were easy to learn they wouldn’t hold the power that they do. The first of our family to fail was Mordecai Lukas, but he was not the last.

My brother Peter was always a lonely child. He didn’t socialize well with his siblings, and the Forsaken aspect of Sekreth called most strongly to him. In a different world, perhaps he would have become a Shepard for the abandoned. Taking in the secrets of those left behind and forgotten, acting as a release for those whose secrets are a weight, taking the burden, and freeing them from the isolation of being the only one to truly know or understand something. But instead he creates such individuals. He pulls them from themselves and leaves their secrets abandoned and wasted.” She took a deep shuddering breath.

“Stop this, Jon.” She said and the intense look on Jon’s face froze.

“Oh— oh god I, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, of course not. You are not used to the level of power you hold. You need to be more careful. What might have happened if you had done that to a changeling? Or even to one of your humans?” Jon’s face was painted with horror, and Gerry was once more deeply confused.

“I—” Jon seemed to fold into himself. He didn’t feel hungry anymore, but the wretched feeling of shame was worse.

“Would someone like to explain what just happened?” Gerry asked. He was trying to hold off judgement. Not make assumptions about things he clearly didn’t fully understand.

“Growing pains.” Rachel Lukas said simply. “I will speak with you both in the morning.” With that she seemed to fade into the shadows, with a whisper of fog that had not been there before. Jon slumped down exhaustion and shame battling for dominance on his face.

“Yeah ok, so none of that made any sense.” Gerry said into the silence.

“I- I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t know I could do that, I’m not a scribe I-“ Jon took a deep breath. “Perhaps she is right. I think we all need a good nights sleep.”

Chapter Text

Gerry was, as far as he was concerned, dead. He hadn’t slept since he had been bound to the book. He always figured that that had been just another way the book was meant to torture him. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that Jon wasn’t just delusional, he had seen too much to trust the first pretty thing that offered him the chance at a happy ending.

And as much as Jon’s songs made him want to believe, and he did want to believe so badly it hurt— well that was just how these things worked sometimes wasn’t it? They showed you one face only for there to be something very different hidden underneath. Gerry didn’t think Jon was lying, or at least he was pretty sure that Jon believed that what he was telling Gerry was the truth. However, that little stunt he had pulled with the Lukas only strengthened his doubts. And sure, maybe it was just Jon unused to the abilities apparently granted by a budding priest, but Gerry had a hard time believing it. Much more likely was that Jon was taking on the powers of the Archivist.

That he was Becoming.

Gerry watched over the sleeping man for a while. The trouble was that Gerry’s upbringing and understanding of the 14 still didn’t explain everything. He watched as Jon shifted and his hair fell back revealing a sharply pointed ear. No the 14 didn’t explain everything at all. Jon’s claws glinted in the dim light.

Gerry sighed. He wasn’t able to travel too far away from his page, but the submarine they were travelling on wasn’t very big, so that posed less of a problem here than it had in the cabin. He didn’t expect to see Rachel Lukas as he wandered, he had figured she would be hiding in the Lonely, or whatever they called it in Jon’s categorization. So he was surprised, after floating through a door near the back of the submarine to see her sitting and reading a book. A book with a very familiar name plate on it.

“Hello,” She said without looking up. “What can I do for you?” She reached to her left to grab a bookmark, finally closing the Leitner and setting it aside. She took in his expression at the book and sighed. “I suppose you don’t have the best association with the holy books, eh?” She asked.

“The Leitners you mean.” Gerry said flatly.

“If you prefer.”

“No. Not the best associations.” He countered coldly.

“I must say, it’s odd to see a banshee so unaware of his own heritage. Most that I have encountered take a great deal of pride in their cultural traditions. Who was your matriarch?”

“You mean my mom?” Gerry asked, a bit incredulous. He was aware of how infamous his mother was among most supernatural circles, and he knew he himself was not exactly forgettable with his distinctive tattoos.

“Yes, who was your mother?”

“Mary Keay.” There was a sharp intake of breath from the woman and a soft and gentle oh.

“So, you’re Gerard Keay then.”

“Yes.”

“Then I owe you an apology.” It was said simply. More a stated fact than anything else.

“Why?”

“You should never have been left with that woman. Due to the nature of your father’s death, social services should have been called, and from what I recall of your file they were. However, Mary Keay declined to request a social worker experienced in working with non-human children, so the social worker that was originally assigned to your case had no experience with the supernatural. I wasn’t made aware of the situation until your trial some years ago. By then though, you were already of age by human standards, and while you would still have been considered adolescent by banshee standards, you proved very difficult to track down. I had assumed that you might resurface after your first death, but when you didn’t, I assumed you must have found a banshee family and had decided to lay low, considering the drama attached to your name. Since I specialize in child services, and you would be considered an adult after your first death your case file was sealed.” She sighed. “However, I can see I should have pushed more and tried harder to look into your case, and for that I am sorry Gerard.”

Gerry didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what to think of that. There was- so much to deal with there.

“I don’t, alright. Ok. I know my mom wasn’t a good person, I’m not stupid. But your saying that if I had had a different case worker I would have been taken away from her? Given to a- a banshee family?”

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

“Right, and just to be clear, you are saying that I wasn’t considered a legal adult by banshee standards until I died?”

“That is correct,” Gerry nodded at that. It was strange to think that with the smallest change he might have had a happier ending. Or at least he might have had the chance to grow up ignorant of the fears. He looked at the tattoos on his hand and tried to picture that. Tried to imagine a Gerry who might have grown up safe and loved, he couldn’t do it.

“If my mom was a banshee like you are saying, why did she never tell me about it? Why did I grow up hearing about Smirke’s fourteen and not the, the five lesser gods?” Rachel gave Gerry a sad smile.

“I think you already know the answer to that, but I can tell you if you like?” Gerry nodded very slowly. Thinking that she might be right, but he needed to hear it. For better or worse, Gerry had chosen the Eye as his patron, and whether it existed in the way he had known it to or not, that had left its mark.

There was a gentle static in the air and Gerry was certain that if he still had a body his hair would be standing on end. Rachel Lukas’s eyes seemed to be looking somewhere very far away. She reached into the fog and pulled out a single tape. And gave it to Gerry.

“The statement of Mary Keay. The one the Archivist never got to hear.” Gerry reaches out for the tape, forgetting for a moment of his ghostly status, and was shocked when he was able to wrap his fingers around it. He looked at Rachel in confusion as he held the tape.

“It’s not a real tape,” She said. “It’s a Secret.”

“You say that like I understand what that means.” He said, slipping the tape into his pocket and crossing his arms.

“The dead belong to Averis. Traditionally, Banshees bind their Secrets to a book of the dead before they pass, to pass them down family lines and to keep them safe. Books like the one whose pages bind you. Mary Keay however, didn’t bind her secrets. She tried to bind her soul. So her Secrets belong to Sekreth. To me. And now, they belong to you.” Gerry resisted the urge to run his fingers over the tape.

“Why do the mermaids trust you?” He asked instead.

“Secrets Gerard, are a very powerful thing. Even those of Felor, know that. I keep their Secrets, and they respect mine.”

***

Gerry spent the rest of the night staring at the tape. He knew that Jon had a spare recorder. He could probably play it, he didn’t seem to have any trouble interacting with the tape recorders, and he doubted Jon would mind. Gerry didn’t even think he would mind too terribly much if Jon heard the tape— but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wanted to know why his mom didn’t tell him about Banshees. He needed to know why. Why she chose to follow Smirke’s 14, why she tried to bind herself to the skin book, but he just... couldn’t bring himself to listen.

Gerry instead stared out the porthole to the lonely black outside. Occasionally a stream of bubbles would rise past, and once, Gerry saw what he thought might have been one of the mermaids, their bioluminescence glowing brightly in the dark, but it was gone as soon as he saw it, disappearing into the black.

***

Martin watched as the cups of tea he had made vanished, or not vanished, not entirely. If he squinted his eyes, and turned his head to the right angle he could sort of see them, floating, with Tim’s steady gait. He was heading towards the tunnels and Martin tried to follow, struggling to continue seeing the mugs as they travelled. If he hadn’t been so focused on the mugs, he may have noticed the very faint sound of footsteps that accompanied the mugs’ journey.

The tunnels were strange. Martin’s mind felt clear for the first time in hours? Days? A while at any rate. When the mugs of tea finally stopped moving, he was certain, that just for a moment, he heard Sasha say his name.

“Sasha?” He called out. “Tim? Hello? Can, can you hear me?” But they were gone, Martin took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. When he opened them again, he could see broken bits of glass on the floor, the last of the tea still dripping off the shards. Martin watched the droplets that pooled on the rough stone surfaces, he followed the small rivulets of tea with his eyes, slowly looking up to see an oddly vibrant yellow door.

“Huh.” It was the most colourful thing he had seen since he first ended up here. Martin looked at his spider ring.

“Any thoughts on the haunted door, Charlotte?” He asked, but the spider remained still. Martin bit his lip, on the one hand, he had told the other assistants that he would stay in the Archives. On the other hand... well, there was no harm in a little investigation.

Martin reached out, and opened the door.

Chapter Text

Yesterday, Jon had been so overwhelmed and worried about Martin, and the changeling intruder in his Archives that he had neglected to actually think about all the implications of travelling via Mermaid transport. That morning, however, when he woke up, still trapped in a metal tube hundreds of meters below the waves, the full implications were hitting him.

He wasn’t taking it well. When he first woke up, he tried to occupy himself by eating breakfast. The cans of tuna in the cupboard smelled alright, but he couldn’t force himself to eat. He was too anxious, instead he took to pacing.

Rachel Lukas and Gerry watched him with a somewhat bemused air for the first hour. The second hour they had taken to playing checkers— Gerry indicating to Rachel where to move the pieces. By the third hour, however, when Jon had begun attempting to anxiously scratch sigils into the walls; Rachel had had enough. She went back into her room and came out holding two things.

“Here,” She said, handing him what looked like a vintage Walkman, with sound cancelling headphones.

“What is that?” He asked, suspicious.

“Something to help you calm down. Honestly Jon, trying to mark someone else’s property? It’s just rude, anxious or not.” She placed the headphones around his neck, and he put up no resistance. Then she tried to pass him the second item, which appeared to be a bottle of some sort with a spray nozzle.

“Is this— ” Jon began.

“Yes,” She replied. Jon pursed his lips and stared at the offered bottle.

“I— I shouldn’t.” He said. “It’s, it’s rude. No one else can— and, and if something happens then…”

“Jon, we are going to be on this vessel for another two full days. If you don’t do something to calm yourself down, you are going to drive all of us insane.” She held the bottle out again. Hesitantly, Jon took it.

“What’s in there?” Gerry asked, peering over Jon’s shoulder.

“It’s, um, oil from valerian root, I suspect.” Jon said, looking to Rachel for the nod of confirmation.

“And that means? What— exactly?” Gerry asked.

“Oh! Um, it’s—  well it’s sort of like, hmm.” He paused. “Did you ever have a cat Gerry?” He asked.

“No.”

“Right, well, Sirens process certain foods a bit differently than humans, valerian root for humans has a mild sedative effect.” Gerry nodded. “While for sirens— even a small amount can— well, I mean— ”

“It’s catnip for sirens.” Rachel interrupted, amused at his waffling. “Should help him mellow out, a little. Think of it like Siren Lorazepam.” She continued.

“Huh,” Gerry said, giving the bottle an appraising look. Self consciously, Jon opened his mouth and gave himself a single spray, before handing the bottle back to Rachel.

“Thank you,” He said, mildly embarrassed.

“You are welcome.” She reached over and stuck the headphones over his ears and pressed play. Jon’s eyes glazed over, before going rigid, then boneless. He had a dopey expression on his face. Rachel guided him to a couch and pulled a blanket over him.

“What were the headphones for?” Gerry asked, staring at the blissed out siren.

“It’s a recording of a siren music group. Grifter’s Bone. Their music has unpredictable effects on humans, but they sing a lot of traditional siren songs— which as I understand it, is very soothing for them.”

“Isn’t that the music group known for making humans kill each other in blind fits of rage?” Gerry asked. Rachel shrugged.

“Like I said, unpredictable effects. I’ve never heard the tape myself, I’m not much inclined to learn first hand. But it’s the same way that grapes are deadly to dogs, but tasty to humans. I think that’s how a lot of this nonsense about “Fears” got started. Humans are naturally curious— they see something that looks like them doing something and they assume it’s ok for them, too. Which is not the case when dealing with sirens, or harpies. On a genetic level, Jon probably has more in common with a house cat than he does a human. Same thing goes for you. It’s believed to be a form of convergent evolution. The theory that certain traits coming from very different origins, end up in the same general shape over time due to needs.”

 When Gerry didn’t say anything else Rachel pulled out the Leitner from the night before and began reading. It was still disturbing to see one of those cursed books read so casually, and if Gerry had had a corporal body, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to resist the long ingrained instinct to destroy it.

Instead he drifted towards one of the windows near where Jon was lying. It was bigger than it had looked last night, and Gerry was delighted to see a school of fish swim by.

As he watched, he saw a mermaid dart forward, catching one of the fish in their teeth. They looked towards the submarine and Gerry gave a small wave. The mermaids brows furrowed for a moment before they gave a small wave back and darted away out of Gerry’s view.

A short while later they returned and Gerry decided to try to communicate. His mother had had dealings with all sorts, and Gerry had picked up quite a few languages, including a fair bit of BSL. So cautiously, he tried to introduce himself.

He was delighted when the mermaid responded, spelling out the letters M-E-L and pointing to herself. Gerry was pretty sure they were a girl, at least. Though he was going mostly on facial features and hairstyle for that. He supposed it made sense, breasts wouldn’t exactly be streamlined for swimming. Gerry wasn’t entirely sure what to ask the mermaid, but she saved him from having to figure it out when she asked him a question instead.

‘Are you a ghost?’

Gerry started to nod yes, but hesitated.

‘It’s complicated.’ He signed back instead.

‘How is it complicated, you’re either a ghost- or you’re not. What more is there?’ Gerry considered this, he himself wasn’t entirely convinced that wasn’t a ghost— though Jon and Rachel both seemed pretty sure. He held up a finger for a moment to poke Jon in the side and ask. Obviously, his hand went right through Jon’s stomach, but the chill it left got his attention just the same.

“Jon, if I’m not a ghost what am I?” Jon blinked at him a moment, seemingly in shock from the lack of— near as Gerry could tell—  eldritch screeching in his ears.

“You’re a Gerry,” He said simply.

“Right- and what is that, exactly?” He asked. Jon waved his hand vaguely, trying to encompass Gerry, only to miss and swipe his claws right through his stomach. Gerry’s form wavered a moment before stabilizing.

“You—  you’re a…” Jon paused. “A friend.” He settled on finally, a dopey smile on his face as he drifted back into wherever it was that the valerian root had taken him. Gerry rolled his eyes, unable to help the fond smile that crossed his face and turned back to the mermaid.

‘I am, temporarily- not solid.’ He settled on. It was the closest he could figure to say incorporeal. The mermaid narrowed her eyes at him. Gerry stuck his hand through the window to show her what he meant, and her eyes lit up.

‘How did that happen?’ She signed in excitement.

‘Shitty parents.’ He signed back. She pursed her lips.

‘We are talking about that when we surface. I want to know everything.’ Gerry shrugged, he couldn’t see the harm in it, if nothing else being a page in a book meant he didn’t really need to worry about his safety in the same way. ‘I was told there is a siren on board—  is that true?’ She asked.

Gerry nodded, pointing to where Jon was laying just under the window. The mermaid swam a little closer to try and get a look from a better angle and jerked back in surprise.

‘Is that Jonathan Sims?! Head archivist of the Magnus Institute?’ She signed frantically, and Gerry couldn’t quite define what emotion was displayed on her face aside from panic.

‘Yes, why?’ He signed back.

‘Seriously? I was so close!’ Gerry gave her a blank look. ‘I’ll explain when we surface- I, I have to go speak with someone. Goodbye Gerry.’ With that she darted off and Gerry was left in what was quickly becoming his default state.

Deep confusion.

***

Martin was certain the instant he opened the door that he had made a mistake. He wasn’t sure how he knew that exactly, just that there was something very off about it.

The hallway he stepped into looked like every hotel hallway he had ever seen. Bland and unremarkable art lined the walls of what appeared to be a hall with an infinite number of doors. He hadn’t meant to take a step forward, he hadn’t even meant to lean forward, but before he knew it, the door had swung shut behind him. He turned around, to try and open it again, but behind him was only more hallway.

“Great. Nice going Martin,” He mumbled to himself.

He wandered forward for a while, for lack of any better option, save to go back. Until he noticed the little spider on his finger squeeze the digit gently. He held it up for inspection. There was a thin line leading him— left. That was odd, he turned to look- only to see another hallway that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Ok then. Not ominous at all.”

He started down the hallway, this one lacked the doors of the one before, and instead held only mirrors, at least, Martin thought they were mirrors. He didn’t seem to appear in any of them. Though he was pretty sure he could see the distant form of Shelley in some of them. At least- he thought it was Shelley, the longer he remained in the hallways the less things seemed to make sense.

It wasn’t that things changed, per say, he just became very aware that his senses couldn’t be trusted. He tried to only focus on the ring. He was pretty sure the hallway wasn’t real in the strictest sense, and he could tell that his mind was struggling to cope with being there. So, he stopped trying. He let his mind go as blank as it had been in the fog.

“My name is Martin Blackwood. I work for the Magnus Institute. And I am going home.” He said. The thread from his ring glowed a little bit brighter.

***

When Jon awoke the next morning, or rather afternoon, he was filled with regret. Valerian root did not typically give Sirens hangovers. But Jon had neglected to drink any water the previous day, and as they were now beginning their ascent to refill the oxygen and change out their escorts, the rocking from the submarine was now beginning to make him seasick.

Sirens were very clearly never meant to be below the waves. Jon put a fist to his mouth, trying to keep the nausea under control.

“You alright there?” Gerry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No.” Jon said, looking distinctly unwell. He looked around to see if Rachel was anywhere nearby so he might have someone to blame his misfortune on, but no luck— she had vanished off to her private room some hours before.

“Hangover?” Gerry asked, amused.

“Seasick, I think,” Jon countered. He tried to remind himself of why he was doing this, of Martin, and the changeling, and of his Archives. The glowing beacon of home. The submarine rocked again and Jon felt his stomach rock with it. “If I ever see a submarine again after this it will be too soon.” Gerry laughed.

There was another final jolt as the submarine finally broke the surface of the water and Jon didn’t hesitate to scramble up the ladder and gasp in the fresh air, only for the gentle swells of the ocean to cause him to lose the small amount of lunch he had been able to choke down over the side.

“Gross.”

Jon’s head shot up at the voice, he had heard that voice before. Floating some ways away from him, was Melanie King.

Jon groaned.

“Hello, Mel.” Gerry said floating up behind Jon. “I don’t suppose you have anything for seasickness?” Melanie gave Gerry an appraising look.

“Yeah, alright, I don’t want to have to clean out the sub if he gets sick in there anyway.” She said before darting below the surface.

“I— I am confused,” Jon said looking at Gerry.

“We were signing through the window before.” Gerry said.

“No, no. That’s not the confusing part.” Jon said. “I can sort of remember that part. But Melanie King came into the Magnus Institute to give a statement. She walked Gerry. Mermaids don’t do land, that’s— ” he waved a hand, “well, it’s sort of their whole— thing?”

“Huh.”

“So, now I want to know how a mermaid gave a statement...”

Chapter Text

Tim stared at the kettle in frustration. After that one miracle, Martin hadn’t made tea again. Despite numerous notes left around the Archives, Martin hadn’t left them a tape, or any other form of communication, either. Tim was worried. Sasha was worried. Who knew what Daisy thought—  but Tim was pretty sure even the changeling who wasn’t Rosie was worried.

So Tim stared at the kettle. Slowly he flipped it on, he knew it was silly, but some part of him believed that if he turned it on, Martin would appear somehow.

The sound of a cupboard closing startled him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Sasha set a box of Martin’s favourite tea on the counter. She gave Tim a sad smile, and squeezed his shoulder before nodding at him, and walking back to her desk.

***

“Hello.” Martin blinked his eyes open at the voice. Then shut them again immediately as he heard the colours swirling around him. “You are lost.”

“Yes,” Martin said, caution colouring the hope in his voice.

“You are missed. Tim and Sasha are worried for you.” Martin tried to open his eyes again, and through the mind melting colours he could make out Shelley, like the negative of a photograph.

“Can you help me?” Martin asked.

“I do not know. You are, not really here I think,” Shelley said.

“I don’t- what does that mean?!” Shelley gave a considering hum.

“The tunnels block the powers, or the lesser gods, or the supernatural. You are still, Lonely. I think.” Shelley poked Martin’s cheek, and it felt like gravy was caressing him.

“So how did I get here?” Martin asked, fighting the urge to wipe his cheek clean.

“I do not know. You did not enter through my  door.” Shelley paused. “You are more complete, though. Perhaps... you can find your way home. I think they are calling for you.”

Martin tilted his head, sure that he had heard the click of an electric kettle.

“I—“ he began, and the spider on his finger tightened. He started to walk forward, moving past Shelley, though he could smell the gentle footsteps as Shelley followed behind. “You are, more complete than Sasha, I think.” Shelley said after a while.

“Thank you?” Martin hazarded. “I don’t, exactly know what that means.”

“I don’t know either.” Shelley agreed. “I’ve never seen someone like you.”

Martin was sure now that he could hear the screech of the kettle, it was just on the other side of the door. He reached out, there wasn’t a door in front of him, but his fingers found a door knob anyway, and it swung open with a gentle click.

***

“Here!”

A voice came from behind them, and Jon turned just in time to see Melanie chuck something in his direction. Gerry put his hands up to catch it on instinct, but it passed right through him, hitting Jon in the face with a wet splat. He stood there stunned for a moment, blinking in surprise as the wet and slimy thing slid down his cheek. He cautiously peeled it off.

“What, uh, what exactly am I meant to do with this?” He asked holding it away from himself by two claw tips. It squelched when the sea breeze moved it.

“Lick it! It should cure the seasickness.” She said cheerfully, a shit eating grin present on her face. Jon gave her a pained look.

“Is this revenge for not telling you how the tape recorders work? I thought you were human! I wasn’t going to tell a human how to identify supernatural beings!”

“Maybe a little,” Melanie said with a smile. She was more relaxed here in the open ocean, she felt like she could breathe. “But I’m serious, it’s the best cure for seasickness out there.”

“What exactly... is it?” Jon asked, giving the quivering mass a suspicious look.

“Trust me on this, you don’t want to know.” Jon looked like he was about to throw it away, but another swell picked the submarine up and Jon’s stomach jumped into his mouth. He licked the thing.

His tongue went numb for a second, and his stomach settled almost instantly. Jon blinked in surprise.

“Oh.” He said. “I— I, thank you! I, I feel much better.”

“There you go. Now, we are going to be here for at least an hour, I have questions.” She said, and Jon got the impression that if she were above the surface of the water she would have crossed her arms.

“I— alright.” Jon said.

“First— why is a Siren working at the Magnus Institute?” Jon pursed his lips.

“Why does a Mermaid have a ghost hunting YouTube channel?” He countered.

“I asked first.”

“Fine. It’s not just a research institute. It’s also a temple to Sirillus.” He said, climbing fully onto the surface of the submarine. The sun was warm and it had mostly dried off the parts exposed, so he took a seat, wanting to feel the sun on his skin.

“Huh. Is everyone who works there a Siren?”

“No, and how did you have legs? I’ve never seen a mermaid who could walk before. Are there more like you?” Melanie gave him a self satisfied smirk.

“I’d be happy to discuss merfolk secrets with outsiders— ” She said smiling wider. “If, at any point, you find yourself growing a tail.”

Jon rolled his eyes hearing his own words echoed back at him- albeit modified somewhat.

“Yes, yes, fine. I was using the tape recorder because non-human beings sometimes interact strangely with technology. I— am a non-human being. My voice won’t record digitally, not without some serious interference. Which begs the question— ” Jon said with some consideration. “How are you able to appear on film for your YouTube series?” Melanie gave him a scrutinizing look, eyes narrowed and staring hard.

“Alright.” She said. “There’s a book. It was bartered from a scribe who used our transport some years ago. It turns the reader human.” Jon opened his mouth to ask another question, fascinated by the information, but Melanie cut him off. “Look, sometimes there are things certain merfolk want that they can’t get underwater. It only works for a few hours at a time anyway.”

“Right.” Jon said, still staring at her. “That ,um, that explains how  but it still doesn’t explain why  a Mermaid has a ghost hunting show.”

“That’s not—” she stopped abruptly. “Get the Lady and get below. We have company.”

“What?” Jon asked in confusion, looking around. There was nothing but open ocean, or rather, almost nothing—  seeming out of nowhere there appeared to be a heavy fog rolling in. A sharp twang cut through air and Melanie screamed, the water turning red around her. And suddenly Jon could see it.

An enormous shipping vessel with crates piled high, and upon them, a tall man with dead eyes was holding a harpoon gun. The man yanked on the rope that trailed down from it and Jon watched in horror as the water roiled around where he assumed Melanie was.

All around him the water erupted in violence as the four merfolk escorts they had had with them prepared for an unexpected battle. Though, it didn’t look as though any of them were going to rescue Melanie. Jon felt helpless. He couldn’t Scream or he’d risk hurting the people defending them, but he needed to do something . He couldn’t keep watching in horror as Melanie was dragged closer to the attacking vessel.

Without giving himself time to think, Jon took a deep breath and dived into the water. He desperately tried to avoid the thrashing claws of the injured mermaid as he tried to saw through the cord binding her with his own claws. At some point while Jon worked desperately to free Melanie, she had begun to struggle less and less. By the time Jon had cut the bindings, she was sinking, limp in the water.

Deeply grateful that he was able to hold his breath significantly longer than a human, Jon dove down after her as she sank below the waves. He didn’t know all that much about ocean life, but she was losing a lot of blood and with the merfolk distracted by the vessel, Jon feared a shark might get to her before any help did.

She was heavy though, and slippery, and Jon wasn’t the strongest swimmer at the best of times, and his shoes and clothes weighed him down. As he struggled to get both of them to safety, he heard,

“PETER JAMES LUKAS! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Jon had no idea how Rachel was able to project like that but her voice seemed to echo in the sudden silence. The quiet stretched to an unnatural length.

“Rachel?” Came the strangled voice of the harpoon baring man.

“Yes, you nitwit!” She shouted.

Jon stopped paying attention then, because Rachel seemed like she had things handled and Melanie wasn’t in great shape. He tried desperately to get the attention of one of the other merfolk, and finally succeeded.

“Get her out of the water— she’s putting us all at risk!” The merman said.

“Won’t that kill her?” Jon asked in panic.

“Doesn’t matter. If she keeps bleeding like that here, then we’re all dead!”

He helped Jon drag Melanie up onto the sub, pushing from the water while Jon struggled to get his footing on the slippery surface. All while Rachel shouted at Peter Lukas. Jon was at a loss of what to do next, but thankfully, Gerry was not.

“We need to get her into the sub, we can’t treat her up here.” Jon nodded and tried his best to take her into his arms. It took a herculean effort, but he managed to get her below deck, all while thanking Sirillus for the strength under his breath.

“Can Mermaids breathe air?” Gerry asked as Jon nearly collapsed with Melanie onto one of the couches, accidentally jostling the harpoon still stuck in her tail. He felt her scream of pain echo in his very soul, and as he was forced to hold her down against the thrashing, lest she injure herself further.

“Yes.” Jon grunted. “They are amphibious.” He started to hum very softly , and Melanie slowly stopped thrashing.

“Wh— what are you doing to me?” She managed to gasp. Her voice thready and weak.

“I’m just taking away the pain.” Jon said, and she gasped when he stopped humming to speak as the pain crept back in. He resumed humming. Then turned pleading eyes to Gerry. “I—  you know first aid, right?” He asked desperately.

Gerry looked at Jon helplessly then back at the harpoon, he opened his mouth to speak, though what he was planning to say he didn’t know. The mermaid cut him off though, before he could even try to find the words.

“Get it out.” She managed to say.

“What?” Jon asked, looking at the bloody mess in horror.

“It’s poisoned.” Melanie choked out. “He always poisons them. Coward.” She said, with more venom in her voice than Jon would have though her capable given the situation.

Jon looked at the harpoon in panic.

“How do we get it out?” He asked Gerry desperately.

“I-I don’t— ” It wasn’t a pretty wound, the harpoon was stuck partway into her tail and it was clear that her thrashing had made it worse. The edge of it was just poking through the other side, her blood was slowly pooling on the floor. Jon looked at it in horror, blind to the way the blood had soaked into his clothes as he had carried her. In a surprising show of strength, Melanie managed to jerk herself up, grab the harpoon and yank.

“No! Don’t!” Gerry yelled as Jon scrambled to stop her. He was too late; she had managed to jerk it free and the blood flowing from her tail increased along with the volume of her screaming. Gerry leaned forward to try and put pressure on the wound out of long ingrained instinct, forgetting for a moment why he had stood back before. His hands went right through— but they spurred Jon into action, as he grabbed a blanket off the couch and held it to the wound.

Acting on instinct, Jon began to Sing. It was a Song of healing, something his grandmother used to Sing to him when he was sick. As he reached for the words though, there was something else there. He could feel it, on the edges of his mind like a door. He grasped at it, hoping for anything that might help, and suddenly he Knew. He Knew that Melanie was not going to make it. Not without something drastic.

“Melanie, do you want to live?” He asked, pouring every ounce of Song he had into the question.

“Yes!” She moaned, her breaths coming in short gasps.

“I only know one way to save you—  I, you have to want it. ” Melanie looked Jon in the eye, holding his gaze, her own eyes sharp with pain and resolve. She drew in a ragged breath, lungs already tiring from the poison in her blood.

“Do it.” She said, her voice steady, even as she fought for every word. Jon nodded, and began to Sing. It was a different Song. An old Song. So old that the dialect of the Sirillian the words were drawn from, was long forgotten and abandoned. A Song passed down through generations, a Song of mourning, and begging, a Song for a lost sister asking her to come home.

Chapter Text

When Martin stepped into the break room kitchen to the sound of a screeching kettle, he was nearly bowled over by the force of Tim enveloping him in his arms. Martin stood frozen for a moment, unable to process the physical contact after so long Alone. The ring on his finger tugged his hand upwards and Martin found himself returning the hug, and before long relaxing deeper into it.

“God, Martin don’t do that again.” Tim said into his hair. Martin couldn’t help but lean further into the embrace.

“I don’t intend to but— ” Martin pulled away to look at Tim. “But Tim! Elias, Elias killed Jurgen Lietner— and, and I have to tell Jon about the Weaver’s Ball!”

“Martin, Martin calm down, one thing at a time.” Tim pulled Martin down to sit at the table and poured him a cup of tea. “We know about Elias. Thanks to your tape. I don’t— ” he broke off with a sigh, “we haven’t done anything about him yet, we are waiting for Jon to get back. Daisy has been playing guard dog for now, keeping him out of the Archives. And Jon is on his way home. He should be here by tomorrow, ok? It’s— ”

“Martin!” Sasha cried as she came around the corner. “You’re alive!” She rushed over to wrap him up in her arms as well, though his own larger size and her smaller stature made the entire arrangement look somewhat ridiculous. Martin started to laugh. The stress from the last few days and the relief at finally being home hit him hard. Tim joined him in laughing, wrapping him in another hug from behind.

“It’s, it’s good to see you guys again.” Martin said, with tears in his eyes, he wasn’t sure if they were from relief, laughter or exhaustion, but finally, for the first time in days— he felt safe.

***

Jon was hardly aware of the journey after the attack. Despite his best hopes a single stanza of a song was not enough to undo the damage done to Melanie. And while the scales receded and legs took form, she had still lost a great deal of blood. Jon Sang nearly the entire day it took to reach the shore. Thankfully, Melanie wanted to live, desperately.

Rachel had, when the hatch was sealed and they were once more underway placed her sound cancelling headphones on, and helped best she could with the first aid, though it was clear that they needed to get Melanie to a hospital.

Jon couldn’t remember how they managed to get her out of the submarine, and he couldn’t remember how they got to London. It was all a bit of a blur and quite late when he finally reached the Archives. His Archives.

Jon almost couldn’t believe he was home. He didn’t think anyone was around, and he trilled in pleasure as he ran his fingers along the sigils on the doorway. Gerry’s page was tucked away in his bag, but they had deemed that it might be best for him to remain on it, until they were someplace he wasn’t likely to be seen. Under his breath, Jon Sang a Song of welcome to himself as he crossed the threshold into his domain.

“Jon.” Came a voice from the shadows. He glanced up, to see a pair of eyes, reflecting in the darkness, which quickly became the face of one Daisy Tonner, as she emerged from their veil.

“Daisy.” Jon said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “Martin he’s— ”

“He’s fine, he’s back as of this afternoon. I’m surprised you didn’t see the eight million phone calls about it.” Jon let out a sigh of relief and the weight he didn’t realize he was carrying began to ease off his shoulders.

“My phone may have had a rather unfortunate encounter with the ocean.” He said.

“Jon! I gave you that phone with the intent that you return it when you got back!” She said lightly swatting his arm, it caused him to stumble several steps to the side, as for Daisy, ‘lightly’ swatting someone was a full body experience.

“Sorry. It’s— it’s been a long day, I, I’ll get you a replacement in the morning.” He said. Daisy held Jon out at arms length steadying him and gave him an appraising look.

“You smell like rotten fish and saltwater.”

“Yes... thank you.” He said, giving her a look. She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t care about the phone, Jon. Yours is hidden in the J section, didn’t want to submit it to evidence. Lay low, get some sleep- and a shower, I should have what’s left of the investigation closed in a few days.”

“Thank you,” He said, the gratitude heavy in his voice, the unspoken relief clear on his face.

“Get some sleep, Jon. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.” She said, leaving Jon alone with the Spiders and the files.

He sat down on the nearest chair, Martin’s in fact, with a sigh; trying to memorize the smell of old paper, printer ink, and dust. Trying to reassure himself that it was all still here.

After a while, he retrieved his phone. He sent a number of messages— one to Martin asking if he was ok, one to Oliver asking to meet up, and one to Georgie asking if she still had a spare room. Then Jon found the cot in document storage, curled up, and fell asleep.

***

“Boss?” Jon woke up to a gentle shaking on his shoulder, and mumbled something in response before snuggling deeper into the blankets. The cot wasn’t comfortable, but it smelt like home, and it was warm. He heard a faint chuckle in response.

“Boss you’ve got to get up Martin— ” Jon was upright in a heartbeat.

“Martin?” He asked, half trilling the name in excitement. A deep blush coloured his face as he realized what was happening and who he was talking to— and more importantly registered the expression on Tim’s face.

“ — is making tea.” Tim finished slowly. “Boss, do you have a crush on our resident tea maker?” Tim asked, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Jon sputtered.

“What? No! I don’t— ” he took a deep breath. “It’s good to see you, Tim.” Tim laughed.

“Oh, you totally do! It’s ok! I think you’ve got a pretty decent shot there if it makes you feel better.” Tim said grinning.

“I do not have a crush on Martin.” Jon said, and Tim shook his head. The smell of bacon filled Jon’s noise and he felt his mouth begin to water and all thoughts of Tim’s teasing fled his mind as Martin came around the corner with a plate of bacon and tea. Jon couldn’t actually remember the last time he had eaten real food.

“Martin!” Jon trilled. His excitement at seeing his Assistant alive and unharmed temporarily overrode his sense of decorum, and Jon found himself on his feet checking Martin over. Sekreth had left a deep mark upon the man and Jon shivered at the Lonely wisps that seemed to pour off of him. Jon vowed to himself that he would fix it; that he would take better care of his humans. He almost managed to convince himself that it was just protectiveness that he was feeling, that anything deeper was simply his job as a budding priest, or perhaps lingering exhaustion.

“It’s good to see you, Jon.” Martin said, for some reason his cheeks had taken on a rosy tinge, and Jon could feel his desire brush the lock of Jon’s hair that had fallen into his face out of his eyes. Self consciously, Jon brushed it back himself. For a moment he thought he felt Martin’s desires shift but then the man was speaking and Jon tried to pay attention to that instead. “I brought breakfast, Georgie said you probably wouldn’t want to leave the Archives for a while after being gone for so long.” Jon tilted his head to the side, confused as to how Georgie would know he was back, having completely forgotten about the rambling text message he had sent her the night before.

Tim reached out to Martin’s plate of bacon but Martin was quick to slap his hand— nearly toppling the entire plate over, but Jon was able to catch it and help stabilize it, his hand ever so briefly brushing against Martin’s. Martin was scarlet red, as he looked at Jon, but turned to Tim in anger.

“That was made with Georgie’s recipe— do you like having taste buds?” At Tim’s chagrined nod Martin continued. “Then you don’t want to eat it.” Martin passed the tray to Jon and Jon wondered again, how Georgie had been in contact with his Assistants.

“Th-thank you Martin.” Jon stammered, managing this time to keep the trill from his voice.

“Is Jon awake?” a new voice chimed in.

“Georgie?” Jon asked incredulously. “How- why are you—?”

“Really, Jon? You sent me the world’s shadiest text last night and do not expect me to come check on you?” Jon was gently pushed back onto the cot and a piece of bacon was thrust into his mouth by Georgie.

“I don’t-“ he said as he chewed and swallowed. “know what you’re—” he pulled his phone to check what exactly he had sent her last night—  and ok, asking if she had a spare room while still technically on the run from the cops, Jon could see how that could be concerning. “Oh—  the, the room isn’t for me exactly, I— well it’s,” Jon sighed. “It’s a very long story.”

“Sasha was just getting breakfast for the rest of us, I think we all have a lot to talk about.” Tim said, and Jon couldn’t help but agree.

***

After everyone had passed along their updates to Jon, the thing that surprised him the most was the radio silence on the whole thing from Elias. Even Martin’s experiences in the Secret and the changeling surprised him less than that. In any normal employment situation if your boss was a suspect for murder you would think that his boss might have something to say about it. However, the only communication from Elias had been a single email saying that they should continue trying to digitize the Archives and to “rest assured that Jon would return soon.” Which was... suspicious. Very suspicious. Jon decided that they were all going to need to have a talk about Elias Bouchard. However, there were a few things that Jon needed to explain first.

So Jon did his best to explain what exactly had happened on his trip from America. It started off alright—  a few questions about the werewolves he stayed with, and some shock from Georgie when he mentioned using Mermaid transport to get home. He decided to hold off telling them about Gerry— he was a little worried about Georgie’s reaction. He knew she had had a bad experience with Banshees before. When he got to the attack, however- the silence was absolute. Jon could practically feel the way the air was sucked out of the room when Georgie opened her mouth to speak.

“You Sang?! To a Mermaid!? Jon! What were you thinking!!!????? I don’t—  I can’t, Jon!!” Georgie had gotten up and began to pace.

“That, um, that brings me to why I wanted to know if you still had a spare room?” He offered meekly.

“Jon please tell me you’re joking.” Georgie said.

“I— um, well…”

“Never mind. I don’t even know what to do with you.”

“Would it help if I told you you already met her?” Now Georgie turned a sharp look at Jon.

“How? I’ve never even been to the ocean! Not past the shore at least!” She said.

“Her, her name is Melanie King,“

“Wait, the YouTuber?” Tim broke in.

“Didn’t she come in to give a statement?” Sasha added. Rhetorical questions having been deemed safe as far as she could tell.

“Yes!” Jon said, pleased they remembered. “She was using one of the Holy Texts to come to shore, I believe she was doing so to acquire things that might be scarce below the waves.”

“Is she, I mean— is she doing alright?” Georgie asked.

“She’s in the hospital right now, but she was meant to be discharged later today, they wanted to keep her overnight though, since she had lost a lot of blood. Does this mean you’ll be willing to help?” Jon asked hopefully. He knew it was asking a lot. Bringing someone into your territory was a big deal, especially a rival like a mermaid. But Jon felt responsible for Melanie—  it was his fault she was like this after all. If Georgie said no, he would try and find a place to fit her in the Archives—  but from their few interactions, Jon had a feeling they wouldn’t get on well together in a small space for long periods of time.

Georgie sighed.

“Fine! Alright, I’ll house the Mermaid— why not?! Not like we have a blood feud with them lasting centuries or something.” she said, throwing up her hands.

“I suppose she could always stay here— ” Jon began.

“Absolutely not.” Georgie cut in.

“My only other option is one of her human friends or Simon Fairchild’s flock.” Jon added.

“Yeah, yeah fine. I’ll— which hospital is she at?” I’ll pick her up once I leave.” Jon let out a sigh of relief as he told her the address. That was one problem sorted.

“Right, Jon you want to explain what exactly you're talking about.” Sasha asked without asking, and Jon did his best to explain the story of Mermaids and Sirens, the same as he had to Gerry.

“Dude, you turned a Mermaid into a Siren?” Tim asked.

“Not—  not exactly? I don’t think she’s a siren, I don’t think she can Sing and I don’t think she feeds on desire... she’s, she’s something different, I think?” Jon said.

“And speaking of, I had best go get that spare room ready.” Georgie said with a sigh. “Jon, I’ll text you about everything later— just, please try not to do any more impossible tasks, please? I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

Jon decided that he had absolutely made the right call not telling Georgie about Gerry as she left them. Jon idly chewed another piece of bacon as the four Archival employees began to discuss what to do about Elias Bouchard.

***

Basira had been watching the Magnus institute for what felt like months now. It hadn’t been of course, merely a few weeks at most, but it felt so much longer. Basira was a sectioned officer, she should know better than to dig this deeply into any sectioned case... and yet...

Well this one was a bit more personal. She hadn’t seen Daisy since the latest Archive murder of one John Doe. This worried her. Sure Daisy had called and always responded to her texts, but something wasn’t right. She knew that Daisy was far more involved in the sectioned cases than she was. She knew Daisy sometimes ‘took care of things’ in ways that their superiors made sure not to look too closely at.

Basira tried not to look too closely either. But Daisy had never gone off the grid like this before. Or at least never for more than a night or two. Basira had seen her go into the Institute. She had not seen her come out again. Given that there were two unsolved murders in the place, this did not bode well as far as Basira was concerned.

Now, it was entirely possible that Daisy was coming and going at night— or when Basira would fall asleep, but if she was she wasn’t going through the main door or the fire escape. CCTV footage would have caught her. So when she got the notification the night before that the case of John Doe— main suspect being Jonathan Sims had been closed, she kept a close eye on the place. And had been surprised to see that very same suspect make his way back into the Archives.

The fact that Daisy and Jon apparently knew each other did not help the warning bells going off in her mind. There was something going on— and she was going to have to get to the bottom of it.

***

“So, what exactly are we going to do about Elias.” Sasha asked after several rounds of halfhearted conjecture. Or rather, she stated, very careful not to phrase it like a question. It was a topic the three assistants had all avoided since learning exactly who had killed Jurgen Leitner.

“Well,” Jon said carefully, considering the options. “he’s definitely not human. So jail likely isn’t an option. If he’s hanging around with Peter Lukas like you say Martin, he possibly believes this similar nonsense. White capitalist that he is.” Jon barely contained a rant about colonial misinterpretations. “For now, we should take steps to avoid being along with him. I can’t say that Jurgen Leitner was a particular loss to the world, but we don’t know why Elias killed him.”

“Can’t you sense his desires, Jon?” Sasha asked and there was something different about the question—  it pulled at Jon, and Sasha slapped her hand over her mouth in horror. “Shit—  don’t answer that, I, sorry Jon I didn’t mean— ”

“He desires to be king of a ruined world,” Jon said over her, unable to stop himself. “Did, did you just— I didn’t, right. Sasha are you— ”

“I—  Daisy called me a Scribe.” Sasha finished for him.

“That’s, that’s fantastic! That’s incredible! Sasha, congratulations!” Jon said warmly. Which was not at all the response Sasha had been expecting. Jon seemed to realize that that had perhaps been the wrong thing to say. “I— unless, not congratulations?” He added at a loss.

“It’s ok. I’m, I’m still figuring it out.” She said. “We can talk about that later.” Jon gave her a long look before nodding.

“Regardless, his desires don’t offer much information. For now I think we should try and learn what we can, and go from there.” Jon looked around at his humans and smiled. “Either way, it’s nice to see you all again.”

Chapter Text

Hospitals were a lot scarier when there were humans in them, Melanie decided. In her search for other supernatural entities she had been to plenty of abandoned places, hell, she had even filmed in abandoned hospitals. But the only humans that had been there were her crew, and there was a big difference between 4 humans and hundreds of them. What was worse, was that she had to blatantly lie and claim she was religiously opposed to having her blood drawn or receiving transfusions, given that they really didn’t know precisely what she was now.

Melanie was furious about that. But at least she was alive to be furious.

The worst part was the babysitter she had been assigned. Rachel Lukas was nice enough, not that Melanie had really talked with her all that much in the past. Sure someone who followed the god of secrets seemed like a good place to get information. However, Rachel had always seemed quite intent on keeping those secrets and once Melanie figured that out she had lost interest in Rachel some years ago... long before she had gained access to the book that let her walk on land. And Melanie was sure that Rachel was a perfectly lovely person and all, but she was currently in pain and mourning the loss of everything she had ever known.

All she wanted to do was rage and scream, and Rachel just— sat there. She just accepted it. No reaction, no retaliation— all she would do was nod, and say in an understanding voice ‘I recognize that you have been through a serious trauma. If shouting at me helps you feel in control, I am glad I can be here for you.’

Which really just made Melanie even more angry. It wasn’t like she could even call her family to let them know she was ok. They didn’t exactly have cellphones underwater. Sure, Rachel had said— when she finally left that she would make sure to get a message to Melanie’s family and all... but it wasn’t the same. Humans got to just call people and talk to them directly. It wasn’t fair. If she had to be a stupid human— or whatever it was she had become, she should at least be able to take advantage of the fun human things like instant messaging and telephones.

She eventually fell into a restless sleep, only to be awoken sometime later by a nurse gently shaking her shoulder telling her that her ride was here to get her and that she was being discharged.

This was some very interesting information, as last Melanie checked the only ones who knew where she was were Jon, Rachel, and the ghost. And Rachel had left to deal with whatever it was a priest of Sekreth dealt with, and Jon had retreated to his lair in the Archives like some sort of sea witch of legend— and didn’t seem the type to emerge from his territory unless threatened.

Not that Melanie could fault him for that. Being territorial seemed to be the one thing sirens and merfolk had in common. It was humans that didn’t make sense there, they had so many— public spaces, it was disconcerting. How did they know who was meant to defend it? And ensure it was taken care of? Melanie was 100% convinced that humans lack of territory was why they seemed so content to pollute the planet like they did. Merfolk had vast roaming territories that they looked after, attempting to keep clear of human trash and waste, and trying their best to ensure they looked after the sea creatures in their waters.

Melanie shook her head to refocus as she heard someone outside the door. She strained to hear what was being said- and she thought she might almost recognize the voice- the door opened; and Georgie Barker stepped through.

“Georgie?” Melanie asked in surprise.

“Hi Melanie. I, um I think we need to talk. You had an encounter with my friend Jon?”

“That’s, certainly one way of putting it.” She said sarcastically.

“Right, well, Uh, they are discharging you, I have a spare room.” Melanie stared at Georgie for a moment.

“So your a-“

“Yes. I’m- like Jon. But it’s not like you ever told me you-“ Georgie cast a surreptitious grace to the nurse next to her. “You enjoy sashimi.” She finished awkwardly giving Melanie a pointed look. Melanie rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, I just want to get out of here.” It was a bit of an adventure to get into the wheelchair provided by the nurse, Melanie’s leg was in rough shape but she had been given the good kind of painkillers, so her new legs weren’t cooperating like they should be. Still eventually she was in a cab on the way to Georgie’s. The city seemed bigger somehow now that she knew she wasn’t going to be going home anytime soon.

***

“Um, Jon, could I— could I speak with you?” Martin said, awkwardly holding a cup of tea in Jon’s doorway. The others had already dispersed. As excited as they were to have Jon back, they still had jobs to do, not to mention Tim wanted to let Shelley know the latest updates. The others had tried to convince Jon to take the day off to recover from everything, but he was too eager to both get back to work and finally have something to eat. He looked longingly at the statement in his hands, before putting it down and looking up at Martin.

“Yes, of course, please, come in.” Jon said gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. The statement would still be there when Martin was done. The idea of telling Martin off after everything recently just didn’t feel right. So Martin came first today. Then once Jon ate, he’d deal with the whole Gerry situation.

Martin set the tea on Jon’s desk and he picked it up gratefully. it was the mug he had been given for the Watched Crown, the one that said ‘I eat statements when Elias isn’t looking.’ Jon smiled mildly at the irony.

“What was on your mind, Martin?” Jon asked, desperately trying to keep his voice professional and suppress the desire to trill. He was Martin’s boss. He reminded himself, he needed to act like it, supernatural possessiveness notwithstanding.

“Right, ok, so before, before I got trapped, I had— I don’t know, an encounter? I think, I think I met someone who is likely to show up in statements?” Jon tried to take note of any injuries Martin may have, or any further marking, but all he could see was that of Sirillus and that of Sekreth— and, of course, the lingering scars left from Prentiss.

“But you’re alright?” Jon probed nervously.

“Oh, yeah, yeah I’m fine— she um, she bought me a sandwich. No it’s... the encounter, well she told me to pass on a message? To you?”

“Alright, well spit it out then!” Jon bit out. He could taste Martin’s desire to tell him, and it was just making him more hungry.

“She said to say,” Martin took a deep breath trying to remember the exact phrasing. “She said to say that ‘Annabelle Cain sends her regards and welcomes the newest priest of Knowing. And, and that she looks forward to your hosting of the Weaver’s Ball.”

If Jon had not been sitting already he was certain his knees would have given out.

“She- she said, Annabelle Cain spoke to—  the, the Weaver’s Ball!??” Jon couldn’t seem to catch his breath. That was odd, the air seemed to be missing somehow. Distantly he could hear Martin saying something else but Jon couldn’t seem to zero in on his words. He was snapped out of it by Martin’s hand shaking his arm.

“Jon- Jon! I need you to breathe, ok? Um, here,” Jon’s hand was lifted up and placed on Martin’s chest. “Try, try and match your breathing to mine, ok?” Martin began to breathe deeply in an exaggerated way to make it easy for Jon to follow. He did his best and after a few false starts managed to calm his breathing. His heart continued to pound, though whether that was from the panic attack or from the proximity of Martin’s face to his and the warm hands still cradling his own.

“So, um, I guess that was bad news then?” Martin said after a while, gently letting go of Jon’s hands and sitting in the chair across from him. Jon mourned the loss.

“N-no, no it, it shouldn’t be at least.” Jon picked at his claws nervously. “It’s, um— well, you know how you constantly feel like you don’t want to be found out as a fake?”

Martin was on his feet in a second.

“What are you talking about?! I, you knew about my resume this whole time?” He said, clearly upset. Jon blinked at Martin.

“I, I was talking about imposter syndrome? I, I always assumed that was why you desired not to be ‘found out’ is, is that not the case?”

“Oh, oh, yes yes of course that’s that’s exactly what’s going on here,” Martin said, stumbling over his words.

“It’s fine that you lied on your resume Martin, it’s not like you're really doing any archiving here anyway. Your more like a-” something dawned on Jon looking at Martin. “You're more like a Temple Usher.” He finished, knowing Martin wouldn’t know what that meant exactly, but Jon had to think more deeply on that.

“Right, right of, of course I— ” Martin sat back down. “So you aren’t going to fire me for lying then?”

“What? No of course not, you're tied to this place as much as I— wait, I didn’t, I don’t know how I know that I—” Jon shook his head. One thing at a time. “Annabelle Cain could perhaps be described as the head Priest for Sirillius if such a thing could exist, given that it’s not an organized religion. That said, your encounter with her is not dissimilar to an encounter with the Pope.”

“Oh.” Martin said, his mind immediately going back to the encounter, attempting to spot anywhere he may have caused offence.

“You held your own phenomenally well.” Jon offered. “Annabelle, isn’t… well she’s a priestess of Sirillus in their Aspect of The Spider.”

“Is, is that what you meant by me being ‘tied to this place’?” Martin asked.

“I— maybe? I don’t, I don’t really know.” Jon said, clicking his claws together, unable to meet Martin’s eyes. “I, sometimes, I’ve been just— Knowing things and I don’t really know how I know them. I, I suspect it has to do with what Annabelle said.”

“How do you mean?”

“That I— that I’m a priest. Fully, not just on the path to Becoming. It’s, well it’s an honour, of course, but— well it’s quite frankly terrifying.” Jon said.

“I’m sorry Jon.”

“No, no, it’s ok. I should really have expected this. I mean, I guess I knew it was coming. I just— it’s a huge responsibility and I don’t think I’m ready for it.” Jon sighed, and gave an ironic laugh. “I somehow didn’t expect it would end like this when I first started working for the Institute, as a low level researcher. I just thought it would be a nice way to better understand my heritage and perhaps meet others like me.” Jon gave another bitter laugh. “Didn’t really work out the way I was hoping, but then I enjoyed the work— when I was promoted though, I felt, different. Something about this position is different. I suppose that claiming temple grounds as territory should have clued me in to what was going to happen, but I thought it would take years! I— ” Jon shook his head. He hadn’t meant to say that much. He looked Martin over again, and took a sip of tea to buy himself time to think. Martin felt— safe. Which could only mean two things. Either Jon was in love with the man, or Martin was Becoming in his own right. Given Jon’s current situation he knew which one was most likely. It would even explain the warm feeling Jon got in his chest when he thought about Martin. Well, mostly at least. Jon was sure his own fondness coloured those feelings some.

“Is... there anything I can do to help? To make it easier on you?” Martin asked earnestly.

“I— the Weaver’s Ball. What did Annabelle tell you about that?” Martin blinked at the conversational shift but shrugged and did his best to answer.

“Not much if I’m honest. Just that it was important.”

“Right. Ok, well, it’s, um— sort of like a supernatural met gala. It’s a holiday of course, like the Watched Crown, but it’s not one celebrated purely by those patronized by Sirillus.” Jon chuckled. “Actually, I believe it’s the origin of the term ‘networking’ though, the original phrase was ‘webworking’. It was just adapted to modern use for the internet and— ” Jon cut himself off, all too aware of his tendency to info dump. He tried to get back on topic. “Anyway, the Weaver’s Ball is sort of the be all, end all of social events for those who know of the lesser. It’s a huge undertaking and if I am to host it, then that means Annabelle intends it as my ‘coming out’ ball as it were. An official announcement of my priesthood, and a welcoming of the Magnus Institute into the fold as an official temple ground.”

“That- that sounds like a lot.” Martin said, a little shocked.

“It really is.” Jon sighed.

“Well, well Sasha and Tim and I— we are here to help! And I’m sure Shelley will be too, just say the word. I, I’m sure we can make this work.” Jon couldn’t stop the fond smile that made its home on his face. “Thank you Martin. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some work I need to catch up on.”

Martin took that for what it was, Jon’s request for space to process on his own terms, and left to go inform the others of the latest in Jon related craziness. On his way out however, he nearly ran directly into one Elias Bouchard.

“Martin, what a pleasant surprise.” He said mildly. Martin felt ice grab his heart.

“I— ”

“No need for that Martin, if you’ll just excuse me, I need to speak to Jon.” Elias slipped past him before he had a chance to react and he shot a panicked look back at Jon. Jon on the other hand had his eyes narrowed at Elias.

“Hello, Jon. I believe it’s time you and I had a little chat.” The door swung closed with a heavy click.

Chapter Text

Jonah had done a great deal of research on Sirens and Mermaids after his interrogation of Martin while in the restaurant with Peter. Or at least, he’d had his research department do a great deal of research on Mermaids and Sirens. That was what they were for after all, Jonah hadn’t put all the effort into building his temple to Beholding just to do his own research.

What they had brought to him had been less than satisfactory. There was very little concrete information, even with Jonah’s not inconsiderable experience in picking out the falsehoods. Peter had been useless, leaving immediately after Jonah had finished shouting at him, which was— in hindsight, perhaps more in haste than might have been Jonah’s custom. Even still, the researchers couldn’t seem to decide if mermaids and sirens were the same thing, or if they were mortal enemies… which was decidedly unhelpful.

Even Jonah’s more esoteric contacts had turned up very little concrete information. Simon Fairchild had merely laughed and had not answered his phone since, and the other avatars he knew had left him with very little to go on. The Pu Songling Research Centre in Beijing had been marginally more helpful, having sent over a very old Leitner on his oath that he return it— and a steep request for a few of his artifacts from storage. It had detailed some drivel about two sisters and some base pagan deities. The Leitner apparently made the reader feel the pain of those close to them.

Thankfully, Jonah had no such people and had been able to read through it with minor consequences. The book itself was one that reminded him a great deal of some of the books he had come across with Robert Smirke back in the day before the man had solidified his theory on the Fears. The archaic pagan nonsense of primitive cultures trying to understand things so much greater than themselves.

It was no surprise that they had taken to worshiping them, giving them names and breaking them into pointless categories, really, A god of the hunt and violence? A god of knowledge? It was so painfully obvious what the truth was when you looked at it from an educated light. The Hunt, The Slaughter, The Eye— Elias was no anthropologist, but he believed he could read between the lines. Clearly Mermaids were the name of some long forgotten cult of one of the fears, and surely Sirens must be the same.

The Beholding had ever so graciously confirmed that Jon was in fact a Siren, though he couldn’t gather anything more useful than that.

But if the book was to be believed then Sirens were worshippers of the Beholding anyway, even if they used that ridiculous made up name for it. While this had not originally been in Elias’s plans, he was nothing if not adaptable. And Jon being a worshipper of the Beholding, even if it was through the lens of folkloric drivel; was certainly something he could work with. Perhaps he could even get Jon on board with his plan to bring forth all the entities; with a great deal of careful indoctrination, of course.

With his decision made, Elias went down to the Archives, it was time he and his Archivist had a little chat.

***

“Hello Jon. I believe it’s time you and I had a little chat.” The door swung closed with a heavy click. The silence in the office was almost a physical thing, and Jon was suddenly deeply aware that his mug was fully visible to the man who framed him for murder.

Which, really shouldn’t have been his biggest concern, but some part of Jon was still terrified about losing his job. He wondered if he could turn the wording declaring ‘I eat statements when Elias isn’t looking’ in a less obvious direction.

“First off let me just say, welcome back Jon, I had every confidence you would return to us safely. I’m... glad to see Martin has returned from his absence as well.” Jonah had tried poking around in Martin’s head upon his return and had received nothing but a headache. The man’s thoughts were now just as twisted as Tim’s had become. Useless.

“Thank you, Elias.” Jon said cautiously. His heart was racing. Elias’s desires were... wrong. The man had such a hunger in his eyes and he so badly wanted to hurt Jon. To, to Mark him? Somehow? It was confusing. Marks weren’t supposed to hurt. Jon was very, very aware that the man before him had brutally murdered someone in this very office.

“However, there are a few things we need to discuss.”

Jon swallowed hard, he couldn’t stop his fingers from tensing, the need to defend his territory ran deep.

“Y-yes I, I suppose we do.” Jon stammered. Both men stared at each other, neither wanting to give ground to the other. Elias appeared to break first. He sighed.

“I’m not your enemy Jon, we both serve the thing, don’t we?” Elias made his opening attack.

“I... used to think that. Yes.” Jon launched a cautious defence.

“Really Jon you can’t truly think that he was a good man? You did have him tied up in your office after all.” Elias parried, giving some ground in the open admission of murder, but closing in his attack with the fact that Jon, had in fact had Jurgen Leitner tied to a chair.

“That’s not— I don’t— ”

“Surely you knew he was a threat to the Institute?” Elias pushed, bolstered by the Knowledge that Leitner had, in fact, intended to blow up the Archives and the suspicion that Jon knew that too.

“Well, yes but—”

“And here you are, back in your office without criminal charges— and with that stain of a human being removed from the world correct?”

“I mean—  well, I—  yes, but— ”

“We are on the same side Jon, is this Institute not a glorious temple to our patron?”

“Well, I mean it, it’s certainly getting there—”

“And do we both not want to serve in our roles to the best of our abilities?”

“I— I suppose that’s— ”

“You have made wonderful progress with the Archives here Jon, but do not forget that I am the beating heart of this Institute, I keep this place running smoothly, just like you keep the Archives running smoothly.” Elias paused, knowing the next few minutes were crucial to his plans success. “Do you understand what I mean, Jon?”

Jon had grown up isolated from the bulk of the non-human community, but even still; he had interacted with enough of them at holidays to know when they were uncomfortable discussing their natures outright. Jon could feel Elias’s desire for Jon to understand, and Jon thought he probably did. He wondered idly if Elias was afraid of the other assistants finding out he wasn’t human? Or something else entirely?

“I—  I think so?” Jon hazarded. “Look Elias, we can speak freely here, my, my assistants know everything. There are no Secrets here.” Elias smiled.

“That is very, very good to hear. Now,” and here Elias paused for dramatic effect, this, this was the most delicate part of his plan for Jon, and he wanted, no, he needed this to work. He needed Jon on his side here. “What do you know about the Circus of the Other?”

Jon blinked in surprise.

“I— well, not much? I know they are followers of— ” Jon hesitated, unsure why he was telling this to Elias, but unable to stop himself. “of Sekreth, and I know enough to stay far, far away from anything they might be involved in.”

Elias’s smile widened, just for a moment. Before his face became serious.

“Well, I have received information that they are planning a ritual, one that they are calling the Unknowing, and I have reason to believe that it poses a significant risk, not just to the Institute, but to the world.”

Jon frowned.

Nothing about Elias gave even the slightest hint that he might be lying, which was odd. Jon had once attended an Unknowing party as a very young child. He had very much disliked it. But, it had been harmless enough. However, if the Circus of the Other was involved, then perhaps Elias was right to be concerned. Jon hadn’t heard anything about it, but with the Weavers Ball approaching, perhaps he would be remiss not to look into it.

“I— I suppose I can look into it?” Jon offered, he really wasn’t sure how this conversation had gotten away from him so quickly.

“Excellent, well, with that out of the way, I’ll leave you to your work. I trust you have a great deal to catch up on after your absence, but I know you have the Institute’s best at heart.”

With that Elias left, sweeping out of Jon’s office as quickly as he had appeared and leaving Jon feeling like he had missed something important somehow.

***

Rachel Lukas had her work cut out for her with the poor changeling. Once she had left the hospital, after ensuring that Melanie was in good hands— and what a mess that whole situation was likely to be! She met up with Officer Tonner to get a proper report on what exactly she was dealing with. The news was, not what she had been hoping for.

The Circus had gone through something of a dormant period for the last decade or so once they had moved on from Russia. However, Rachel had been hearing rumours that they were more active again. It had been part of the reason she had been in America in the first place. While her primary job was that of a social worker, she was still a high priestess of Sekreth, and that carried other duties. Sometimes that meant tracking down what seemed like the weakest link of the Circus to get some answers.

She had found a Circus loyal changeling and what she had learned was not good news, so she had been prepared for the worst when addressing the situation with her newest client. Still though, there was only so much one could prepare for when dealing with child abuse cases, and this one hadn’t been good.

The poor changeling couldn’t even tell her what their name had been. They had clung quite deeply to the persona of Rosie Delacor.

Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing per say, Rosie was a relatively stable woman, with a good family, and plenty of Secrets from working at the Magnus Institute for nearly 20 years. So, she would keep the changeling child going for some time, but it was not exactly an ideal arrangement for such a child. The trouble was, convincing the child of that.

In cases like this where the victim had had so much of their autonomy stripped from them, it was usually best to allow the child the chance to choose to move on, it would only hurt them if she forced them away from what they felt was a safe situation. However, in the long term, a Child of Secrets in the house of the Patron of Knowledge was only going to cause problems further on down the line.

“What would you like me to call you?” Rachel asked the young changeling. They were in Secret, so as to try and give as much control to the Youngling as possible.

“I— I like Rosie. Her memories are kind. It’s a good name.”

“Do you want me to call you Rosie?”

The nebulous ever shifting form of the changeling said nothing for a time.

“I— I’m not Rosie, though.”

“No, you're not.” Rachel agreed.

“I— can, can I be Rose?” The changeling asked after another pause.

“Would you like to be Rose?” She asked gently.

“Yes.” The changeling, Rose, said after some thought. “I— I would like to be Rose.”

“Ok, now Rose there are some things you should know about what you are. And that’s why we are here in Secret. It’s not something those in the Institute get to know, ok?”

Rose perked up at the chance to have an actual Secret.

“Ok.” They agreed immediately, and Rachel smiled.

“Ok, well, there is a lot of your history that you will need to learn, but I’ll start by telling you that what the Circus did to you was wrong, you don’t need to feed on fear—  if you were born to a changeling family, outside of the cult, you would have taken the body of a coma patient. Lots of secrets in a body that can’t speak, right?”

“Is that where you’re going to make me go?” Rose asked, an undefinable emotion colouring their voice, as though they themselves were unsure of what that emotion was.

“No, you have been through enough. I’m not going to force you to stop being Rosie, but there is a family that would very much like to take you in, look after you, tell you about how to be a changeling, if you would like?”

Rose’s form drooped.

“I can’t— I’m stuck here—  the, the table— I can’t leave it.” They said sadly.

“Leave that to me— would you like to go live with the family? One of them has taken the form of a high level government employee— they have all sorts of Secrets they can share with you at home.” The truth was, the majority of changelings ended up in high level government positions, or in finance— heck, some even ended up as therapists. It benefited the changelings, of course, but it also benefited the non-human society as a whole. Changelings got into positions of power and could make things— go away if needed. It was likely a changeling who ensured Jon was no longer wanted for murder.

Changelings were also in many ways the justices of the non-human community. If a crime was committed by a non-human individual and they were caught. It wasn’t uncommon for an older changeling to absorb the criminal. There weren't enough non-humans out there to have a proper prison system, and while there were penalties out there, some beings were simply too dangerous to be allowed to live.

All of that, however—  was a Secret.

“I, I think I would like that.” Rose said shyly, and Rachel smiled.

***

Basira watched with concern as Daisy finally left the Institute, only to make her way into a small coffee shop to meet with none other than Rachel Lukas. Rachel Lukas was a known figure to most sectioned officers. She was something of a sectioned case worker. She handled the weird cases.

Feral children, kids who had families that were different. Basira had met with her a few times, but the woman had always given her a strange feeling, like she knew all of Basira’s secrets and just chose not to share them. She didn’t like it. She also didn’t like the way Daisy seemed so at ease around the woman, as if they were friends. Something wasn’t right. Basira wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but she had been around the block enough times to know when to trust her instincts and something was very wrong with Daisy Tonner.

So Basira began to make a plan.

***

After Elias had left, Jon felt unmoored and dizzy, as though he had run a marathon but entirely unsure as to why. Murder of Jurgen Leitner aside, it wasn’t as though Elias had actually done anything right? Jon hadn’t actually had the chance to listen to the tape where the man confessed to murder that Martin had retrieved, but aside from associating with the likes of Peter Lukas all Elias had done was kill a man who had been planning to kill them all in the first place.

Jon had suspected of course that Elias might be misinformed on the nature of Sirillus, but he hadn’t said anything specific that Jon could really reliably hang his suspicions on. He decided to clear his head by reading a statement.

Once he was finished his phone chirped and Jon was delighted to see that Oliver had responded so quickly.

Hey Jon, nice to hear from you again, I can meet you at our old spot this evening if your free?

Jon rolled his eyes at the misspelling of “you’re” but smiled at the message despite himself. Then he paused to consider the act of actually leaving the Archives so soon after he had got back and accidentally left a few gouges in his desk in his anxiety. It was probably best he stayed here for now. Just until it felt safe again to leave.

Would it at all be possible for you to meet me at the Magnus Institute in the Archives?

Three dots appeared at the bottom of Jon’s phone, and stayed there for a very long time. Jon began to tap anxiously at his desk until the reply finally came.

Are you in some kind of trouble Jon?

Jon chewed at his lip as he considered his response.

Not me, but I have a friend of your clan who could use a hand.

The three dots reappeared and then disappeared before finally Jon received a thumbs up emoji.

I’ll be there in 20

Jon sighed in relief. He supposed he had best go and introduce the others to Gerry and warn them about Oliver. He pulled out Gerry’s page and began to read.

Chapter Text

Jon was deeply proud of how his humans had handled meeting a man who was technically a ghost. Tim had immediately tossed something through Gerry’s head and then disappeared, saying something about Shelley finding this cool... which while not an ideal reaction, had startled a surprised laugh out of Gerry, so Jon counted it as a win. Sasha had been filled with questions, but had refrained from most of them. She had been trying very hard not to ask questions lately, which was something Jon thought he might have to talk to her about later. Although, her eyes had sparked with something when she heard the name Keay. Martin had fussed, but ultimately settled on giving an awkward bow— in lieu of shaking hands. He’d had his own ghostly experiences already, though. So, he was far more endeared to Gerry than he had been to Barnabas. At least, Gerry wasn’t spewing cryptic nonsense about Jonah Magnus. Martin promised him a cup of tea when he was able to drink it.

Gerry, for his part, hadn’t really known what to make of Jon’s assistants. He had really only ever met Gertrude’s, and she had treated her assistants with significantly less warmth than Jon seemed to treat his. There hadn’t actually been that many assistants left by the time Gerry had been in the picture in truth. Gerry’s musings were interrupted by the appearance of a yellow door. Tim burst out of it looking a little frazzled, his hair seeming to curl and uncurl itself at random.

Gerry was immediately on guard, he hadn’t interacted much with the Distortion himself, but Gertrude had warned him against doors like that, and Gerry had encountered a few Leitners of The Spiral. He may be leaning towards believing Jon, but old habits die hard.

Following Tim out of the door, however, was a face Gerry thought he would never see again.

“Michael?” He asked in bewilderment.

“Oh!” Shelley let out in surprise. “Gerard! You are alive!”

“Sort of, but, but so are you! I— I thought Gertrude said after you went to Sanikov land, that you didn’t make it back!”

Shelley’s expression darkened for a moment.

“Gertrude trapped me. She fed me to what she believed to be the Throat of Delusion itself. She bound me and killed me.”

Gerry’s face fell.

“So you’re an avatar, then?” He asked with a touch of bitterness, before shaking his head. “I—  well, I can’t say I fared much better, I died of a brain tumour and Gertrude bound my soul to a book and then abandoned me. So I guess she screwed both of us over in the end.”

“Not an avatar.” Shelley said, with a quick glance towards Jon. “A Guardian. Guarding the Gates of Madness.” Gerry’s brow furrowed.

“I’m— not sure I follow Micheal.”

“That is ok. Understanding things is... difficult. Identity is difficult. But what little of me is me, is content.” Shelley said with a quick glance at Tim, who Gerry couldn’t help but notice blushed.

“That’s— well I suppose that’s more than I can say for me, so, I’m happy for you Michael. I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Shelley approached Gerry and pulled him into a hug. Gerry let out a startled gasp when it actually worked. He froze for a moment at the first physical contact he had felt in years, before tightly wrapping his arms around the incomprehensible shape embracing him. Gerry was certain that if he were capable of it, he would be crying.

In that moment, he truly felt hope. That maybe Jon wasn’t crazy, that maybe Gerard Keay—  Leitner hunter extraordinaire, might actually get a happy ending.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Gerry startled at the unexpected voice, and broke the hug to get a better look at the newcomer. Shelley retreated back to their door. They had had enough excitement for the day, and were content to visit with Gerry later.

“Oliver!” Jon greeted warmly, going to the doorway of the Archives where Oliver had stopped. He had the same strange markings along his throat and jaw that Gerry had developed since he had died, and the teeth revealed by his smile were just a bit too sharp to be human.

“Good to see you, Jonny.” He glanced towards the carvings on the door frame, then towards the humans in the Archives and gave a slight bow. “Permission to enter your territory?”

“Hmm?” Jon seemed confused for a moment. “Oh! Oh yes, yes! Of course… and it’s Jon. You know it’s Jon, it has been for years now! ” Oliver laughed and then gave the humans in question an appraising look,

“The Hu— my Assistants know.” Oliver’s eyebrows rose before he shrugged and gently clasped Jon’s forearm, as his other arm slid around the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. Jon smiled all the while.

“Moving up in the world, eh Jon? First the territory, now I’m hearing you’re hosting the Weaver’s Ball this year! Congratulations on the priesthood. It suits you.” Jon flushed.

“Ah, uh thank— thank you, it, um, it wasn’t really intentional but…”

“You work in a temple,” Oliver said flatly.

“Well, yes, I-I suppose that’s, um, true. But still it— well.” Oliver laughed.

“Only you Jon.” Oliver said fondly. “Uh, hello.” He gave an awkward wave to the Archival Assistants at large and Jon startled, as though he had forgotten that they were even there.

“Oh! Right, yes, yes, of course!” Jon turned towards his humans. “Ah, Oliver, this is Sasha, she’s a budding Scribe.” He said with barely contained pride. “Tim,” Jon paused a moment as the words seemed to come without his input. “Our Herald, and, um Martin.” Jon only just managed to contain the trill in his voice, but with the look Oliver gave him he knew they would be talking about it later. “He is the Usher.” From the looks his Assistants were giving him it appeared they would be talking about this later, too. “And Gerard Keay.” He said, pointing a hand towards Gerry. “He’s actually why I called you— ” Oliver let out a whistle and walked right up to Gerry.

“Shit. That’s not good.” He said as he walked circles around the unfortunate spectre.

“Just what every girl wants to hear.” Gerry said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Oliver snorted, before turning to Jon.

“Do you still have the book he’s bound to?”

Jon nodded and went to procure the book and page from his office. Upon his return, he handed them both to Oliver, who took over Martin’s desk, mainly because he had, by far the emptiest desk— Sasha’s being nearly as messy as Jon’s with notes and Tim’s being covered with knick knacks and plants. Oliver took a brief moment to scan the page before flipping through the book.

Martin took the opportunity to slip away to the break room, and arrived a few minutes later with tea. Oliver accepted the mug in surprise when he realized it was made exactly the way he liked it.

“Thank you.” He said. “You really are a good Usher.” He added to Martin’s confusion. Martin opened his mouth to ask about it, but Oliver was already flipping through the book again, expression intent, fingers gentle; so he watched on in silence with the others. Occasionally, he would stop to skim the contents of a page before frowning in frustration. Finally, he closed the book and looked up at them.

“There isn’t anything I can do.” He held up a finger to stop the words he could see coming on Jon’s face. “I’ll need to speak with my Matriarch,” Jon winced.

“It’s not still Jude is it?” Jon asked, dread clear on his face. Oliver rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, she’s still the Matriarch; you know that position is a lifetime appointment, Jon.”

“Well, yes. Of course, I just—  well...”

“You aren’t wishing my Matriarch ill will, are you, Jon?” Oliver asked, his tone coloured by teasing.

“What? No! No, of course not, I just—”

“Yeah, yeah I know. You and Jude never really did get on, did you? You aren’t still mad about the whole burn incident, are you? It hardly even scarred! And it was your left wrist anyway.” Jon rubbed at the very faint finger shaped burn on his left wrist. “And it’s not like you weren’t warned! Cuz I know I told you she doesn’t really like Sirens, especially not ones in her space, she’s more the traditional type. You know only wearing black— hides out in the highlands for half the year. But no, you were curious and...” Oliver trailed off, feeling uncomfortable as he realized that the three humans were still there listening.

“Right, yes. Well, do you think Jude would be willing to help?” Jon asked, trying to cut through the awkwardness.

“What? Oh, yeah, of course. Not sure she’ll help here necessarily, but even Jude isn’t cruel enough to leave a Banshee barely out of Bashí dar trapped like that, she’s just crotchety, and prone to violent outbursts.” Oliver turned back to Gerry. “Look, I know it’s a big ask, and I know you don’t know me, but is there any way I would be able to take the skin book to my Matriarch? I know you are it’s rightful keeper, but I’ll likely be able to free you much quicker if I can take it directly to Jude she's not the biggest fan of the followers of Sirillus, and it would go a long way to convincing her to help.”

“Be my guest.” Gerry said, utterly unconcerned with the loss of the book, he certainly wasn’t attached to it in any way beyond the physical. Though he got the impression from Oliver that he probably should be.

“Thank you for your trust.” Oliver said, and on the edge of Gerry’s hearing he could make out a very high pitched undertone to the words. A strange double layer that put him at ease in a way that felt so very right, and so very alien. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jon flinch at the sound.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Oliver said to Gerry and Jon. “It, um, it was nice meeting you?” He offered to the Assistants. “Thank you for the tea Martin, it was perfect.” And then between one moment and the next Oliver was gone, almost evaporating into the shadows.

“Well that wasn’t ominous at all.” Tim said, trying to lighten the mood as they all stared at the spot where Oliver had been. “Did the guy just literally teleport out of here?”

“Hmm? No, no. Banshees can sort of fade into the shadows though. Something of an evolutionary hunting tactic- easier to feed if no one knows you're there and all.” Jon said absentmindedly.

“Right.” Sasha said, focus sharp. “What did— I mean, I’d like to know what a Herald and an Usher are exactly.”

“Oh.” Jon said in surprise. “They’re, um, Temple Roles? I-I suppose I haven’t really had the chance to explain those have I?”

“No- you definitely have not Jonny.” Tim said, his voice light.

“Right, well, I, I suppose— well, how about I order us some lunch and I can explain?” Jon offered. There was a general chorus of agreement to free food, and a small part of Jon rejoiced in being able to casually give his Humans something like this. “Good, then I’ll see you all in about two hours.” He added, since it was still far too early to eat, before he retreated into his office to place the order, and perhaps have a quick statement.

This did not end up being the case. Jon had sat down and placed the food order. But when he looked up from his phone, he saw Gerry standing anxiously in front of his desk.

“I have a favour to ask.” He said.

“Of course, what can I do for you, Gerry?” Jon asked.

“I- back on the submarine. Rachel Lukas gave me a tape. The, the last statement of Mary Keay. I, I haven’t been able to listen to it yet. I didn’t really want to. But- well, after talking to Oliver, seeing an actual living person who you say is like me? I need to know.”

“Oh! Did, did you want to use my office for it? I can do some filling elsewhere— ”

“No!” Gerry cut him off. “I— stay. I don’t, I don’t want to listen to it alone.”

“Ok.” Jon said and silently opened the tape recorder on his desk and ejected the tape, before turning it and offering it to Gerry. He took a deep breath and pulled the tape from his pocket, slotting it into place. It clicked shut on its own and the familiar sound of static filled the small room.

Chapter Text

Statement of Mary Keay regarding her son, her husband, and her disdain for the nature she was born to. Statement begins.

I don’t believe my people are chosen by gods. I don’t believe we are blessed or special. The gods of my family are weak, and I’ve never believed in limiting myself to just one perspective.

I was very young when I learned the truth, but I still remember it clear as day. I was nine years old at the time, so it would have been… 1955? It was shortly after my idiot father had gotten himself killed and my mother was still working for the wrecked temple of Sirillus. I suppose our family was always traitors to our Patron. In that way, I suppose I’m no different.

We were living in Whitechapel back then, just off Turner Street. It wasn’t much, just a couple of rooms and a stove, but it was enough for us.

My mother worked long hours, as even back then the Institute didn’t pay their researchers well. And she supplemented our meagre income by working late at a factory on Grove Road. It made dressing gowns.

She wasn’t our Matriarch, never had any real ambitions of true power. Most of the time, I was left to my own devices. If she’d had any sense, my mother would have quit the factory and the Institute— worked a more respectable job in a nursing home or joined the army like most of the other Banshees in our Requiem. Maybe things might have turned out differently if she had.

Still, she believed in the work. Or at least believed in what she thought the temple, the Institute could be. She thought it could be a place of learning, a way to preserve our heritage. Often, during my studies, my mother would talk to me of the amazing arcane relics at the Institute. How well preserved certain surviving texts were, and how there was balance between the five. When I eventually saw that “Artifact Storage” for myself I saw it for what it was. An imperialist organization hoarding stolen property, patting itself on the back for “preserving it” taking it from the native cultures it belonged to. Not that those cultures ever knew the true power of their artifacts.

But long before that, the idea of dark and fearful items of power had taken root in my young mind. I used to spend afternoons hunting through antique and junk shops. There were plenty to choose from, back then. Searching for anything strange, hunting for that thing that would call to me in a dark, secret voice. I never found it, of course. Not back then.

But when I saw Dr. Margaret Tellison moving in across the street, I knew immediately that there was something different about her. She was tall and thin, with long dark hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore a deep blue woolen dress, and carried an old leather briefcase that seemed constantly on the verge of buckling, although she carried it with ease. I don’t know what exactly it was about her that stuck out to me, but as soon as I saw her, I knew she was what my mother had always talked about. She was touched by powers like those that watched over our family. Not a Banshee, or a Siren, and certainly not a Harpy, but Human, and oh so clearly Marked.

I started to watch her. Whenever my mother was at work, I would sit myself on the steps opposite her practice and watch the steady stream of patients. Over the weeks, I started to notice something. At nine years old, I had yet to undergo Bashí dar, but even still, there is a sense when death is near. It enticed me. And it didn’t take long for the number of ambulances leaving there to draw me in. There was Death in the air.

I decided that I had to see for myself.

It had not gone unnoticed to me that many of Dr. Tellison’s clients did not bother to knock on her front door, simply entering with a soft call to announce themselves. Leaving the front door of her practice unlocked was no doubt good for her clients, but also provided me with easy access, when I finally overcame my trepidation.

I had paid great attention to how loud the door was, and timed my entry to the passing of a butcher’s truck, the roar of the engine covering the sound of the door. And then, just like that, I was inside. I cursed myself for not having spent more time trying to get a sense of the interior of the building, as I had not expected the waiting room to be so sparse. There were three uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs, several bookshelves filled with worn-looking paperbacks, and a dim bulb in a wire cage. There was only a single door leading further into the building, with a peeling coat of plain white paint. My plan had been to find somewhere to hide, but it didn’t look like there was anywhere actually to do so.

I remember I was stood there, still wondering what to do, when I heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind the door. I froze, looking around desperately for anywhere to hide myself, as the steps grew closer. I had just made the decision to flee the way I had come when the door opened. A short man with a bristling moustache walked out clutching a slip of paper that looked to be a prescription. He nodded to me curtly as he walked past, and left through the front door without saying a word.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and looked down the corridor he had come from. It was darker than I expected. The light bulb had either blown or been turned off, and there didn’t seem to be any windows to let in the faint glow of daylight. There was a staircase on one side, opposite a door labeled with Dr. Tellison’s name, which I assumed to be her office.

As I approached, I noticed a sizable crack in the wood below the staircase, and looking closer, saw a small door to an under-stairs storage area. Opening it as quietly as I could, I saw it was empty, and judging by the dust, didn’t look like it was ever used. I crawled inside and closed the door behind me, delighted to find my suspicions had been correct. Through the crack in the wood, I had a clear view of the doctor’s door, and, I hoped, what was behind it.

There was a small, sparse desk in one corner, a cabinet affixed to the wall that I assumed contained her medicines and equipment, and on the floor I could see a squat iron safe. I immediately knew that whatever fearful secrets drew me towards this doctor, they would be bound within that safe. It called to me, promising so many things.

I saw nothing of importance that day, or the day after that, when I snuck back into the same space. I haunted the cramped shadows beneath that staircase for almost a week before it happened.

I was always careful to be home when my mother would be there, but that wasn’t difficult, and Dr. Tellison never seemed to lock the door to her practice. I remember it was Sunday, and the summer had made my hiding place almost intolerably hot. It must have been almost as warm in the office, as the doctor took to leaving the door open almost all day, allowing whatever draught might come to blow through the building. I saw her inspect and treat almost a dozen strangers over the course of the morning, but still there was no hint of anything untoward.

But shortly before she was due to close for the day, a short, matronly woman arrived. She had curly brown hair, seemed to be in perfect health, and smiled like a fool as she made her way into Dr. Tellison’s office. The doctor greeted her pleasantly enough, but as the check-up began I caught the quickest glimpse of something cruel in her eyes. A certain predatory look.

About ten minutes into the appointment, Dr. Tellison walked over to a cabinet and retrieved a small syringe. She talked amiably to her patient as she sterilized the vein and pushed the needle inside. I could taste the death in the air long before it happened, and my mouth watered. She kept chatting away as the plunger went down. She even kept talking in that loud, friendly manner as the woman with the curly brown hair began to convulse violently.

Once. Twice. And then she was dead. Such a waste. Dr. Tellison lifted the still warm-body of her patient fully onto the table, before cutting through the fabric of the dress with a pair of shears, exposing an expanse of skin on the woman’s back.

Then she opened the safe. 24-18-3-50, and then the key. I only had to watch her do it once. Inside, I saw two books, one small and bound in leather, the other large and misshapen. It was a skin book. A skin book I knew then that I was destined for. I would become my own Matriarch.

As she retrieved it, she brushed away what looked like to be a small pile of animal bones, and picked up a wickedly sharp-looking fountain pen. She leaned over the still form on the table and began to write, not in the book, but on the flesh of the woman she had killed. I could see even from my hiding place her handwriting was cramped and messy, leaving some of the blue ink flowing off her subject like blood.

When my father died I had watched the matriarch sew him into our Requiem’s book. It was done with care, traditional songs were sung as she wrote the story of his life, his hopes and dreams, his loves and losses as she penned in careful, loving calligraphy the soul of the man who took his own life and left me. I had not been allowed to stay when the page was sewn in, but I know it was done with a great deal more finesse than Dr. Tellison.

After almost twenty minutes of hurried writing, she stepped back, apparently waiting for the ink to dry. She then retrieved a clean scalpel from her cabinet, and  with a care she had not given the writing, she began to cut through the dead woman’s back, peeling away the skin upon which she had written and leaving behind a small patch of flayed flesh. She hung it, still dripping, upon a hook that I hadn’t noticed on the wall, then stepped over to the phone, and made a call.

The ambulance arrived so quickly I wondered if they’d been waiting for her. Three men in the uniforms of the London Ambulance Service entered. They wore sullen, bitter expressions, and exchanged no words with Dr. Tellison as they wrapped the woman in a body bag and took her outside.

The doctor handed the oldest of them an envelope that I can only assume contained a large amount of money and they left. I’m quite certain they never even went near the hospital.

It was now dark outside and I knew my mother would be worried, but I could not leave unnoticed. Nor did I want to, while there was still a chance to watch more of this strange ritual. So different and yet so similar from those I had grown up with.

As the skin dried upon its hook, the doctor opened the large book, and I saw its thick pages were roughly stitched to the spine with coarse thread. As she turned those pages, they plopped with an unmistakable softness.

She stopped at one page, seemingly at random, near the end of the book, and began to read aloud, her thin finger tracing the lines of text I could not see.

As she spoke, I felt the air grow thick and heavy, a scent like wet dirt rolling through the building and settling in my chest. I had felt it before, of course. What banshee child hasn’t read from the skin book? Learned things from the ancestors there? This was different though, there was a sharp agony that saturated the air when the man appeared.

The old man who now stood before Dr. Tellison was familiar to me, even though I didn’t know his name. One of her patients, I remembered, who’d been taken away in an ambulance some three weeks before. There he stood, hunched and cowering. He spoke in a cracked voice, begging her to release him, demanding to know what was happening. None of the ancestors had ever done that. His pain entranced me.

In return, the Doctor was questioning him about his will, about his bank details or where he had hidden money. I couldn’t believe it - a sacred artifact; a cultural practise going back centuries, and she was using it to try and make money. It sickened me. It still does.

I knew then that she didn’t deserve the book.

After she dismissed the old man, she collapsed into her desk chair, exhausted, and fell asleep.

I took my father’s straight razor from my pocket. It was my most prized possession, and all I had left of him after he used it to cut his own throat. The only sensible decision he ever made.

I crawled from my hiding place so slowly, so quietly, she barely even stirred as the blade glided through her windpipe. I’d never killed anyone before. I didn’t particularly enjoy it. My inclinations, predictably, were more toward watching than doing the deed myself.

Still, there was some satisfaction in the end. I had never considered that the skin book could be used in such a way. I did try to bind her, eager to know more about how she used the book. But it didn’t go quite right, and her page was a dreadful mess. I can’t imagine she enjoys it there at all.

That was the day I learned what true power could be. The lessons we had been taught were worthless, what power could be gained in balance? Even our gods were called lesser- but this, this was true power. I started to seek out those outside of my Requiem, others touched by power.

The thing about gods is that they are intrinsically tied to your belief in them. That was what I had been taught all my life. That was why they must be called lesser, to keep them humble. To remind them that they only held the power we allowed them to have. But we were not the only ones with beliefs.

Smirke’s Fourteen became a simple shorthand. A way to break myself of the indoctrination of my childhood once I left the Requiem. I became obsessed with a way to stop Bashí dar. There was so much power to be had and I refused to be bound to one god. I could never truly serve the End like that. To be so tied to the never ending cycle of life and death. I became more and more convinced that the skin book was the answer. That my people had been brainwashed by the passive nature of the lesser gods and that there was a truer power to the books. A way to harness them for true immortality and not just as the imprint of an ancestor.

Eric was an experiment, so much like my own mother, I was very pleased when I found him before his own Bashí dar. Even better he had not been raised in a Requiem like I had. He was oh so ignorant of so much of the culture I had forced upon me as a child. It was only a matter of waiting.

The baby was not a part of my plan, but at the time it was of little consequence. It guaranteed that Eric would stay and that was all I needed. He was several years older than me... and so when he began Bashí dar, I didn’t hesitate.

Bashí dar released a great deal of power, and when he finally stopped breathing, I bound him between his breaths. It didn’t work the way I intended of course, but that was of little consequence. I had a spare Banshee I could try it on again when Gerard grew a little older and I had learned a great deal from it regardless.

There are ways to delay Bashí dar, and I used every one of them. I needed to make sure Gerard grew enough to test my new theory. A way to use the book— binding me at the height of my own power before I was trapped as a parasite, a full banshee living off of scraps and carrion. My own people disgusted me. I knew I could be better.

I didn’t bother to teach Gerard of the Banshees. It wouldn’t benefit me for him to know. And what use did I have for the lesser gods? If my theory worked, my son would be immortal too, and it wouldn’t be through the grace of the lesser, but through the power of the Fears. If I was wrong, and he died— well, there was no point investing all that time to teach him, anyway.

I never got the chance though, my own Bashí dar struck unexpectedly. All the delaying tactics in the world will only work for so long— so, I bound myself to the book with my imperfect theory. And with that, Mary Keay died.

The tape clicked off. Dissolving into dust as the player popped open. Gerry didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. His throat felt frozen, as things from his childhood began to click into place.

“Gerry I— ” Jon began, but Gerry held up a hand to silence him. Trying desperately to catch the breath he didn’t need, feeling a heart he didn’t really have race in his nonexistent chest.

“I just— ” he forced out, “I just need a minute.” Gerry shut his eyes and tried to focus on the physical pain instead of the emotional pain tearing through his body. Very softly, so quiet Gerry wasn’t sure he was even hearing it at first— Jon began to Sing. Slowly, with great heaving, shuddering non-existent breaths, Gerry managed to gain back control of himself. “I-I’m ok,” he said after a moment.

“Did, did you want to talk about it?” Jon asked cautiously.

“No. I… I think I’m going to go back in my page now. I-I have a lot to think about.” He said, his expression pensive. “Thank you, Jon. I—  thank you.”

“Of course, Gerry. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Gerry said, staring at the place the tape had been. “Yeah I am, too.”

Chapter Text

With Jon more or less taken care of to his satisfaction, Jonah had only a few more loose ends to tie up before he could go back to his comfortable position of Watching. The first being the two officers that continued to hang around his Institute. Officer Tonner had been a nuisance, and Jonah had initially hoped that she might serve as a deeper Mark of the Hunt, but her friendship with Jon was not something that Jonah felt would serve him well— not without a way to leash her, at least.

Officer Hussein on the other hand, had a great deal of potential as a servant to the Eye. She would also be the perfect plant. So Jonah did a little digging, and it didn’t take him long to put together a file of what had been referred to in the force as double O fives. He smiled.

***

“Alright Bouchard, talk. Why did you want to meet with me.” Basira was annoyed. She hadn’t really wanted to take eyes off Daisy, but Bouchard had gone through official channels and if Basira still wanted a job she would need to meet with the man. He gave her a bland smile and slid a folder across the table.

“I know you’ve been watching my Institute, Detective.” He said mildly.

“I’m not a detective. And I’m not at liberty to discuss ongoing investigations.” She didn’t let anything show on her face but the fact that the man knew, somehow, shook her.

“I’m not here to interfere. I’m merely here to… do my civic duty as it were, and provide you with the information that I have.” He said, sliding the file even closer and folding his hands neatly on the table. Basira took it, suspiciously flipping it open and paging through the thick file.

It was about Daisy— and Jonathan Sims. There were reports from years ago, dating several encounters, and all of it was marked with an order 005.

“Why are you giving this to me? This has nothing to do with official investigations.”

“Not the official ones no.” He said, the same smile, utterly unmoving. “But we both know you aren’t watching my Institute for official reasons.”

“So why come forward at all then?” She challenged.

“Can an employer not be concerned about the people his employees associate with? Your Officer Tonner has quite the body count. I’d prefer my Archivist not be added to it.” Basira felt her blood freeze. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that sometimes the things Daisy did, well, she had turned her back on a great deal of things.

“Fine. But what do you want for this? You don’t strike me as the type to do something out of the kindness of your heart.” His smile grew just a hair wider.

“I think we both know that there are things that you have encountered as an officer that the general public is best not knowing. Things that my Institute has a great deal more information about. Real the file thoroughly Detective. You know where to find me when you’re done.” With that he stood up and left the cafe. Basira took a deep breath and began to read.

***

“So is there a reason you’ve been following me?”

It was only years of training that kept Basira from jumping at Daisy’s voice so close to her ear. She never could understand how the large woman could move so quietly.

“What makes you think I’ve been following you?” She asked, slowly turning around.

“Because if you weren’t following me- you would have sent more than a single text asking where I’ve been for the past few weeks. Which means, that you know where I’ve been for the past few weeks—  and therefore have been following me.” Daisy didn’t add that she had been able to smell Basira around the Institute, some things were better left unsaid.

“And if I was following you? You gonna report me?” Basira challenged.

“No. You know I won’t.” She said with a sigh, taking a seat across from Basira. “How much do you know?” She asked, resigned. Basira gave her a long appraising look.

“I know you’re involved in the sectioned cases far more than you want to admit.” She said finally.

“Yeah.” Daisy sighed.

“You gonna tell me why the only time I saw you leave the Institute— a place where a violent murder took place was the night of the full moon?” Daisy suppressed a wince.

“Noticed that did you?” She said face giving nothing away.

“Yeah.” Basira had been noticing that little pattern of Daisy’s for years. At first she had assumed that when the other woman would disappear one night every month it was for health reasons. Perhaps Daisy had PCOS or some other reproductive disorder that made working at that time difficult. The time off was always approved after all; no matter what they were working on. But it didn’t add up. Basira didn’t like to come up with theories, not until she was damn sure she had all the evidence. Otherwise, theories were liable to warp your perspective of the evidence to fit them. Still, something was off.

“And if I don’t tell you?” Daisy asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Basira countered.

“Yeah.”

They both stared at each other neither willing to back down.

“Maybe I should ask— ” Basira flipped open the file still on the table. “Jonathan Sims. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.” There was an imperceptible tensing of Daisy’s jaw, but Basira caught it anyway.

“Maybe you should,” Daisy said, calling her bluff. Basira slammed her hand down against the table.

“Why can’t you just trust me with this?!” She said.

“This isn’t about trusting you.” Daisy implored. “Or at least, it’s not just about that. This— this whole thing could lose you your job. I don’t want you involved.” She tried, and instantly knew she had made a mistake.

“I’m already involved,” Basira said with a snarl. “I’ve been involved since my first sectioned case! And don’t tell me that’s not what this is about. Jonathan Sims? Yeah. There’s a lot more to that case then a first glance would reveal, isn’t there? The file is marked 005. Do you know what 005 is Daisy?” Daisy pursed her lips. She did and she wasn’t fond of where this conversation was headed.

“It means that I can’t access any of the full case files relating to it. That I don’t have clearance. Section 31 has clearance for just about everything else! And I’m pretty certain that Mr. Sims isn’t an undercover cop. And given that in all official records, 005 doesn’t exist. So tell me Daisy, what is 005?” Daisy rubbed the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.

“Are you sure you want to know this Basira? Being section 31 not tough enough for you? Because I promise you, once you learn about section 5 there is no going back. Hell, even if you quit the force, section 5 will follow you. It’s not something you get to walk away from.”

“Tell me,” Basira said without hesitation.

“I- I can’t.” Daisy said, silently begging Basira to understand. “Trust me, Basira it’s— ”

“I do trust you Daisy. That’s why I haven’t reported this.” Basira flipped the file open, and spun it around, so that it was clearly visible to Daisy. The other woman’s face went pale.

“How did you get this?!” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

“Are you really in the position to be asking that?” Basira countered.

“Yes.” Daisy growled. “I am. How. Did. You. Get that?!” Basira met Daisy’s eyes and the air cracked with an electric tension.

“Answers, for answers.” Basria said evenly. And Daisy snarled.

“Fine.” She stood up and pulled her coat on. “Stop following me.” Basira stared at the vacant seat for a long time after that, before slowly pulling out the last page of the file, could she really keep doing this? Could she really be a part of something that covered stuff like that up? She took a deep breath and signed her name on the dotted line.

***

Melanie didn’t know what she expected a Siren’s territory to look like, but had she been asked— it certainly wouldn’t have looked like Georgie’s flat. It was a modest sort of place, but while nothing was new, it was all clearly well looked after and maintained. Neither seemed entirely sure where to start, so once Georgie had helped Melanie hobble to the couch it was silent as she went about making lunch. Melanie was just starting to drift off again, from sheer boredom this time, when Georgie popped her head out of the kitchen.

“Do you have any food sensitivities?” She asked, and Melanie blinked.

“I don’t— I don’t know.” She said in surprise. “I— before, before this— ” she waved a hand at her legs. “I couldn’t eat grains? But now? I—  what do Sirens eat?” She asked, mostly managing to cover the scared desperation that threatened her voice. Georgie rocked back on her heels, considering.

“Smile for me?” She asked, and Melanie gave her a confused smile. “No, with your— I need to see your teeth.” Georgie said, an easy smile coming over her own feathered.

“Oh,” Melanie said, unconsciously running her tongue over her teeth. She bared them for Georgie.

“Hmm, they still look like you might be carnivorous.” She said after a minute. “But it’s hard to tell with the front ones. Let’s stick to meat for now just to be safe. Could you eat vegetables before?”

“Some of them, seaweed was fine.”

“I’m not actually sure that counts as a vegetable, Mel.”

“Sure it does. It’s green, right?”

“...There are other colours of vegetables you know. Please tell me you know that.” Georgie said, unable to keep the teasing smile off of her face.

“...Yes?” Melanie said, trying for confidence and failing.

“Right, yeah we are definitely going to have to work on that.” Georgie said with a laugh as she disappeared back into the kitchen. “For now, may I present— siren salad!” She said as she twirled out of the kitchen with two bowls.

Inside was a steaming dish of bacon, chicken, and possibly hamburger meat all tossed together seemingly without care. It smelt amazing.

“I didn’t spice yours much— I figured underwater you probably don’t have a lot of capsicum.”

“Puffer fish venom is usually the go to for flavour.” Melanie said absently as she dug her fork into the dish. It was without a doubt the spiciest thing Melanie had ever eaten and if this was what Georgie thought of as mild, Melanie wondered if she had any taste buds left at all. It was, however, despite the heat, delicious. Melanie couldn’t bring herself to regret the 8 glasses of water it had taken for her to eat it.

“So.” Georgie began, unsure of where to continue.

“Yeah.” Melanie agreed.

“I— ”

“How did I miss the fact that you’re a siren?” Melanie interrupted her. It had been plaguing her ever since Georgie arrived. There she had been, actively looking for other supernatural creatures, and she had been in contact with not one, but two of them the whole time! It was infuriating! How on earth was she supposed to be able to tell?

“Probably the same way I didn’t know you were a mermaid!” Georgie countered.

“Right, ok, that’s fair, but it’s just, I was actively looking— hell my whole YouTube series was created mainly so I could try and find land dwellers like me!”

“Like, other merpeople on land?” Georgie asked curiously.

“No, that’s easy, I mean, you know, people like— ” she couldn’t help the blush that came to her cheeks. “People like you.”

“Oh!” Georgie looked just as flustered as Melanie felt.

“Not, not like that—  or, not—  not like that, but I just mean, I was trying to find other monsters  or, no that’s not—  god, why is English so hard!” Melanie rubbed a hand over her face and desperately wished she could remember if there even was an English word for the non-human community.

“Uh, generally monster isn’t the term most of us use.” Georgie said gently. “But, um, you were looking for non-humans?”

“I mean—  yeah, but why isn’t there a word for that? Why do you have to be defined by what you aren’t? In my native language there are half a dozen different words to describe just the collective grouping of sentient beings.”

“Well, I mean, a group of Sirens is called a Choir— and I think Jon said a group of Banshees is called a Requiem? But I get what you mean, that there should be a word, but we’re using their language. In Sirillian we have all kinds of terms for that. The humans just... don’t have the same knowledge base as us.” She gave a small half chuckle. “Though at the rate Jon is going that might change soon.” She added halfway under her breath.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, he’s got nearly a full choir of his own made almost entirely out of humans. It would be kind of sweet, if it wasn’t everything we had been warned against since childhood. Historically, humans and the Other tend to clash.” She shook her head fondly. “Still, he seems to have collected a good group. Jon’s like that.” She added with a smile. “A prickly asshole on the outside, but once you crack the shell, he’ll break reality itself to help his people.”

“Yeah.” Melanie agreed quietly, looking down at her now permanent legs. She had... a lot of feelings about those. Most of those feelings were anger, though she couldn’t have said why.

“But you were telling me why you were looking. For Others that is.”

“I don’t know, it’s just, growing up we had these stories, right? About the land people. And, well, when I was a kid— my mom was a land walker. When she died, the book got passed to me— it lets the reader walk on land. It only lasts a few hours, but she used to tell me so many stories. She was part of a group of them. Some kind of Alliance between other groups, harpies, werewolves, sirens— all of the five represented. I always hoped I could find them some day.” Melanie often thought about her mom, but she had been so young when she had died, and the details of what her mom had told her were seen only through a child’s understanding. She had always hoped that one day she might be able to find them, her mother’s old friends—  it was too much to hope that perhaps one of them might even have a picture of her. A chance to see her one last time, for there were no photographs in the ocean. “It’s stupid I know.” She said, trying to lighten what felt too intimate, too painful.

“It’s not. It’s, it’s really not.”

***

Gerry hadn’t really had a direction in mind when he left Jon’s office. He had meant to return to his page, but he was too full of restless energy. He found himself instead, wandering the shelves of the Archives and eventually coming across a yellow door. He sat down beside it.

When it slowly creaked open, and it’s occupant sat down next to him, neither said anything for a long time.

“You know,” Gerry began. “I think it was almost better before. When all I knew about was the evil. Evil made sense, you know? When it was all fourteen Fears, that have no desire beyond hunger and avatars whose motivations are much the same. When it was all a grab for power, it made sense. But I—  how do I make sense of a world where all the same fucked up things happen, but there’s no—  purpose behind it?” Shelley didn’t say anything right away, and when Gerry looked at them they had their eyes fixed on a point that Gerry was certain he would be unable to see.

“There are a great deal of things that do not make sense.” They began. “It is—  difficult to understand why Gertrude Robinson chose to sacrifice an assistant to what she believed was the heart of madness. It is difficult sometimes to separate what is tragedy, an accident, and what is cruelty. Would she have done what she did if she had known what Jon speaks of? It is impossible to say. There is no closure to be found there, but there is, perhaps some healing to be found in the world that Jon has offered.” Gerry stared at Shelley. He- They were different from the person he had known before. Gerry didn’t know how he felt about that yet.

“My mom knew. About the Lesser, about—  Banshees. She knew and she let me grow up isolated and alone. Thinking I was—  was wrong somehow. You know, even as a kid I could sort of sense Death. I always thought I was only one wrong move away from falling to the Powers. I grew up thinking that my soul already belonged to them. So I burned her Leitners. I figured I could take some of the bastards down with me, ya know? But all the things I thought were wrong, all that time—  I wasn’t broken. I was just... ignorant. Kept away from my heritage and forced to raise myself while I fought against the things that are— apparently, an intrinsic part of me. I don’t... how do I move past that? I knew she was bad—  of course, I did. How could I not? But, god, I don’t know. I think it feels so much worse now. Knowing that what she did, what she put me through, was a choice. That it could have been so different.” Shelley was quiet. But then, they had always been slow to speak. They seemed to choose their words even more carefully now. Not because they were afraid of saying the wrong thing Gerry didn’t think, but because they seemed to know that it mattered. That it was important.

“Gertrude and Mary’s world was a dark place. There was not room for anything beyond their ambitions. It is... difficult to avoid the what if’s, the fantasies of how different things might have been ‘if only....’. It is, perhaps, a crutch. Something used to remind yourself that perhaps it was not fair. But you have a choice now. To move forward... or to stay.” They tilted their head at an intricate angle that Gerry was certain no human could replicate. “That is not to say you should not mourn, should not grieve for the life you might have had. But, you do have more of life yet to live. How you go forward is not up to her any longer.”

“Yeah.” Gerry said, and leaned into Shelley. Their body felt wrong, but it was a solid weight against his side and for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Lunch had arrived and with his assistants staring expectantly at him, Jon was left with the daunting task of truly explaining Temple structure.

“Ok, Jon, we have lunch, you’ve done your whole... statement thing, so talk. What is a Herald?” Tim said. He didn’t sound angry, per say, though Jon got the distinct impression that he wasn’t exactly happy about the situation.

“Usher, too,” Martin chimed in, though it was quieter, more anxious— Martin’s desires were difficult to sense, Jon wasn’t sure Martin himself knew what he wanted.

“R-right. Ah, I- I don’t really know where to begin?” Jon started claws tapping anxiously on the table as he stared down at his lunch, unable to face eye contact. Somewhere behind him a tape recorder clicked on unnoticed.

“So, start at the beginning then.” Sasha said practically. “What is— I mean— ”

“No, it’s alright, you can Ask.” Jon said. “I don’t mind.” She shook her head.

“I do.” She said simply. “But Jon— I think... I think it might help if we actually knew what being a priest of the lesser gods actually means. Because, well, Shelley is very different from you, and I’m getting the impression that it’s not exactly one to one translation.” Jon sighed.

“No, you’re... you’re right— it’s, it’s something I’ve been avoiding talking about. Avoiding thinking about, if I’m honest. It’s, it’s not necessarily a bad thing to be a priest but—  no, no priest is the wrong word. But it's the closest word in English…” Jon sighed again, “In Sirillian there are three words we use for priests. The first is Ém-aim—  it’s important— but not exactly, well that’s not what you want to know. Technically, Tim would be Ém-aim.” Jon pushed on quickly talking over Tim’s sharp inhalation. “It means ‘one who is touched.’ I—  I supposed god-touched is a better term, you entered the Gates of Madness and came out unscathed, but not unaltered.” Jon gave a meaningful look to the mess of curls that Tim was still learning to manage. Tim reached up unthinkingly and played with one of the untameable spirals.

“What does that— ” Tim shook his head, clearing his thoughts and waved a fork at Jon. “That still doesn’t explain what a Herald is. Not to mention Martin was in the hallways, too! And Sasha had a whole— encounter with that harpy fellow, and the worms and all. What does that make her?” Sasha looked a little pale at Tim’s question but leaned in, needing to hear the answer.

“I’m getting to that.” Jon snapped irritably. He didn’t like to be interrupted. “Those that are Ém-aim just have potential. You have been marked but that does not have to mean anything. It’s like, it’s like a god showing favour. It means you’ve had an encounter.”

“So, are all the, um, non-human beings technically, uh, ohm-aim?” Martin asked and Jon winced a little at the pronunciation.

“It—  it doesn’t really work like that.”

“Why— I mean, I don’t understand why it wouldn’t.” Sasha said. “Non- human supernatural beings are an encounter with the lesser gods in a lot of the statements.”

“No. There’s a difference between our inherent—  inhumanity and that of the lesser gods. That said, there are more non-human beings who are Ém-aim, more because when one interacts with fire regularly one is more likely to feel the heat as it were. I— I became Ém-aim when I was eight. I encountered a holy book of Sirillus in the aspect of the Spider. It resulted in the death of a human child some years older than me. He interfered where he should not have and took the book from me—  and, well you’ve all read the reports about Leitners. In the wrong hands they are very dangerous. I tell you this so you do not make the mistake of trivializing what it means to be Ém-aim. It is not always a painless experience.”

“Sirillus ate a kid?” Tim asked, horror and disgust warring for dominance.

“Yes.” Jon said simply, he tried to consider it from their perspective— but they had read the same statements as he had, they had to have known the lesser gods were not always harmless and their actions did not always align with human moral understanding.

“Should you survive being touched however, and should you continue down the path, you will end up as Aeñaey-aim, one who is changed. That is what is happening to you all, I’m afraid. It’s- well Temples are rare, incredibly rare, especially organized temples. Most of the true Temples of the lesser are sacred spaces, places between worlds like the hallways of madness, or certain places in the Scottish highlands that are known for faerie activity. That, um, that would be us.” Jon added, pushing his food around his plate more than he was actually eating it.

“Ok- so changed. What does that mean?” Tim asked.

“I’m getting to that.” Jon said, a crackle of static accompanying his words. Not enough to be clearly noticed, but just enough to make the hairs on everyone’s arms stand on end. “Temples are rarely created intentionally. It’s more like— we can feel that a place is sacred. I knew the second I set foot here that this was temple ground, but that doesn’t mean that this temple has a priest or even that anyone working in it is touched. It just means that this space is a temple space. I— I suspected that Elias was Aeñaey-aim, but it would have been rude to ask and then too much time had passed, so I didn’t— no, that’s not important. Temples. What I’m trying to say is... that Temples that are unorganized will only ever create encounters with the lesser, you may become touched but nothing more. However, when Shelley appeared, Simon Fairchild gave me his Mark, and Prentiss attacked—  it, something changed. The Temple was no longer simply a space—  it had become a place. Something I very much didn’t want to acknowledge. And for that I am truly sorry. I— I failed to consider what it would mean. For any of us.

But with the Temple becoming a true organized Temple— it requires one who is Okú-aim. The, uh, final stage, I suppose you could say— it’s rare for anyone to become Okú-aim. Simon Fairchild is and so is Shelley— it means one who is elevated. You aren’t a god, but you aren’t strictly speaking mortal, either. As Aeñaey-aim your will is still your own. You have been granted gifts and favour, but what you do with them is up to you. If you choose never to use them— that is fine. But for one who is Okú-aim, they are closer to the lesser, they are a channel for them in this world. As Okú-aim you are obligated to your patron, but so they become obligated to you.”

“That’s what’s happening to you, isn’t it?” Sasha cut in. “That’s why we are changed, it’s your influence as you shape the temple around yourself.”

“Yes.” Jon said, unable to meet their eyes. “I didn’t— I didn’t intend it! But, I didn’t try to stop it, either. I didn’t really truly understand what had happened until Annabelle Cain spoke to Martin.” Jon looked up at Martin, prompting him to tell the others of his encounter with the Spider.

“Hosting a ritual— properly, not like the Watched Crown, though thinking back that was probably something of a catalyst.” Jon shook his head to clear it. “But the Watched Crown is still a minor holiday. The Weavers Ball is not a minor holiday. If I host it as has been asked— and I really don’t have a choice— I will become Okú-aim, and all that entails. What’s more— and this is the part that affects yourselves, as Temple Attendants, there are certain roles that are open to be filled. Temple Scribes are rare— they need to be touched by all of the lesser to Become fully. But yes, working here— in this place, I believe is what started the process for you Sasha. But you must understand, it could only have happened to you. You have to have the potential for that power. If, if you truly do not wish to Become what you are meant to be, you, you might be able to stop it by preventing an encounter with the two lesser gods you’ve avoided contact with—”

“One.” Sasha cut in. “I, I’m only missing an encounter with one of them.”

“Oh. What— I mean— who... oh. I See.” And on the edges, Jon could feel it, like someone was pouring answers into his mind, he could feel the edges of her encounter the one she hadn’t told him of.

“I guess I may as well make a statement right?” She said with a tired shrug.

“I don’t— ” Jon began.

“No, it’s ok. I don’t mind, and— and I’d rather not tell it more than once anyway.” She added glancing at Tim and Martin. She looked to her left at the tape recorder still whirring away on the counter, and took a deep breath.

“Statement of Sasha James regarding her encounter with—  with Sekreth, and her reason for joining the Magnus Institute. Statement begins.

I was maybe 15 years old? Old enough not to technically need a babysitter, but young enough to absolutely abuse that power. My parents had gone on a weekend trip to the shore for their anniversary. My older sister Becky was supposed to be in charge, but she paid me and Todd off to keep quiet about the fact that she was spending the weekend at her boyfriend's place.

It should have been fine— hell, it probably would have been fine. I wasn’t much of a partier and Todd was 10, and since it would have been the late 90s it’s not like he could get into trouble with online gaming or whatever. He was content to play on his gameboy and that left me more or less to my own devices. And it should have been fine. Except—  well, at the time we were living in a pretty small town. and we were lucky enough that there was an archaeological dig site not far off, some old Roman settlement, I think. And well— I always have been too curious for my own good.

I didn’t want to be an irresponsible babysitter, so I waited until Todd fell asleep before I snuck out. Which was probably where I went wrong.

It was dusk when I set out, the summer days still long enough for a faint glow on the horizon. I hadn’t actually been to the dig site before and the forest had never really held that much appeal—  too many bugs which made it a poor location for quiet reading.

So, I didn’t realize that what looked like the main path also took me over someone's property. God, I jumped so hard when he called out to me— shouting to get off his land. His large black dog had eyes that seemed to glow in the night and I stammered out that I was just trying to get to the trail.

Something changed in his face then, though to this day I’m not sure what.

“Ok.” He nodded and gestured for me to go ahead. For a long ways I could hear him following me, but the trail twisted and turned so much it was impossible to see him and his beast through the thick trees.

The path took me along the bank of a river, one I had been warned of enough times to be very wary of, and I knew that the banks in this area could be unstable. So I clung closer to the forested side of the trail then I was strictly comfortable with. It was hard to see into the dense tree coverage, but should the man and his dog some ways behind me decide to get closer— I figured I’d be better off trying to run through there.

It was chilly enough in that evening that a thick fog had begun to collect along the surface of the water, reflected in the growing moonlight so as to appear almost like a second river made of cloud. Obscuring just how far down the banks the water was, and hiding anything that might choose to lurk along the shoreline.

It had rained pretty recently, and the path was still thick with mud, there were several times that my boots got stuck and I almost turned back— but it was properly dark by this time and the thought of the man and his dog kept me moving forward. I had brought a flashlight, but as the night deepened, I found the shadows it cast were almost more terrifying than the dark itself.

Finally, I came to what I thought must have been the entrance to the dig site. It wasn’t part of the main trail, but the grass and shrubbery had been crushed flat or cut away to make what I thought was a new trail— two trees on either side crossing like the entrance to a faerie grove.

I should have turned back.

Every hair on my body stood on end, and every part of my gut told me to run. I didn’t. I stood there, for a long while— listening. Though, even now I couldn’t tell you what I was listening for. The moon was high enough in the sky now and bright enough that through the branches above me there were no stars. There was only the night.

I walked forward.

I didn’t realize it at first, I think it may have taken a while, but time felt—  wrong there; but as I walked the light of my flashlight soon became the only thing I could see. It didn’t seem to penetrate the darkness that surrounded the trees, in fact, the further I went the harder it was to even see trees. There was only the darkness.

It was at this point that I heard a crack from behind me. It wasn’t loud, but in the silence of the woods it rang out— that was when I realized just how very, very quiet it was. If you’ve ever spent time in a forest at night, you know it is a symphony of noise. The leaves rustling in the breeze, insect song— frogs. Especially as close as I was to the river still. Even the sound of my breathing was nearly inaudible in the utter black.

There was only the yellow beam of my flashlight, illuminating nothing.

I don’t know how long I stood there, listening desperately for—  something. And I— I don’t know what made me do it. My heart didn’t feel like it was beating so much as it felt like an escape attempt from my chest.

I turned off my flashlight.

Go to a dark room and close your eyes, and you still won’t understand how dark it was that night. At the time I told myself that a cloud had simply covered the moon, but now—  I don’t know. I don’t know how long I stood there, unable to move back, and too afraid to go forward, but I could hear the rustle of the leaves again. And this time it was not a comfort. There was someone behind me. I couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them, but I could feel the currents of the air shift.

I kept very still, I don’t know if it was because I knew if I ran it would chase me, or if it was because I knew that it wouldn’t. That if I ran I would be truly alone.

I tried to keep calm, to count my breaths, but I soon realized it wasn’t just my breaths I was counting. I— I don’t know if I heard it speak so much as I felt the shape of the exhaled words on my neck.

It said,

“One.”

Then it was gone.

I didn’t move. Not until the moonlight slowly crept back, and even then, I didn’t turn my flashlight back on. I was afraid of what I might see if I did. I made my way through the woods by the light of the moon and the tread of my shoes.

I didn’t sleep that night. I had to know. I needed to know it had been real.

I went back that morning. I didn’t see the old man and his dog, but where I had met him, there was an abandoned building, old and decrepit. Clearly it had not seen use for many, many years. There was only one set of footprints on the ground, and they were my own.

When I approached the trees that had crossed, I did not find a trail as I had the night before, there were only overgrown grasses, but I pressed forward anyway. I came to a small clearing, where I saw two distinct sets of footprints in the mud. One set led forward, stopped and then turned around, but the other set, there were only two prints. They stood directly behind where mine were- and there were no prints leading away.

Nothing else ever came of it. I didn’t tell anyone of course, but I didn’t go into the woods at night again. I started researching folklore and supernatural events— I ended up working here.

Uh, statement ends.”

No one said anything, no one quite sure where to begin after that.

“So— I, I’ve wondered for a really long time what was meant by ‘One’ but, but it was this, wasn’t it? My first encounter.”

“Y-yes.” Jon agreed. “That, that seems likely.” He pursed his lips, unsure of whether to continue, but she deserved the truth. “You encountered a temple of Sekreth. The temples of Sekreth are not permanently in one place, they move, what is the point of a Temple to Secrets if you can find it more than once? It— Sasha, with this new information, it seems likely that you would have become a scribe whether you chose to work here or not. I— I’m sorry?” He tried to sound genuine on the apology, but he still struggled to truly understand why one wouldn’t want to be a Scribe. Still, he could feel that Sasha’s desires were unclear—  she wanted so badly to know how she was meant to feel.

“So that’s Sekreth down then,” She said with a nod, taking a deep breath. She didn’t want to think of the other information just yet. That would be for later. “I guess, I guess it’s just Felor left.”

“Yes.” Jon agreed.

“Right, so— so that’s me then, what about Tim, what is— I mean, a Herald is like to know what that is.” She applauded herself on the lack of question.

“Oh, r-right, a-a Herald is, well something of a liaison? You need to be inherently good with people, actually Tim, you should have been the one Annabelle came to— the Herald is the first point of contact. As Herald you may develop certain abilities, you may be able to See what someone is before they tell you, or charm someone more easily— ”

“So what you're saying is that my charisma stats are mad high?” Tim cut in, finally breaking some of the tension that had been building in the room and Jon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“Y-yes, yes exactly. It’s not mind control per say, but you’ll have a certain— instinct for knowing what people want to hear, or who they need to speak to.”

Tim considered his relationship with Shelley, how when Sasha had come to him... he just— knew they needed to speak with each other. How he knew that Shelley would want to see Gerry again— it, it did fit. And it wasn’t as invasive as what was happening to Sasha… but Tim would need to sit with this for a while, he wasn’t sure how he was feeling, but it could have been worse. While they had been waiting for their food, he had had enough time to think. None of what being a Herald entailed seemed to be a bad thing, no, but he’d think on it. Besides, Jon had yet to explain what was happening to Martin.

“Ok, that’s— I’m supernaturally charming. Got it. What about Martin?”

“Ah— yes. M-Martin.” Jon said, fighting down the instinctive trill. “An Usher is the closest English term, but essentially, you are the one who welcomes. A Herald might make the connections, but an Usher keeps them.” Jon gave an awkward cough. “You make people feel safe here. Tim might know what they want, but you can tell what they need.”

“Right,” Martin sounded, dejected somehow. “So I’m a supernaturally professional caregiver then.” He said.

“I mean— I guess? That’s not really what—”

A knock on the doorway to the Archives cut him off, and Jon turned sharply, surprised he hadn’t heard the approach. There were very few things that could approach without him hearing, which could only mean— he swallowed hard. “Ah. R-right. It appears we have guests. Um, we can continue this discussion at a later date.” With that Jon got up and walked, like a man condemned, to the entry of the Archives.

The arrival of one Jude Perry did not hold with it the fanfare that such a presence seemed to demand.

“Sims.” She had stopped on the precipice of the Archives, eyeing the sigils and glyphs carved there with detached interest.

“Mat’d Perry.” Jon replied with a slight bow, he had used the formal Banshee address, though he doubted it would impress her. He anxiously clicked his claws behind his back. “E-enter and be welcomed.” He stuttered and she looked down at him with clear dismissal in her eyes. He could feel the heat pouring off of her as she walked past and he barely suppressed a shudder. The thought of her in his Archives made him want to Scream. For Gerry. He reminded himself, and followed her inside.

Chapter Text

Jon watched with anxious interest as Jude pulled on a pair of heavy looking gloves to examine Gerry’s page. Gerry himself floated uneasily some distance away. Jon was all too familiar with the Cult of the Lightless Flame, so was Gerry if Jon had to guess. His spectre still bore the scars of the possible encounter. So, he was probably not overly keen to have one of its members handling his very flammable connection to life. Finally, Jude shook her head and turned her cold eyes to Jon.

“He’ll need something to eat when this is done. Proper clothing, too.” She said. “Go get it.”

“This is my territory!” Jon protested. “You can’t just— ”

“Jon, please.” Oliver cut in, giving him a look. Jon let out a frustrated growl.

“The scribe will stay.” Jude said. “The rest of you— leave.” Jon had the look of a man for whom swallowing his pride did not come naturally, but after a tense moment let out a frustrated huff and gestured for Martin and Tim to accompany him. Sasha looked torn, she wanted to know what was going to happen, but she also wasn’t keen to be left alone with the three Banshees. They were unknown elements and without Jon she had no safety net.

Tim mouthed ‘good luck’ with a quick thumbs up, before the three of them departed the Archives.

“Gerard was it?” Jude said turning to Gerry.

“Ah, yes?” He floated a little closer.

“Your mother was a piece of shit.”

“Ah. Yes.” He agreed.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever actually messed up this badly with one of our Books of the Dead, but the good news is that I think it’s going to be fixable. It will not, however, be painless.”

“Nothing ever is.” Gerry said with a sigh.

“That is a good outlook to have.” Jude said with a curt nod, and a smile that spoke of unspeakable things. Though Gerry could see Oliver rolling his eyes behind her back. “You are rather lucky, though. Traditionally the bones of a Banshee are burned upon their death. The only thing that remains is their shade in the Book of the Dead and— ” she turned to Sasha. “You’d best pay attention to this Scribe, you may need to make one for a Banshee Requiem one day.” Sasha startled and grabbed for her notebook wide eyed. Jude was terrifying on a level she wasn’t sure how to describe. She could feel sweat beading on her forehead, and while she hadn’t thought she was that anxious— clearly her body had other ideas.

“Now the problem here, is that you are a living shade without a body.”

“..right.” Gerry said, concern beginning to grow.

“However, your mother was a piss poor Matriarch and neglected to give your father proper the proper rites when she killed him. Meaning that rather than cremate him, he was buried.” The last bit was said with something of a sneer, as though the idea of burying something was beneath her somehow. She made a motion to Oliver, who set a large black duffel bag on the table. It made a sort of hollow rattling noise and Gerry was overcome with a horrible certainty that what was contained within that bag, was not a bunch of sticks. He tried not to feel— well anything.

“Before we begin however, there are things that need to be addressed.”

“Ok.”

“Oliver here had explained that you have no true knowledge of what it is to be a Banshee.”

“I— yeah. That’s… accurate I suppose.” Jude nodded, unsurprised.

“I don’t take in strays. You will need to earn your place in my Requiem.” She held up a finger when Gerry opened his mouth to protest. “No. You do not get a choice. By the laws of our people, you are practically still a child. Besides, if it’s possible to draw you out of the Book without the power of a Requiem, I certainly don’t know how to do it, and I’m not going to waste my time on a stubborn child who refuses to be helped. But, I’m a fair Matriarch. You have questions. Ask them.”

“The Cult of the Lightless Flame.” Gerry began, the words coming out of his mouth before he even registered saying them. He winced a little. Normally, he could hold his tongue better than that. Maybe Jon was a bad influence. “My— Mary Keay mentioned having dealings with them, as far as I was aware you were a member. How does that play into this?”

“Averis takes many forms. You’ll learn that soon enough. I don’t know what the Siren has told you about the Five, the lesser they call them, I think.” She shook her head, in derision or dismissal Gerry wasn’t sure. “What you need to understand, Gerard, is that we do not worship Averis. We are Averis. Averis is the god of all things that destroy and die, the god of ash and burning and rot. Life has no meaning without death, and we are the harbingers of that death. Death is not moral. It simply is. As for the lightless flame...” she shook her head a little, amused. “The Cult of the Lightless Flame was not a name that we ourselves really used, but, there are many ways to die your first death. Your first death Marks you, changes you in more ways than you know.” She held up one of her hands and Gerry could see, just for a moment a flicker of flame cupped in her palm. “The thing is... that Averis exists within all life. And as they exist within you, your experience is coloured by your beliefs. Believe strongly enough in certain aspects— ” she shrugged. “Let’s just say Smirke’s 14 are only totally inaccurate to those who don’t believe in them.”

***

“Ms. Hussein? Yes I believe now would be the ideal time. Just as we discussed.”

There was a click and the line went dead.

“Pompous ass,” Basira muttered under her breath. Just because she worked for the man didn’t mean she had to like him. She put her phone back on silent. Ignoring the half dozen missed calls from Daisy, and numerous missed texts.

She resisted the urge to check the file again. She knew what she needed to. The nightmares she had were all the proof she needed.

***

Jon was beyond stressed, and he could feel the burning questions of his companions as they walked; but he was unable to stop thinking about his Archives. More specifically the open source of ignition in his Archives.

“So what exactly are we supposed to get boss?” Tim asked, in an attempt to bring Jon back to the here and now, he kept zoning out and looking over his shoulder back the way they had come.

“R-right we need— ”

“Sims.” Jon turned around surprised. “We need to talk.”

“PC Basira, what, um, what can I do for you?” Jon asked, stumbling over his words in surprise.

“Like I said Sims. We need to talk. Your office will do nicely so let’s—”

“No! Ah—  I mean, it’s—  the Archives— are currently being... fumigated?” Jon could see Tim physically resist the urge to slap a hand over his face.

“Fine.” Basira said. She clearly didn’t believe him but was willing to go with it for now. “Cafe across the street will do.” She gave a look to his companions. “Alone, Sims.”

“Ah, uh, yes. Yes— right. Ok, I’ll meet you there. I’m sure you’ll forgive me, but I was in the middle of briefing my employees here for their field work.” He managed to summon up his best haughty look and poured every ounce of his posh Oxford accent into it. She rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Five minutes.” She turned and left.

“Shit. Are you gonna be ok boss?” Tim asked.

“Ah—  yes, I’ll be fine. She, she really does just want to talk, I can, um, sense it.”

“Riiiight.” Tim said with a nod. “Grab your lunch, then. We were supposed to pick up clothes and food, right?”

“Bones. You’ll want to go directly to the butchers and get some beef bones. Say it’s for a dog or something, they usually give you the more meaty ones then.” There was a moment as Tim and Martin considered why Jon knew that and both of them decided that was something not worth thinking about again. “And yes, clothing... probably a bottle of hair dye as well.” Jon said, thinking about the badly maintained dye job that the ghost had been stuck with.

“Don’t— don’t take any stupid risks alright Jon.” Martin said. Jon sputtered.

“He’s right, you did only just get back boss.” Tim said with a fond smile.

“Just— get the damn clothes.” Jon muttered flushing, before he turned away to head out.

***

Tim wasn’t blind, unlike Jon apparently was, he could see the frustration lit in every ounce of Martin’s frame as Jon got pulled away. He had also heard Martin’s frustration at being a ‘supernatural caregiver.’ And while Tim wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about his own role of Herald, he could guess from the few things Martin had mentioned about his mom why he might be having a harder time with his own role.

Tim waited a bit after Jon had left to see if Martin would be the one to bring it up— but when he could practically feel Martin shutting down next to him, he decided he needed to step up.

“So are we gonna talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” Martin muttered.

“Your enormous crush on Jon.” Tim said. Martin sputtered. Bingo, Tim thought. Now, he’s off balance.

“I don’t— ”

“No, no, I know. Don’t deny it. But, before that, you should talk about the other thing... the Usher thing, I mean.”

“Is that your attempt to use ‘supernatural charisma?’” Martin asked sarcasm dripping from his words. “I’m fine, Tim. It’s fine. It’s all... fine.”

“Yeeeeeah— so, I’m gonna say it’s definitely not.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Tim.” Martin said, anger creeping into his voice.

“Except for the fact that you kinda do, though?”

“And how would you know that anyway.” Martin said bitterly. “Are you using your freaky powers on me now?” Tim sighed, and Martin deflated. “No—  I, I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair—  I just, god—  it really is all I’m good for, isn’t it?”

Tim pulled Martin down onto a nearby bench. Martin seemed to collapse in on himself. It was an impressive trick that a man of his size could seem so small.

“You done, bud?” Tim asked gently. Martin nodded. “Right, do you want to know what I think?” Martin gave a helpless shrug, unable to meet Tim’s eyes. “I think it sounds like you’re short changing yourself.” Martin looked up in surprise.

“What?” He said.

“No—  I mean think about it, Jon said you know what people need, right?”

“Yeah.” Martin said slowly. “What’s your point here Tim?”

“Just because you know what they need doesn’t mean you have to give it to them.”

“What are you saying?”

“I mean, that’s a lot of power to hold over someone, isn’t it? You know what they need— not, wish for, actually need. You could destroy someone with that.”

“Tim!” Martin said aghast. “That’s— thats not— ” Martin’s mind began to catch up with his emotionally driven reaction and he cut himself off.

“Like Jon can sense people’s desires—  and eat them or whatever, but all that means as far as I can tell is that Jon can make people act impulsively. And let’s be honest, the man’s personality could probably do that, too. I love the guy—  but he can drive you crazy sometimes!” Martin could not help the snort that made its way out of his nose.

“And, I’m apparently a supernatural phone directory with charisma. How did Jon put it? ‘I’ll know who people need to talk to’ —  so ok, I’m the secretary… sure. Please hold, let me direct you to the person you want.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Lamest superpower. But you— ”

“Look Tim, it’s— I appreciate what you're trying to do, but, but the thing is; all my life I’ve taken care of people, you know? My mom, mostly, but friends too, I’m the one they called at 3 am in highschool sobbing over a break up. I didn’t— I don’t put myself first. I know that. I never have. This just seems like, like I’m destined for it. Like it really is all there is to me. I don’t get the chance to put myself first, I mean. I haven’t before, but this just really cinches it, doesn’t it?” Tim could feel his heart breaking for Martin.

“You could always quit?” Tim said after a minute.

“What? No, no that’s— I can’t just, I have to look after my mum, she’s, well the care home won’t pay for itself.” Martin said. He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he didn’t entirely succeed.

“Ok, but I mean, you have how many years of experience with library sciences now? And I know for a fact that Jon would write you the very best reference letter. He would be sad to see you go, god we all would but, but we would understand. I mean none of us signed up for this, you know? I signed up for a research position to find out what—” Tim voice broke a little. “what killed Danny. I— I got that. I know now. I don’t, I don’t know what I’m going to do with that knowledge, it’s, I’m still figuring that out. But, but, I got what I signed up for. So, I’m sticking around. But, I know Sasha’s been struggling with it all, too. I know she would understand if you needed to quit, or even just take a leave of absence.” Tim nodded considering that a moment. “Yeah, yeah. I know for a fact you’ve never actually used your vacation days, aside from taking the odd day for a doctor’s appointment.”

Martin hadn’t said anything, more because the idea of quitting had never actually occurred to him. Or rather, when it had he felt... stuck somehow. Like it wasn’t really an option. But, but, Tim was making a lot of sense. Why would he stay in a position that was actively changing him? Maybe, maybe a few days off would be a good idea. Jon was likely to be busy with Gerry anyway and Martin honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had just... taken a break.

“I—  maybe you’re right.” It surprised Martin to say it nearly as much as it surprised Tim to hear it. “...maybe a vacation isn’t such a bad idea.” Tim’s surprise only kept him silent for a moment though, before he clapped Martin on the shoulder and pulled them both up to their feet.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit, a bit of time away, clear your head, and— and if you're worried about money there’s probably some field work you could ask Jon to assign you, expense the whole thing to the Institute!”

Martin nodded, it... wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe some time alone was exactly what he needed.

***

It did not escape Jon’s notice that Basira had chosen their table in such a way as to put herself between him and the exit. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Daisy said the murder case had been closed and he was no longer a person of interest. So why would Basira be questioning him now?

“Right, so cards on the table.” She said as he sat down. “I know you aren’t human.” Jon tensed.

“Alright.” He agreed, trying to keep his voice level. He was panicking a bit, but as of right now her strongest desire was to— communicate? Not to kill him, at least, which was probably good enough for right now.

“Not gonna deny it then?” She asked.

“I— am not in the habit of lying.” He replied, though it was more that as of late he had discovered that lying made his skin itch something awful. He suspected it was one of the drawbacks of becoming a Priest for the lesser God of Knowledge. He’d always been a rubbish liar anyway.

“Should make this easier then.” She said with a shrug. She dropped a thick stack of files onto the table. Jon leaned in to take a look.

“These are—  these are institute incident reports.” He said, brow furrowing in confusion. He looked up at her.

“Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

“Is— Why do you have these?” He could taste static on his tongue, but he ignored it, staring intently at Basira.

“I’m investigating the truth about you and Daisy.” She replied instantly. Her fist came down onto the table and Jon flinched back hard. “Don’t.” She said, low and dangerous. “Do that again.”

“I-I’m I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— ”

“Do you know what’s in these files?” She asked instead, sliding them over to him.

“No. I, well, incident reports I suppose.” He said.

“Read them.” She ordered, and Jon cautiously flipped the first one open with a claw tip.

Incident report of Dr. Lionel Elliot regarding the head Archivist Jonathan Sims.

The report detailed his ‘unprofessional’ conduct with the man and Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man had been so judgemental to a group of children! Jon didn’t much like changelings, either— but it was hardly the children’s fault!

But the report continued. It described the sleepless nights, and the beast of eyes, watching his night terrors. Watching, always watching. Dr. Elliot made it very clear just who it was he thought he was being watched by.

Next report was much the same. So was the one after that.

Some of them were reports regarding Gertrude, but every. single. one said the same thing.

I gave a statement and now the Archivist haunts my dreams.

Jon looked up at Basira.

“Yeah.” She said. “I see you, too. Not every night— but enough.”

“I— I didn’t— ”

“What? You didn’t know? Sure, let’s say I believed you. Let’s say you aren’t aware of the consequences that people experience just from talking to you. That doesn’t change the fact that you are responsible for this.”

“No!” Jon shook his head, pushing back in his seat. “No—  I—  I didn’t, I didn’t do anything to them! All they did was tell me their stories. They wanted to tell me their stories! They came to me!” He said, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or Basira. He could remember the dreams, of course, but he left them! He always left them. He would start out there, of course, but he always thought it was just—  well, it was a stressful enough job without adding his budding priesthood into the mix. Strange dreams seemed like a pretty normal response.

“Fine. So you were somehow entirely unaware that in your sleep you haunt people’s nightmares.”

Jon couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or sarcastic. He was too panicked to be able to parse such things, and he was never all that good at it anyway.

“I don’t— when I sleep, sometimes I have nightmares, but—  but I change them! I leave, I don’t— ”

“Just because you aren’t there, doesn’t mean we don’t see you.”

***

“Wait so your saying the 14 do exist?” Gerry asked in confusion.

“I am saying that belief is a powerful tool. And that we of Averis know that reality, life, and death... they aren’t as stable as people think they are. If you never learned what blue was, you might think the sky white. The same is true for all things. There are very few indisputable facts in this life.” She put up a finger to silence further questions. “We can talk more when you have a body again.”

Gerry watched with morbid fascination as the bones were laid out on the break room table. He tried to feel- something. Some kind of connection to the bones of his father, but all he felt was the ever present ache of his non existence.

Jude pulled out a thin metal rod, Gerry could see the way the tip began to glow with heat as she sat down at the table where the feet lay. She turned to Sasha.

“Alright Scribe, now it’s time to do your job.” At Sasha’s panicked and confused expression, Jude sighed. “I don’t know why I expected Jon to have a well managed temple. Fine. You need to Ask him. Properly. Ask Gerard about his first steps.”

“I—  right, o-ok.” Sasha said. She took a deep breath and she Asked. When she did and Gerry began to speak, Jude Perry burnt the story of it into the bones before her.

They continued this way for a long while, a new question heralded a new story. A story for every part of the skeleton that lay before them, binding Gerry’s life in fire and bone.

Chapter Text

Jon knew he should get back to his Archives. That he would feel safer in his Archives, but after Basira left... he just— he just needed to clear his head. There was something else going on. He wasn’t a monster. Right? Not like how the reports described. Surely— but then again, one report could be written off, hell, even three could be a strange coincidence. But this was more than that. This was something deeper. Jon flicked at his claws.

When he left the cafe, he meant to head back to the Institute. He hadn’t even intended to take the scenic route; so it came as some surprise to him when he realized that everything around him looked... strange. Utterly unfamiliar. These were streets he had walked hundreds of times and he couldn’t recognize anything. There was something on the edge of his hearing, too, something Other. It took longer than it should have for him to put the pieces together. Circus music. It was circus music.

Jon felt a cold sweat begin to break out over his palms. The sky was particularly overcast, not raining but dark. Darker than it should have been, and dark enough that it took him far too long to notice the figure in the alleyway. And even when he did finally notice it, it wasn’t the figure he saw, so much as it was the shadows they cast. Shadows that were wrong. They were too long or perhaps too deep? Certainly the shapes weren’t right, it didn’t make sense it was—

“Hello, Archivist!” The voice was higher pitched and far more cheerful than a voice from the darkness had any right to be, and Jon took a step forward despite himself to try and get a better look. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Archivist. Some things are better—  Unknown.” Jon couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. He tried to taste the desires of the thing before him but there was— nothing. There was only static pricking sharply against his tongue.

“I, I’m sorry, is this your territory? I didn’t mean to trespass.” He swallowed hard, grasping desperately for childhood lessons. Don’t ask for a name that isn’t given, don’t show fear, and—  oh. Don’t ask questions. Not off to a good start there.

The laughter that echoed along the damp stone burrowed under his skin and sat there content to live as the chill in his bones.

“You are funny, Archivist.”

“What do you— um, how can I— ah,” Jon floundered for a way to ask a question that wouldn’t cause offence. “If, ah, if this place is claimed, I’ll just, um—  be on my way. I don’t, I don’t mean any offence.” He finally managed. He was shaking and he could hardly keep his tone from slipping into lyric. The thing laughed again.

“You are a silly one!” It said.

“I—  thank you?” When the thing didn’t say anything else he risked a partial question. “You wanted something from me then.”

“Why, yes! We do, Archivist.”

“R- right. I, um, I can’t help if you don’t give me more information.”

“We gave you a gift, but you haven’t treated it right. So, we think you broke it. We want it back.”

“You um, r-right. Well I— I have been meaning to set up some way to make, um, cultural reparations with the items held in Artifact storage. I, if you can provide a description I’ll see if I can’t— ”

“That’s not good enough, little Archivist.” The thing continued, cutting him off, it’s voice was unreadable. Cheerful and menacing simultaneously, while somehow still feeling utterly void.

“I—  I’m sure we can arrange for whatever it was to be returned.” Jon said desperately, his voice shook. That— that wasn’t really a good sign, was it?

“Oh good!” The thing was cheerful, though, that had to be a good thing right? It meant he probably wasn’t going to be skinned alive at least. “If you return the changeling child to us and the skin that Gertrude took, we won’t skin you!” Ah. He was wrong about getting skinned then. It took a moment for the words to fully sink in.

“What!? No absolutely not!” The words were out of his mouth before he had the chance to think about them. “What could you possibly  want with a child anyway?”

“We sent it to you to steal back the skin that mean, old Gertrude stole. But now you’ve gone and stolen the child, and made it all, soft. It needs to be punished for letting itself be stolen.” The voice lost some of the cheerful edge, and Jon could taste the static from the question lingering on the back of his tongue.

He  had a split second to realize his mistake. The thing moved too quickly for Jon to see and then there was an unyielding plastic grip around his throat.

“That wasn’t very nice of you, Archivist.” The creature was fully visible now and Jon desperately wished that was not the case. Even more so, he wished it would let go of his throat. The image of the mangled skin stretched over and stapled to the mannequin that held him would haunt his nightmares for months. It’s eyes were as empty as it’s desires and it was smiling. Smiling in a way that should never be called a smile, a malicious warping of plastic, flesh, and teeth.

He tried to choke out an apology but all he managed was a desperate wheeze. It adjusted its grip slightly, lowering Jon enough to allow his feet to touch the ground, but not so much as to allow a full breath.

“You have until— well, until I change my mind!” It said, the cheer back in its voice. “But you had better hurry, the Unknowing is coming soon, and I so badly want to wear that skin for the dance. Perhaps I’ll use the skin of the child as a bow! Or, if you don’t get it back to me- perhaps I’ll use your skin instead.” It tilted its head in a mockery of consideration.

“You’d skin a child?” He gasped out. His horror temporarily overriding his terror. His vision began to blacken around the edges as the grip on his throat tightened.

“Of course, silly! I’m a monster.” The blackness slowly engulfed Jon’s vision and he faded from consciousness. His mind once more traversing the nightmares of those he had spoken to. He paid more attention this time. First beginning with Naomi Herne, he tried to leave the dream the way he normally did, but now it seemed he couldn’t. It was as though his mind could move, but his body in the dream stayed in a fixed point. Watching. His panic began to grow, as he realized how trapped he was. The sounds of his own screams finally woke him.

Jon wasn’t sure exactly where he was when he woke up, but he was badly shaken by the visit, and the dream. He tried desperately to suppress the memory of the dream, horrifying as it had been, and as horrifying as the implications were, there were bigger more immediate concerns he needed to deal with. He fumbled for his phone, only to see the battery had run down dangerously low. Which, of course it had. With his luck today he wasn’t sure why he was even surprised. He had enough power for maybe one phone call. He scrolled through his phone for Rachel’s number. Threats of skinning and horrifying dreams aside, if the circus was actively looking for the Changeling child then precautions would have to be taken.

When he hung up the phone and looked around, Jon realized he had a different problem. He really was lost, nothing looked familiar, and there didn’t seem to be anyone around to ask for directions, so he was forced to pick a direction, and start walking.

***

“Madt Perry?” Sasha asked, desperately hoping she had the pronunciation correct— Jon’s ‘creature manual’ hadn’t been rich in pronunciation guides.

“What?” Jude said as she continued wiping down the blood and ash from the unconscious Gerard, still lying on the table. Sasha had been assured by Oliver that it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t woken up yet, and he likely wouldn’t for some time. His body had been through a lot of trauma.

“I just, I wanted to know why you let me stay. You, there were a lot of things that didn’t sound like things a random human is normally privy to, and surely there are Banshee Scribes?”

“You aren’t a normal human. And Scribes are very rare.”

“I- I suppose. But, but how do you know I won’t, I don’t know... spill your ancient secrets?”

“You won’t.”

“But how— ”

“No more questions.” The temperature increased for a moment. “You won’t spill any secrets because like it or not, you are a Scribe. If you were the sort of person who would share ancient rituals and secrets, you would not have been Marked by Sekreth. You are a scribe and so you will not share the things you’ve seen today.”

“So what, just because I’m a scribe you think I’ll keep your secrets?“

“No,” Jude interrupted, irritation clear in her tone. “You are a scribe because you’ll keep our secrets.” Sasha pursed her lips.

“I... guess that makes sense.” Jude gave a frustrated sigh.

“Look.” She said, wiping down the last of Gerard’s hair. Sasha had been surprised to see he was a natural redhead— or maybe his father was a natural redhead? It was a little confusing. “I’ll give you some free advice alright. Power wants to be used. The gods are power. What you believe it to be will shape that power. If you believe that it will corrupt you? It probably will. You can ignore it and let it control you or you can control it. Make your choice.”  

***

“Hey Mel, I was thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous.” Melanie griped from beneath 9 pounds of furiously purring cat.

“Ha Ha. Very funny, but for real,” Georgie said, rolling her eyes as she sat down next to Melanie.

“Ok shoot.”

“Well, it’s just, Jon’s parents had an alliance with the Fairchild Flock. And I mean, if anyone gets around it’s the Harpies, you may want to think about asking Jon to reach out for you. Honestly you may want to think about asking Jon in general. For a man who claims he has no real contact with the supernatural community, he’s one of the most well connected people I know.”

“The oblivious Priest of Knowledge.” Melanie said with a snort.  

“I mean you aren’t wrong there.” Georgie said with a fond shake of her head. “But honestly, it might do you some good to talk to him. I know he can be a bit— well, a bit Jon. But even Jon aside, the Magnus Institute—  mocked though it is—  probably has a lot of resources in their library, and you could probably convince Jon to get you access.” Melanie moaned and buried her face in the Admiral’s fur.

“What?” Georgie asked. Melanie mumbled something into the fluff and Georgie rolled her eyes. “You want to repeat that?” Melanie pulled her face back and slumped against the couch.

“I don’t want to owe him any more.” She said. It was quiet, but there was an emotion there. Melanie wasn’t even sure what emotion it was let alone what to do with it.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, he did save my life and, well, I mean the way he did it is fucked up, and I still don’t— That aside.... he got me to a hospital, made sure I was looked after— and sure Rachel Lukas was responsible for some of that, too— but, that’s sort of her Job, ya know? Jon didn’t have to help me. He nearly killed himself to do it! I hate that I feel guilty and like I owe him, when all I want to feel is anger that he took away my home.” Melanie jumped when an arm found its way around her shoulders, and looked over in surprise at Georgie sitting so closely.

“Ok, if you aren’t ready to move on— you have time, it’s not like the world is going to end anytime soon.”

Chapter Text

Rachel Lukas swore violently after she hung up the phone. She hadn’t expected The Circus to move this quickly. Rose had barely been in her new home for more than a few days, and Rachel was loathe to move her so soon, it wouldn’t be good for the poor kids mental health. She squeezed her eyes shut. The last thing she had wanted to do was interrogate Rose so early on in her rehabilitation. But if The Circus was after her— well the choice was well and truly out of her hands.

***

Gerry became distantly aware of voices, but he couldn’t feel his eyelids enough to open them; so... instead he drifted. Not corporeal, but not dead. It didn’t hurt and he didn’t know how to deal with that. It had hurt for so long.

Gerrard Keay had a high pain tolerance. He had tattoos covering most of the joints of his body, he had survived a childhood with Mary Keay as his mother, been nearly burnt alive, and he had died of an inoperable brain tumour. The pain of which had remained when he had been bound into the skin book. Gerry thought he understood what it was to be in pain. In fact he was quite certain that that was all he understood.

Over time you can get used to anything, and at the end of the day, unending agony... is no different than any other kind of chronic pain. You adapt. There is no other choice. Gerry could remember before he had died that there were certain drugs that, for a very brief time, would cure his headaches and for a few short hours he would be pain free. He only took them twice before he tossed them down the toilet. There is a point you reach in dealing with pain, where a short reprieve is worse than no reprieve. Because not only do you spend the entire time knowing that it is going to return, but when it does come back, you're somehow never prepared for it, and it is so much worse then if you had never had relief in the first place.

So Gerry didn’t trust it.

Even as he slowly became aware of the sensation of air in his lungs, he kept expecting it to burn, for the pressure of the blanket covering him to turn heavy and leaden, and most of all, for the hum in his sluggish mind to become a scream, as it forced him to fight the desire to claw it out of his very skull.

It didn’t though. It didn’t hurt. And Gerry didn’t know how to process that. He didn’t know how not to be in pain. It felt as though an essential part of himself was missing somehow.

He may have let that pull him back to oblivion, at least there he didn’t know something was different, but for the first time in years he could smell. He wasn’t sure that’s what it was at first, because he had never smelt anything so delicious before. The smell made him aware of something other than a lack of pain.

He was hungry; very, very hungry.

It took him a long while to remember how to open his eyes, the lids seemed to be glued together, and it wasn’t until he felt a warm compress wipe away at them that he finally managed it.

“Hey man, welcome back! How are you feeling?”

Gerry blinked. Trying to get used to the physicality of the action, as Oliver came into focus above him. He tried to open his mouth, but all he managed was a tired sounding moan. Which was frustrating. He felt good. Really good. He just... couldn’t seem to remember how bodies worked. He was distantly aware of the sound of running water before he was hit with a shock of cold so intense he jerked upright yowling. Water flying everywhere as he flailed and tried to gain control of limbs he was only just now aware of. Shaking and dripping his eyes landed on one Jude Perry, holding a large empty bucket, grinning at him.

“W-what.” He gasped out. “Was that for?”

“Recalibration. You needed to figure out how your new body worked. This was the fastest way.” She looked entirely unrepentant.

Gerry wanted to be mad, but it was sort of hard when she was right. He had struggled for nearly five minutes to open his eyes, but now he was sitting upright and talking in five seconds flat. He held a hand out in front of his face, marvelling in the way it moved. Taking in the missing tattoos, and scars. And trying to catalogue the new ones. Marked in black along every line of bone were strange symbols that seemed far more raised than tattoos should be.

“Those should fade somewhat with time.” Oliver said answering Gerry’s unvoiced question. “We had to bind you to the body, and those act as the tether.” Gerry wasn’t sure where Jon and the Archival Assistants had gone, but presumably they had come back at some point as there were clothes for him to change into as Oliver helped him down off the table.

He was taller than he had been. By a good 15 centimetres at least, but the clothes that Tim and Martin had brought were comfortably oversized so it wasn’t an immediate problem. They certainly weren’t anything Gerry would normally wear, but still worlds better than being stuck in the same thing for years as he had been in the book. He appreciated that they tried to stick to an aesthetic at least. Soft black joggers and one of those “pre-worn” t shirts, also in black with a band he didn’t recognize. A box of black hair dye, eyeliner and black nail polish had also been provided, but Gerry didn’t trust his fine mother control enough yet to make use of those.

His fingers were a different shape than what he was used to and they felt awkward and clumsy as he dressed. He was deeply grateful that nothing the others had brought involved buttons. He sat down shakily at the table, unused to the new muscles in his legs.

“Here.” Jude said thrusting a large bone towards him. Gerry looked at it in confusion, even as his mouth began to water.

“Uh, thank you?” He said, carefully taking the bone, and smiling at Oliver as he wordlessly slid a plate underneath. Gerry felt a muscle flex in his throat, and a sharp over sweet taste filled his mouth, he hesitantly raised the bone to his mouth and used his teeth to scrape off a scrap of the existing meat. Then again with much less hesitation. The sweet liquid in his mouth seemed to practically dissolve the meat, and it wasn’t long before he began to gnaw on the bone itself. He was surprised at first when it shattered so easily, but quickly found the marrow within a tasty enough distraction to keep from thinking about it too hard.

Once he began eating he was shocked at just how hungry he was, he ended up eating several whole bones before finally feeling full enough to settle. Which was when it stuck him as odd that none of the archival assistants or Jon were anywhere within sight. Before he had a chance to ask though, Jude made a strange subvocalization that Gerry knew with complete certainty he wouldn’t have been able to hear before his death.

“Now that you have come through the other side of Bashí dar, you are nearly an adult. Which means there are things you need to understand.” She began.

“I thought I was supposed to be an adult now?” He asked in confusion.

“Normally yes, but nothing about your situation is normal. Imagine that you came across an 18 year old, who had been raised by monkeys. You wouldn’t set them loose in the population would you? They would die. They know nothing about how to properly feed themselves, as what monkeys eat, and what 18 year olds eat is not the same. That is your situation.”

Gerry tried not to feel offended at the comparison, he got the impression that Jude wasn’t really one to walk around feelings. He supposed in a way he appreciated it, if nothing else he could be certain of where she stood.

“Ok, so I’m what, a feral man child then?” He asked, crossing his arms and nearly nicking himself of claws he wasn’t used to having.

“Not exactly.” Oliver broke in. “I think a better comparison would be that you were raised in what was essentially a cult, and you need to relearn how things work outside of it.” He glanced at Jude. She rolled her eyes. “There are all sorts of things that you should have been taught growing up, like proper nutrition, and your own language that you won’t know. That’s, that’s where the Requiem comes in.”

“Our people,” Jude cut in. “Are nomadic. We have wide roaming territories, sometimes even overlapping with that of other Requiems. What that means in the modern world is that we have multiple homes throughout our territory, you are more than welcome to stay in one of these homes. They are rarely empty, and many of the ones in London have children.”

“Lots of Requiems have territory in London.” Oliver broke in. “It’s sort of neutral territory for lots of non-humans. Big feeding ground, and it is where the jobs are.” He added with a shrug. “Not all of us work human jobs either, but those that do send the money to the collective bank account and we all share what we have.”

“For now, you will be given a monthly allowance as you settle in. Once you are properly settled, you’ll be given more complete access.” Jude said. Gerry nodded numbly a little overwhelmed. He had gone from having nothing, not a body, not a family— only Jon really. And now suddenly he was being offered a community and resources. The chance to travel or settle down as he liked. He hadn’t truly expected the ritual to work, and on the few nights he had allowed himself to entertain the idea that it might—  well. He figured the best case scenario was that Jon would let him stay with him for a few weeks, and then he would be on his own.

Gerry had figured he’d eventually end up on the streets, or winding up involved in some of the seedier employment options. He had never actually worked a real job, he didn’t count Leitner hunting for his mother. Besides, after she had died he lived off the insurance money from the fire of her bookstore before his own death some years later. Hell he had never even finished highschool. So he had no idea how to react to the knowledge that it didn’t matter. That he would be taken care of.

That he could finally start to heal.

***

Sasha was surprised to see Martin and Tim arrive without Jon. He hadn’t seemed thrilled to leave the Archives and it seemed strange that he wouldn’t be there when Gerry woke up. He had begun to stir slightly so she knew it wouldn’t be long. She tried not to worry though, who knew how long that cop was planning on talking to him.

Jon could handle himself. He had his whole- desire thing going on, and surely everyone secretly desired to skive off work and go on a spa day, unless the cop desired to hurt Jon or something ridiculous like that.

Ok so she was lying to herself. She was worried. Finally she gave up pretending and tracked his phone. The results were not encouraging. She looked at Gerry, still only barely stirring on the table and Jude carefully inspecting the spoils the boys had brought back, and bit her lip.

“Hey, Tim, Martin— can we step out for a minute? I need some air, and I don’t want to be alone.” She gave them each a look that she hoped conveyed what she was trying to say. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but Martin seemed to instantly understand.

“Of course, I wanted to grab something from the cafe anyway.” He said and Sasha nodded pleased he understood. Once they were outside and away from the Archives Sasha gave them both a worried look.

“Jon?” Martin asked.

“Yeah, I was worried that he still wasn’t back so I tracked his phone.” She said, Tim gave her an exasperated look. “And it’s a good thing I did.” She added and now there were two worried looks in her direction. “It was in the cafe for a while, but after he left it just, cut out. Like his phone either died or— ” she cut herself off, but Martin knew what she was trying to say.

“Or he ended up somewhere like where I was…. in, in Secret.”

Sasha nodded.

“Now, obviously we shouldn’t panic but—”

“But with our luck we should definitely panic.” Tim finished for her.

“Yeah.” She agreed.

“Right, ok, does anyone have the number of the cop that lurked in the Archives when Jon was wanted for murder?

Chapter Text

Daisy allowed her eyes to shift, taking on a more yellowed tone, and she could feel half a dozen other changes warping her body, not enough to be immediately noticeable, but enough that anyone looking too closely would get the distinctive impression that something was- off, with Daisy Tonner.

That didn’t matter. She inhaled deeply, allowing herself to sink fully into the Hunt, she needed to find Jon. The panicked phone call she has received from Sasha, paired with the knowledge that the last person to see Jon was Basira… it didn’t add up to anything good, especially after her own last confrontation with the woman.

Daisy suppressed the mournful whine that threatened to climb up her throat at the thought of how that last conversation had gone. She cared for Basira, of course she did, they had worked together for years and Daisy had considered her one of her closest friends. But at the end of the day Basira was human. Jon may have dragged his humans into their world, but Daisy remembered what it was like to be made a part of this world without really knowing it or understanding and she wasn’t going to do that to another person without a damn good reason. And Basira’s curiosity wasn’t going to cut it.

Still, with Jon missing Daisy was afraid a confrontation might be inevitable.

Her nose led her to the cafe where Basira and Jon had talked, and that’s where the trail ended. She didn’t expect to find Basira still there, and was unpleasantly surprised, as the other woman was sitting at a corner table going over some files. Daisy barely suppressed a growl, before making her way to the table.

“What did you do to Jon?” She said in lieu of a greeting.

“Hello Daisy.” Basira said, not looking up, Daisy got the impression that she had known somehow to expect her.

“Cut the crap. Where is Jon?” Basira closed the file and finally looked up.

“You know my terms.” She said.

“What answers for answers? Fine.” Daisy said with a growl, pulling out a chair. “Answers for answers. Where is Jonathan Sims?”

“You first. Why does he matter to you?”

“Fine. Fine, Jon— I met Jon about two years after I joined the force. I wasn’t in a good place, and he- well.” Daisy had no idea how to explain it without revealing the whole truth. When Jon met her she was an out of control monster. She had been turned way too young by a cop- and had joined the force to track the bastard down and make him pay for what he had done to her. Jon had been a 17 year old delinquent- she arrested him for property damage initially, but he had been more than happy to explain how things were supposed to work for section 005 cases- it had changed Daisy’s life. Suddenly she had access to an entire community she never knew she needed, she could protect others from the things that had happened to her, and protect others like her who’s relationship with humanity was tenuous at best. But how could she possibly explain the depth of the debt she owed to Jonathan Sims to Basira? To a woman who saw the supernatural as a puzzle to be solved- as a problem to be dealt with.

“Jon helped me understand things about something that happened to me a long time ago. He’s family.” Basira pursed her lips, obviously unsatisfied with the answer.

“Fine. I got that file you asked about before from a new benefactor— my new employer thought it prudent I know about your past.”

“That’s not— ” Daisy cut herself off. She took a breath and lowered her tone.  “That’s not what I asked.”

“I know. I said answers for answers not questions for questions. You tell me everything I want to know, I’ll tell you where Jonathan Sims is.”

Daisy couldn’t stop the growl that rose in her throat, nor could she stop the anger writ clear across her face. Basira said nothing, her own face utterly blank. Daisy weighed her options.

It was possible that Jon was fine, and had just wandered off somewhere like he had been prone to do as a child. But instinct told her that was not the case. It may be possible that she could pick up his scent again and find him, but her past experience told her that once she had lost it like this— it wasn’t likely she’d be able to find it again until Jon came back from wherever it was he had gone. The other option of course being to ask one of the Hallway Guardians, or another priest of Sirillus. But she only knew one other priest of Sirillus, and Daisy didn’t like her odds of getting an answer in time if Jon was actually in danger. She frowned.

“Fine.” She bit out. “I’ll tell you what you want to know but you tell me where Jon is first.” Basira shrugged and took a sip of her drink.

“He’s currently in the company of one Nikola Orsinov. I’ll tell you how to find him, when you tell me what I want to know.”

Fuck.

Daisy only barely suppressed a flinch. Orsinov was bad news all the way around. If the Circus had Jon, Daisy didn’t like his odds. She liked the delay even less but she had known Basira for years and she knew how stubborn the woman could be. She wouldn’t get anything out of her without giving her what she was after.

Goddamn it.

Jon may not have time for her to dally. She swore to every god she cared to remember that after this they were well and truly even.

“You don’t understand the level of danger he is in.” Daisy began. “But fine.” She didn’t bother to suppress the snarl, Basira didn’t even flinch. “If he dies because you made me waste my time—  I, Basira I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive you for that.” Daisy said, one final plea, but Basira simply stared at her. “Fine.”

Basira pulled out an antique tape recorder. And Daisy glared at it for as long as she dared before she opened her mouth to finally speak her story.

“Statement of Alice “Daisy” Tonner, regarding the crimes and death of Calvin Benchley.” She spat out.

“I never told you why people call me Daisy. You know it’s not my real name of course, you asked me about it once, but well, everyone calls me Daisy, so you never pushed too hard. I like it because it sounds so gentle, and I’m the only one left who knows about the scar on my back. It doesn’t really look like a daisy, more like a starburst, but it’s what the doctor said when I got it, so that’s how I’ve always seen it. It makes me feel strong, to know that the soft nickname everyone calls me comes from a bloody wound. And I like to feel strong. To be in control.

When I was eleven, I had a best friend, and his name was Calvin Benchley. We didn’t hang out at school much, because his friends said I couldn’t play with them because I was a girl. But every day after getting home we’d go to the nearby park and play. It was small, just a scrap of grass and dirt, but if you hopped the fence to the south you could get into the cemetery, and if you went the other way you got into an old building site. The fence on that side was broken and jagged, but it collapsed enough that it was easy to climb over it, into the half-built structure.

Our parents had forbidden us from playing there. It was collapsing, as well as being a known hang-out for vagrants and druggies. We would take turns daring each other to go in there. That day, I dared him. I— it wasn’t my fault. I was a child and he had dared me a thousand times too, it was just, rotten luck that it happened to him first. It just as easily could have been the other way around.

We had been in the park, when we had heard shouting from the building site. Crashes. Violence. Then a long silence.

I dared him to take a look, and when he didn’t want to, I started making fun of him... so, in he went. When he didn’t come back, I decided he was just trying to spook me. But after fifteen minutes I decided he wasn’t. I wanted to run away and get my mum, but I was frightened of getting in trouble. So, instead I followed Calvin over the fence.

Inside were the first two dead bodies I had ever seen. They looked like they had attacked each other with broken glass. But, they hadn’t. I didn’t see the bite marks then, but looking back I’m sure they were there, no other option really. One lay impaled on a broken bottle, still holding the long shard of glass that jutted out of the other’s throat. Though I doubt he had been it’s intended target.

There was blood everywhere. It— it wasn’t the sort of thing an eleven year old should have been exposed to. I wasn’t old enough to really understand what I was looking at. I— I remember feeling more excited than scared, the reality hadn’t hit me yet, and neither had the smell. It just looked like the movies ya know? Not real, not really, just set dressing.

On a broken staircase above them, stood Calvin staring at me with vacant eyes. His arm dripping with a rich arterial red. Standing behind him I saw something. A hunched figure. I think it was mostly naked, I couldn’t see anything except pale flesh, the vivid red of cuts and injuries, and the glint of a badge hung around its neck. Every inch of its body appeared to be covered in open wounds and hair- no, fur.

The thing was utterly still, save for its lipless, scabby mouth, the shape twisted and wrong, it moved so fast it was almost a blur, silently mouthing words that only Calvin could hear. I know they were for him, because with each movement of its jaw, the thing’s long, pointed black tongue would shoot out and flick itself into his ear. He was completely expressionless as that crooked, cut-up figure whispered to him and flicked at his ear with a barbed tongue.

Then Calvin’s eyes turned to me. Without hesitation or expression he began running, sprinting right at me. I tried to get away, but he was faster, and slammed into me, pushing off my feet and into the rusted fence behind me. I flipped head over heels and that’s what gave the thing the chance to strike.

The pain in my back, my upper shoulder really, god there isn’t anything I’ve ever experienced that compared to it. The sort of pain that skips right past agony into something beyond. The last thing I remember before the hospital was the fierce pride on Calvin’s face as he stood there.

No-one believed me about what happened. Calvin said that I had tripped and fallen, and that was the story everyone accepted, but after that he was different. Moody. He started getting into fights. Everyone just assumed he was turning into a teenager, but six children at my school were seriously injured or killed by the time he left for university.

It wasn’t just Calvin that was different, though. He had changed and he had dragged me along with him. I started losing time, I would wake up in strange places covered in what— at the time I hoped to be particularly iron rich mud. It wasn’t often, these things take time to truly set in, it wasn’t until years later that the blackouts became more frequent, going from perhaps two—  four times a year to every month.

Exactly every month.

You already know what happened to Calvin. You showed me the file yourself. I won’t try to deny it.” Daisy met Basira’s eyes unflinching. She regretted that it had happened, but Calvin had needed to die. He wasn’t going to stop killing and you don’t come back from going feral like that.

“I’m sure you’ve put the pieces together by now.” Daisy continued. “Blackouts once a month waking up in strange places covered in strange things— ” she shook her head. She could have detailed all the other differences: the superior senses of smell and hearing, the limiting of her colour vision— but frankly she had been so young when it all started at the time she had just assumed it was all a side effect of puberty, and didn’t realize just how different her senses and strength were until she joined the force. “You’ve seen enough weird things. I don’t think I have to say it.”

“I think I would rather you did anyway.” Basira said, finally breaking her silence. Daisy sent her a half hearted glare, but she was on a deadline, and she wasn’t willing to risk Jon’s life for the sake of her pride.

“Lycanthropy.” She glanced around the cafe looking, smelling and listening for any possible eavesdroppers. Though it didn’t really matter, if a human overheard her it wasn’t like they would be believed. “I’m a werewolf.” That was the interesting thing about having been born human, it never felt less corny saying the word werewolf out loud.

Daisy felt a sort of pull... a need to finish the story, something wasn’t right here. She looked at the tape recorder, trying to fight the next few words just to see if she could, but it wasn't of any use. It was like they were being dragged from her lips whether she wanted to share them or not.

“I joined the force young. I knew that the thing that had bitten me and Calvin was a cop, the badge I had seen was distinctive enough that some time spent in the library revealed that well enough. I became a cop so I could hunt that son of a bitch down and kill him myself.” It didn’t need to be said that not enough of the man had remained for photographs in that file of Basira’s.

“Took a while to track him down, son of a bitch didn’t even care about what he had done. Had the gall to laugh, said I should be grateful.” Daisy sneered at the memory. “After that was, dealt with though, I was directionless. I didn’t know anything about the larger non-human community, I didn’t have any kind of support and I was well on my way to becoming feral myself when I met Jon. Like I said, he was maybe seventeen at the time and had a bit of a rebellious streak.” Not that you’d suspect it of him these days- not unless you had known him  a while at any rate. He hid his inner rebel well under the sweater vests and glasses, but mark her words, it was there, and baby anarchist Jon had quite the wrap sheet before he turned 18.

It had been a strange day for Daisy, Jon had greeted her with a smile when he had seen her and said “Hello, Wolf Mother.” It had thrown her, but not enough to stop her from arresting him. He had been utterly baffled.

“You know that’s not how this works,” He had said, to be fair he hadn’t really been doing anything against the law, disturbing the peace, maybe but loitering, certainly. She later learned that he had been encouraging some local kids to flex their artistic skills on a back alley wall. Back then, though, she would have looked for any reason to rough a suspect up; her violent urges unchecked and dangerous.

Not to mention she had been thrown off guard by being called Wolf Mother, unaware that had she been in a pack it would have been a respectful title for someone younger than her to call her. Wolves were very family oriented after an embarrassing amount of miscommunication, Jon finally figured out that she was not in fact part of division 05, and knew nothing about the larger supernatural community.

He ended up putting her in touch with one of the 05 members that arrested him last time, and he ended up taking her under his wing. Quite literally. He was a burrowing Harpy and his flock wasn’t migratory, it had been a major turning point for Daisy. She had kept in touch with Jon though, in part because it wasn’t the last time he had trouble with the law, and because he had seemed so genuinely concerned that she had been all alone for so many years. It had always struck her as strange that someone who grew up as isolated as Jon cared so much about making sure others had support, while rarely knowing to seek it out for himself. She had sworn that if she could, she’d try and provide it for him. And had done her best to do so in the ensuing years.

She shared only the bare details of this with Basira though, only what she couldn’t stop herself from revealing. The words unwillingly offered in a tribute to a gift Daisy didn’t think Basira even knew about. She suspected the only reason she was able to resist whatever was pulling them out of her, was the fact that Jon had sung to her before.

“Daisy I—” Basira began when the tape recorder clicked off.

“I don’t care. I told you what you wanted to know.” She glared at the device and then fixed her golden eyes on Basira. “Now,” She said, not bothering to contain the growl. “how do I find Jon?”

Chapter Text

Jon's phone had fully died and he wasn’t sure where he was. He knew he was cold and he knew he was alone.

He was sure he had been wandering for hours and hadn’t seen a single sign of another person. So cold, and tired as he was, he did the only thing he could think of. He sat slumped against the wall of a nearby building, and Sang. It was not a song he had sung much before, it was one taught to children in case they got lost, meant to carry long distances and bring help to them. Jon felt a little silly singing it, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He was fairly certain now that he was trapped somewhere in Secret, but aside from Rachel, he really didn’t have much experience with those who followed the path of Sekreth, and even if he did, it was unlikely they would have told him much about it— or how to return him should he become Lost. A follower of the lesser god of secrets and hidden things, wouldn’t reveal those things to an outsider. And while Jon respected that— he sure wished it wasn’t the case right at this moment.

“Jon?”

That wasn’t right, he was alone, wasn’t he?

“Jon where are you? I heard your singing.”

“Daisy?” He called out.

“Jon! Oh thank gods, I found you— I can’t see you, where are you?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t Know!” He said in a growing panic.

“Jon!” Daisy barked. “Calm down. Keep singing, I’ll find you I promise, ok? I want to find you, use that and draw me to you, alright?”

“Al-alright,” Jon said, swallowing hard and clearing his throat, before he sang the Lost song again. He stopped abruptly, when he felt Daisy’s hand on his arm.

“Right, no more of that now.” She said, and Jon noted with a touch of guilt there were tears in her eyes— not her fault really, siren Song was just as potent to werewolves as it was to humans— and werewolves had the disadvantage of having better hearing.

“S-sorry,”

“No, don't apologize, what happened Jon? I wouldn’t have thought you would even have enough hidden to get trapped in Secret.”

“How did you find me?” Jon asked in lieu of an answer, tasting static on his tongue as he asked.

“Basira told me how to find you in exchange for telling her about me.” Jon winced at Daisy’s words, and Daisy fixed a sharp look at Jon. “Did you just, compel me?” She asked somewhere between outraged and incredulous.

“I— ah, s-sorry Daisy I didn’t mean to! I— ”

“No, no this isn’t really the time, is it? It’s fine. We’ll deal with it later, ok?”

“O-ok.” Jon said, voice shaking slightly.

“Now then, how do we get out of here?” She asked.

“You don’t know?” Jon asked in disbelief. “You mean to tell me you came bounding into the Secret without a plan to get us out again?” Daisy shrugged, then nodded. And Jon began to laugh. He couldn’t help it, the situation was just too absurd. Daisy crossed her arms unimpressed and waited until his hysterics had passed, and the tears had stopped flowing down his cheeks.

“You done?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He shivered a bit.

“Right, well if that’s all sorted, get us out of here.”

“Right, because I could have gotten out at any time and I just chose to mope about in this fog filled nightmare world for fun.” He said, the sarcasm in it was almost colder than the fog.

“Exactly, now get that clever little head of yours out of your ass, and get us home Sims.” Anger started to overtake his fear and despair and he began to pace.

“I don’t know how!” He said, his voice taking on a more melodic tone in his frustration. “I don’t, ok, ok alright, so, so we are in Secret. I’ve worked that much out, and— and Secret is the domain of Sekreth. Lesser god of hidden things and forgotten souls— so, so maybe it’s our own secrets keeping us here?”

“That— makes sense.” Daisy said, somewhat stilted, as her mind began to churn on the implications of that statement. “So, what? We have to braid each other’s hair and confess our crushes?”

“Yes, I think so— at least, confess our crushes if that’s what you're keeping secret.” He paused. “I don’t know if braiding each other’s hair would play into it, but if you think it would help— oh. You were teasing me. Right.” Jon shook his head. And Daisy rolled her eyes at him. And then sighed.

“Alright Sims, let’s swap secrets then.” She sat down against a brick wall, and hesitantly Jon came over to do the same, though he continued to fidget with the cuff of his sleeve. “You first though, I’ve had enough confessing for a while.”

“Right. Um, the thing is... I, I don’t know if I have any secrets?” She gave him a look. “I mean yes obviously, I’m a siren but that's only a secret to humans. And possibly whatever Elias is. I'm still not sure what exactly he knows.”

“Fine, let’s start with your crush on Martin then.”

“What!?” Jon shrieked his voice jumping several octaves and reaching a range that a human might not have actually been able to hear, but to Daisy’s more canine hearing was nigh deafening. She winced.

“Yeah.” She said. “Martin.”

“No. No, absolutely not. I do Not have a crush on Martin.” Jon stood back up and started pacing again. “No, no I had to be careful— because he heard me Sing once, and— ”

“And he also heard you Scream, so there should be no real remaining effects of the Song if there ever was any.”

“No, no but he—! His desires, well he wants to—  bring me tea? And, and hold my hand, and— ” Jon cut himself off, certain that even if Daisy wasn’t able to see the blush on his skin, she would surely be able to feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Uh-huh.” Daisy said. “And his desires mean you don’t have a crush on him?”

“I don’t— Huh.” Jon stopped his pacing and sat back down. “Does, does Martin have a crush on me?” Daisy rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Jon.”

“Why?” He asked in utter bafflement.

“Why does he have a crush on you? Beats me. You certainly wouldn’t be my type. But there’s no accounting for taste.” She said, giving him a teasing smile. It did help to lighten the mood, so her plan was working a little bit then. Jon shook his head.

“No, but, but that still doesn’t mean I have a crush on him.” He said the word crush like it was dirty, and Daisy couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Ok, and when Martin got trapped in Secret and you were still on the run, did you stay safe and out of the way like you were instructed or did you immediately call Simon to try and get back so you could play the white knight?”

“That’s different I— ”

“And didn’t you bring him breakfast, like, daily when he was staying in the Archives? Your territory? I’m sure I heard Tim mention that, don’t think I don’t know what that means Jon, I’ve known you for nearly a decade.”

“I mean yes but I— well, um.” Jon stared at Daisy. “Daisy, Daisy do I have a crush on Martin?” Jon asked, an indecipherable emotion on his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think you probably do Jon.” She said.

“Huh.” He was quiet for a minute gazing at the still rolling fog that surrounded them. “Well that didn’t work. What secrets do you have?”

“I told Basira everything, about me at least and I think I’m going to lose her anyway.” She shot a half hearted glare at Jon.

“Shit! Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no it’s— well, it’s not fine but I’m not mad.” She sighed.

“Do you— I mean, if you want to talk about it I’m here.”

“I don’t— but, but I may have to to get us out. Jon, I know we don’t really talk about my work, and that’s generally good— it’s... I see a lot of nasty things and frankly I don’t think you need to know about half of them but, but sometimes, sometimes people who get too involved with the gods... well, I think they come out the other side wrong. And-and I think that in her search for answers, Basira made a deal with one of them and I don’t know if I’m going to get her back from that.” Jon pushed gently into her side, not knowing the right words to comfort her but trying to do so regardless. She pushed back at his shoulder slightly and in the silence and the fog Jon took a shuddering breath.

“Sometimes, I worry I won’t be able to come back from this either.” He said barely above a whisper. “I grew up with these holidays and traditions, but— Daisy what if they were wrong. What if the gods that I have worked with and respected my whole life aren’t what I thought they were? Because the statements are never about good encounters with them, and, and after everything that happened to Shelley— and then, well, Daisy... Basira told me I have been haunting peoples’ dreams. Every night when I fall asleep. People who have given statements to me are forced to relive their trauma, over and over again. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but what if the gods aren’t benign? What if they are actively malicious and I have been complacent in that evil for decades. Daisy I think I might be a monster.” Daisy didn’t say anything for a long time. Long enough that Jon was about to get up again and start pacing.

She sighed.

“Jon, I see the dangerous side of the supernatural every day. I’ve met plenty of sirens who were what I would call monsters and I’ve met plenty that weren’t. I’ve also met folks who— despite knowing about the lesser gods— got badly hurt by one of the holy books. I think that the supernatural community is just like any other. You have people who are good, and people who are bad. I don’t think you are a bad person Jon, but I think you may be a victim.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Well, you know what happened to me. I didn’t choose to become a werewolf. This was something that was forced on me. I think, I—” she shook her head. “Look Jon, while you were in hiding; I spent a lot of time in the Institute. Something never felt quite right there, and not just because Sirillus isn’t my patron or because I was in your territory. I think there is something wrong with the Institute and that it might be doing something to you. Something that you don’t fully understand yet— because this, these problems you are talking about didn’t start until you started reading those statements, right?”

“No I— oh. Oh no, I-I think you may be right.” Jon said, eyes wide.

“And it’s the people from the statements that you see in your dreams, right? Only. From the statements.”

“Yes, yes you’re right. Oh gods I’ve been a fool.” He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching and tangling it further. “I have to stop taking statements immediately.” He added with a decisive nod to himself, but the thought hurt. It felt wrong to not take statements. And Jon had a horrible feeling that this was far from over.

“Jon, hey, it’s going to be ok, whatever is happening we’ll sort it out. There are other Priests, right? Surely someone will have seen this before— and can explain what’s going on.”

Jon thought about Martin’s conversation with Annabelle Cain, and the spider ring that he still wore around his finger. Daisy may actually be into something there, if he was out of his depth surely there was someone who knew more? Isn’t that what all good researchers do when they hit a wall? Find a better source? It was terrifying to think of reaching out to someone so much more powerful than him, but— but wasn’t that what the job was for? He took a deep breath. Maybe, maybe things might be ok? Or at least fixed. Daisy was right. There was nothing wrong with reaching out for help. Jon didn’t have to be alone in this.

“Come on.” Daisy said, pushing herself to her feet. “Let's go home, you want to see Gerry, right? And I’m sure Martin will have tea waiting.”

For a moment, Jon was sure he could smell the familiar blend Martin made for him, and just for a second, Jon was certain he Knew the way home.

Chapter Text

“Right.” Jon said, looking at the likely permanent scorch marks on the break room table from Gerry’s resurrection. “So, I suppose I’ll start with Nikola.” Jon heard a sharp intake of breath from Oliver. He was deeply grateful that Jude had decided to leave not long after he and Daisy had finally stumbled, cold and exhausted, back into the Archives. “I— after I spoke with PC Basira-“

“Just— just Basira now.” Daisy cut in. “She quit the force, I don’t know who she’s working for now, someone in the private sector.”

“R-right.” Jon said in surprise. “That’s... ok. A-after I spoke with Basira, I learned that she-she had some disturbing information that I worry will affect all of us.” Jon took a deep breath. “I think there is something wrong with the Temple. I, I think it might be, I don’t know... corrupted somehow, and I- well, apparently the statements I’ve taken—  people have been dreaming about them. Nightmares really, and they all dream that I am watching them.”

“That can’t be right.” Sasha said. “I’ve given you, what? 2 statements now? And I’ve never seen you in my dreams.”

“I, I think you may be protected, you’re a part of the Temple whether you want to be or not. I don’t know that we have much of a choice anymore. But that’s not all. I wasn’t just out wandering. Sasha you were right, I did get trapped in Secret— but I didn’t go there by choice. I was dragged there by Nikola Orsinov. It seems the Circus has come to town.”

“Jon you’re being ominous again.” Oliver said crossing his arms, he tried to keep the tone light, but Jon could hear a subvocalization that told exactly how nervous the name of Nikola Orsinov made him.

“Right, s-sorry. After I left the cafe, I was cornered by Orsinov. She demanded we return some kind of skin that Gertrude stole from her, and the changeling child that was bound to the table, Rose. She um, she more than implied that she had plans to skin the child alive— and, um, me as well.”

“Shit that’s... yikes.” Sasha said.

“This wouldn’t happen to be the Circus of the Other, would it?” Tim asked in a very carefully measured voice. Jon winced at the calm desire to utterly eviscerate the Circus that was beginning to rise off of Tim.

“Wait.” Gerry said finally speaking up. His voice was a little different than Jon remembered it being, it was lower for one, and Gerry had yet to learn how to control the sub vocalizations that layered his tone. Even still, Jon was glad to hear it— being alive suited Gerry. “This wouldn’t happen to be about the Unknowing, would it?”

“Y-yes, that’s what she said. How did you know?” Jon asked.

“Call it a hunch.” Gerry said with a sigh. “Before I died Gertrude and I were looking into a way to stop it. They are looking for a way to bring the Stranger—  it’s... look I know you don’t believe in the 14 fears and that’s, that’s fine. But, Nikola and her crew? They do. They want to use the Unknowing as a ritual to bring the Stranger into our reality—  to reshape reality as we know it in their Patron’s image. They had this, like, super old taxidermied gorilla skin that was going to be worn for the ritual, it had some kind of power to it... I don’t know what. Gertrude stole it and destroyed it though, right before we left for America.”

“But I’ve been to Unknowing celebrations!” Jon said, growing increasingly more distressed and running a hand through his hair, not even wincing when his claws caught on the curls. “It’s a little disorienting, sure, you forget your own name for a bit, and things seem to lose all sense of reality— but, the same effect could probably be achieved with drugs anyway! Why on earth would they— ”

“Jon.” Oliver said. “It’s the bloody Circus— I know you got the same horror stories as a kid about them as I did, you’re not going to be able to apply logic to a group like that. They want to hurt people.”

“So then the question is, what are we going to do about it?” Sasha asked. Jon looked helplessly at Daisy.

“Call it in?” He said. “I, there is a supernatural presence in the police force for a reason right? That’s—  that’s how the system is supposed to work.” Daisy pursed her lips.

“I can try? But Jon, the Circus has been around a long time, there’s a reason they were never shut down. It’s like... it’s like organized crime— the network is just too big to shut down without risking a lot of lives.” She was quiet for a moment. “A surgical strike on the other hand, it might stand a chance.”

“What are you suggesting? Murder?!” Jon asked, horrified.

“I’m suggesting we take Nikola out of the picture.” Daisy said.

“It might work.” Oliver said, cutting off Jon’s protests. “Don’t give me that look Jon, it’s a reasonable suggestion. If the leader is gone then the group may splinter off. Better to be dealing with small pockets of unorganized chaos than a well run, well organized operation.”

“I don’t— ” Jon finally sagged down into a chair, looking up miserably at the group. “I don’t know what to do.” He said quietly. No one else really seemed to have an answer to that, either. Jon was so far into his own head he failed to recognize the sound of the phone on his desk ringing. By the time he did, he had begun to move on autopilot to answer.

“Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.” He answered, and thought he heard a suppressed laugh from the other room.

“Jon! Thank goodness I finally got a hold of you—  I’ve been trying your cell phone for hours.”

“I- I’m sorry?” Jon said not quite recognizing the voice through the tinny distortion of the landline. “It was dead.” He added, since she hadn’t seemed inclined to give more information yet. There was a sigh on the other end.

“Of course, it was— that just figures.” It was definitely a woman’s voice. “Well, I thought you should know I was able to get Rose to safety.” Finally everything clicked, Rachel Lukas. The audio really was distorted like she was calling from— oh. Of course, she was probably in Secret. It would likely be the safest place for a young changeling.

“You were right.” She continued. “The Circus is definitely on the move and I— look Jon, I generally stay out of the politics as much as I can but— ” she sighed and Jon got the impression that she was trying to convince herself that what she was doing was the right call. He resisted the urge to Sing the information out of her. “But, there are children in danger and I can’t afford to stay impartial. I don’t think you are stupid, Jon. I’m certain you’ve already figured out that things involving the lesser gods aren’t always as black and white as they first appear. The Unknowing that you know and the one Nikola Orsinov is going to attempt have very different goals. And even if her ritual doesn’t succeed, the very act of completing it is going to kill a lot of people. A lot of changeling children just like Rose who don’t know any better.”

“I— s-section 5 though, can’t they help?” Jon asked desperately, grasping at straws. The silence on the other end of the line was far heavier than any that Jon had known.

“They are fighting their own battle right now, Jon. Someone, or several someones with a voice on the inside leaked information to some of the human higher ups not in the know and now there is a massive internal investigation underway. The people who are a part of section 5 are going to need to be very careful until the changelings within the government and police force have the chance to... settle things.”

Jon’s mind drifted to Basira, she certainly had the right kind of information to cause a problem like this— and considering what Daisy had told her, it was very possible. He opened his mouth to tell Rachel that, but he hesitated. She worked with changelings. If he told her one of them might take Basira over and he couldn’t stand the thought of doing that to Daisy. He shut his mouth again. All the while kicking himself. He knew it was probably a very prejudiced thing to think, that just because they were changelings they would take Basira over— and yet, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“So, are you saying that it’s somehow my responsibility to stop Nikola?” Jon asked instead. Even talking to the others in the break room he had sort of been hoping he could find someone else to call about this. Maybe Simon?

“Jon. You are a priest, or near enough as to not make a difference. You can’t keep the kid gloves on forever. You were raised in this world, you know what it means to have that kind of blessing, and the kind of responsibilities that come with it.” She sighed. “Look I need to go, the Circus has a veritable army of stolen children, and the social system is going to be swamped trying to get them out before this goes down.”

“R-right, yes I— I’ll see what I can do— ”Jon said just before the line went dead, he let out a frustrated breath, she could at least have said goodbye. Jon went back to the break room.

“That was Rachel Lukas. Rose is safe, and she and the other case workers are mobilizing to try and remove as many of the changeling children under the Circus’s control as possible, but she agrees that we need to do something about Nikola.”

“Actually Jon,” Sasha said as he sat down. “While you were talking, we thought that maybe it might be a good idea to get some sleep. It’s getting pretty late and Gerry looks like he’s about to keel over. I know I’m exhausted, and frankly you look like you haven’t slept well in weeks. And before you say anything, we have all agreed to the buddy system. So that no one is at risk of getting yeeted into the Lonely. Oliver is going to take Gerry home, Tim is going to call Shelley, Daisy will be coming home with me— and you and Martin will be either staying here or going to one of your homes. No arguments.” Jon let himself collapse further into the chair and nodded his agreement. He would have rather had all of them in the Archives with him, but it was a reasonable compromise and he really was tired. They likely wouldn’t get any real planning done tonight anyway.

“Alright.” He agreed, and looked over at Martin, who was a curious shade of red for some reason. Jon didn’t let himself speculate about what that might mean, and even the butterflies in his own stomach seemed too tired to do much more than a few lazy circles. It was probably for the best that he was too tired to be nervous. “That’s... that’s a good plan. I— tomorrow. We can discuss our options tomorrow.”

***

As much as Jon had wanted to stay in the Archives, Martin insisted he go home and sleep in his own bed, which meant that they needed to pick up some human safe take out. Jon had a feeling that whatever freezer burnt human food he had in his flat would be less than appetizing after the day they had had. Now that they were in his home, Jon couldn’t stop staring at Martin, watching the man’s every micro expression and analyzing all of his reactions. Trying to reaffirm to himself what he had learned in Secret.

The trouble was, instead of the usual desires to hold Jon’s hand, or eat lunch together, what rolled off Martin instead was the burning desire to ask Jon something. Jon tried not to be too upset that Martin seemed to have moved on from his crush on Jon. It was Jon’s own fault for neglecting him, Martin deserved better than a man who would leave him hanging like that for so long. So, once they had both eaten and the dishes put away Jon finally broke.

“What is it you want to ask me?”

“What? How— oh. Right, I— well, it’s about my role in the temple?” Martin stammered out, which wasn’t at all what Jon had expected him to ask. “I— I didn’t want to ask you after the day you’ve had, though. So, I don’t— I don’t know why I just did.” Martin added in confusion and embarrassment.

“Oh god, I am so sorry Martin I didn’t mean to— ”

Martin turned a little redder but waved Jon’s protests off.

“It’s fine, I, you didn’t make me say anything I didn’t already want to say.”

“Right. O-ok. Well, what did you want to ask?” Jon said, looking down to avoid eye contact. He was painfully aware of every ounce of mess in his flat and he was desperately trying not to think about Martin judging him for it.

“Well it’s just—  what, what does an Usher actually do? Like you said, I know what people need. Being a supernatural caregiver and all, I get that but like, how does that translate into an actual role? I didn’t really grow up going to church, but so far as I understood ushers just guide people to their seats? But there isn’t really a service for the lesser, right?”

“Oh Martin that’s not—  '' Jon shook his head and tried to stomp down on the rush of affection that rose in his chest at the way Martin had conceived of his role. Of course, he would view it in the way most likely to help other people. Jon tried to suppress those feelings of course, Martin may not share his affections anymore, but now that Jon knew about his own feelings suppressing them was so much more difficult. “I suppose we did get interrupted earlier, didn’t we?” Jon said instead. “Usher isn’t really a great translation of the role, I suppose whoever came up with the translation was just trying to keep with a theme. An Usher’s job is actually very similar to that of a diplomat. If Tim is the first contact, you would be the second contact. You determine what other factions might need and how best to accommodate requests made of the temple or deny them.

This could translate to a smaller scale of knowing how to care for individuals, but historically the role has been more about resource allocation and management? No—  I’m not, I’m not explaining this well, am I?” Jon risked a glance up at Martin’s face, but it was unreadable. He really would do well in the role. Jon thought. Even Martin’s desires seemed blank. Jon pursed his lips and nervously tapped his claws. His eyes landed on the spider ring Martin still wore.

“It’s— well... like with Annabelle? She should have met with Tim first, yes but only until he could direct her to you. She just— skipped the middle man. And, and your ring.” Jon added looking at the spider encircling Martin’s finger. “You take care of things, but the Spider ensures you're taken care of, too.”

“Oh.” Martin said after a while looking down at the ring he had dubbed Charlotte. It hasn’t done much since he escaped from Secret himself, but at Jon’s words he felt it give his finger a gentle squeeze. And he knew without a single shadow of doubt that Jon was right. And the ring had helped him, hadn’t it? It made sure he was always where he needed to be, the same way he was supposed to make sure others were where they needed to be. It was a lot to think about and Martin didn’t even know where to begin processing it all. Jon sighed.

“I—  look Martin, maybe it’s best we continue this tomorrow? It’s— it’s been a long day.” Jon said. He could sense Martin’s desire for some time alone to think about things and his desire to sleep and it was just compounding on Jon’s own exhaustion.

“Yeah, yeah that’s— that’s probably a good idea.” Martin said. Jon nodded and silently moved to set up the couch for Martin to sleep on. It was an excellent couch for napping on, and was long enough that Martin wouldn’t have to be curled up all night.

The rest of his bed time routine was done in a daze. He responded to a few texts, and went through the motions of brushing his teeth, he didn’t even bother with the proper claw caps, instead grabbing a pair of leather work gloves and falling into a deep dream filled sleep.

***

“Are you sure Jon will be at his office today? It’s a Saturday. There is no way an Archiving job requires him to work Saturdays. Even if it is a front for a temple.” Melanie said. “And why on Earth do we have to be here so early? It’s not even 7 am yet!” She complained. Georgie laughed.

“You don’t know Jon like I do, he may not be a morning person, but he is a work person. The only way he wouldn’t be here on a Saturday, is if he was kidnapped or something. Besides, I texted him last night and he said he planned to be at the institute at 7 am sharp and I quote ‘As always.’ So, he’ll be here.” Georgie said with a laugh. She wasn’t much of a morning person either, but she knew Melanie was anxious to get some answers and they had made plans for later that day, so it made more sense to come early. Georgie smiled as she took Melanie’s hand, mindful of the claws, and gave her a reassuring smile. The smile Melanie gave her in return made her heart beat out of time and Georgie was grateful her blush wouldn’t show on her dark skin. “Shall we?” She asked.

And together they entered the temple.

Chapter Text

Jon awoke feeling more exhausted than when he went to sleep. He had been unable to leave the dreams. Where before all he had needed to do was imagine a door and walk out, last night he was frozen, powerless to do anything but watch as people sobbed and begged him to let them go. Trapped by their ignorance of how to deal with Lesser touched beings, and he himself trapped by his sudden anxiety that he couldn’t leave. It was as if becoming aware of what was going on shackled his mind in place, all he could do was Watch.

He was far more out of sorts then he had thought too, since apparently it wasn’t even a weekday like he had thought. He gazed blearily at his phone, not bothering with his glasses. He had a few missed messages from Georgie, but he swiped to ignore them for now, he didn’t bother looking at the time stamp, she had probably sent them at 3 am or some other ridiculous time. Honestly, who tried calling at three in the morning? Besides if it really was Saturday, she probably wouldn’t be awake right now anyway, he’d respond after he got back to the Archives.

Martin had insisted that since they didn’t technically have work today they had enough time for a proper breakfast at the very least before heading to the Archives. Jon guiltily agreed before humming a note to convince Martin that it was worth it to go to the cafe across the street rather than make anything from scratch; given the state of Jon’s kitchen hadn’t changed over much from the night before and leftover take out is never an appealing option for breakfast when French toast is just a two minute walk away.

Jon hated that he was hungry enough to feed on a friend, on one of his humans, on Martin— but it had been a long time since he had read a statement. Longer still since he had properly fed as he was raised to, and really Martin would have agreed to it anyway. Was it so bad if Jon also got a bit of a boost from it, too?

It was. Of course, it was! It was a horrible thing to do to a friend and the two tone hum that would convince the teenager they passed on the street to buy roses for his boyfriend only made Jon feel worse about it. Still, he decided not to say anything about it, and instead focused on the people in the cafe who secretly wanted dessert at 8 in the morning. The cafe was about to have their best day selling pie.

“What are you doing?” Martin asked. Jon froze as he glanced over at Martin, cautiously taking in his relaxed posture and trying to match it. Martin didn’t seem upset, just curious.

“There’s, um, the couple behind us, they both truly desired a slice of pie and I— ” Jon looked down shamefaced, he had never felt guilty like this before, why was this suddenly so hard to talk about?

“Oh, I— I guess I had sort of— forgotten about that?” Martin said. “I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you, um, feed before.” Martin coloured slightly as he stumbled over the words. And Jon could sense his desire to disappear, which was not on the whole useful information. People often felt this desire, and not only could Jon not really feed off of it, but it was also a notoriously unreliable desire for determining someone’s mood. Jon also wasn’t really sure what to say to Martin in response so he turned back to his eggs instead.

They fell into a tense silence after that, and Jon slowly became aware of Martin’s desire to break it— or at least his desire to know what to say to dispel the tension.

“When, um,” Martin cleared his throat embarrassed by how his voice cracked. “When is the Weavers Ball meant to take place?” He asked, clearly attempting to break the tension. He failed.

Jon felt the blood drain from his face. With everything going on he had somehow completely forgotten about the Weavers Ball.

Well, not forgotten exactly, it was a constant weight of anxiety in the back of his mind, but he had forgotten just how little time he actually had to prepare for it.

“Oh, gods...” Jon said.

“Ah.” Martin replied. “So— not the thing to bring up at the breakfast table, then?” He said coughing slightly to try and cover his embarrassment. The ring on his finger gave a gentle squeeze. “Sorry I— ”

“No! No I— gods! How could I have forgotten? There’s so much to do! But with the Unknowing and— no, that’s important too, I know but— ” Jon swallowed hard. “T-to answer your question, it’s less than a month after the Unknowing. It’s— it’s about balance, right? You have the holiday to celebrate the Unknown first, and the holiday to celebrate the Known after. But— ”

“Jon.”

“.. I didn’t even think about it! There’s so much to do and I— “

“Jon!”

Jon blinked. Martin rarely raised his voice and it was enough to snap him out of the inevitable spiral.

“One thing at a time, right? What exactly needs to be done for the Weavers ball? The basics, at least.”

“C-catering...” Jon said, trying to force himself to take a deep breath, “a-and the guest list, of course. Music— though that should be taken care of. It’s always the same players, but they need to be formally invited. And— god! I, I need to Craft the ballroom.”

“Ok, walk me through it. How would it normally go? Let’s start with catering, is there a standard service for non-human individuals?”

“Y-yes, yes there is. It’s— John Haan, he has a catering service.”

“Perfect, that’s a great start, I’ll be he already knows what’s normally served so we can reach out on Monday and get that sorted out, now how does the guest list work?” Martin asked, giving Jon an encouraging smile. Jon felt his heart skip a beat at the power of that smile directed towards him, he was deeply thankful the dark tone of his skin hid his flush.

“The-there are s-standard guests, at— at least one representative of every deity generally. And of course, all who are touched by Sirillus are welcomed. Um, I-I think there might be a holy book out there somewhere to send out invitations, but the host of the last ball probably has it and that would be—” Jon swallowed hard again. “That would be Annabelle Cain. I— I would need to talk to Annabelle Cain.” Jon could feel himself starting to spiral again, until a sudden warmth engulfed his hand. He looked down in surprise. And his eyes quickly darted up to meet Martin’s.

“Jon. Breath. It will be ok. I-I get that Annabelle is a super important figure for you, but—   I mean, when I met her she bought me a sandwich and we had a nice chat. I don’t think she bites, ya know? And, and you wouldn’t have made it this far if you didn’t have the support of your—  of Sirillus, right?”

“I... don’t know if that’s true anymore.” Jon said thinking about the suspicious circumstances that had led to his promotion when all of this seemed to have started.

“Would Shelley think that?” Martin asked, his warm eyes intent on Jon’s, and his hand a grounding presence.

“I don’t— ”

“Or what about Gerry? Melanie? It doesn’t matter how you got to where you are, you’ve done the best you possibly could under the circumstances. And you have help. We’ll figure this out Jon.”

Jon could sense how much Martin desired for him to believe what he was saying. He couldn’t of course, there was too much at stake, but Martin didn’t have to know that. Jon hummed a single note, just enough for Martin to believe that Jon had accepted his words. Jon had always been a terrible liar, but he was an excellent Siren.

He wanted to believe things would be ok, but he had a terrible feeling that things were only just starting to get bad. He gave Martin’s hand a gentle squeeze, and looked away.

***

To Georgie’s surprise, Jon wasn’t there when they arrived at the Archives. They were greeted by Sasha who gave them a brief rundown of what had been happening. It didn’t take Georgie long to start pacing. Jon was being targeted by the Circus, he wasn’t answering his phone, and he was running late. Georgie didn’t think Jon had ever been late for anything in his life! And maybe if he was underfed he might be tired enough to sleep in for once in his life, but the last few times she had seen him, he seemed like he was eating better then he ever had!

She decided to give him a half hour before really panicking. Sasha had assured her that he wasn’t alone, that he and Martin had gone home together. That had given Georgie pause, she knew how much Jon cared for Martin, so perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to suspect he wanted to linger at home a little bit to enjoy their time alone.

However, by 7:30 neither Jon nor Martin had responded, and by then even Sasha started looking a bit worried.

“Right, that’s it.” Georgie said to Sasha. “I’m going to his flat to look for him.” Sasha bit her lip but didn’t protest. She was worried, too. But, she wasn’t overly fond of the idea of being left here alone. Daisy had left almost as soon as they had arrived. Having only stayed to make certain that Sasha got to the Archives ok, before leaving to check in with her contacts at the precinct for more information about the Circus. Tim and Shelley had yet to make an appearance as well. Though, Sasha was pretty sure that had more to do with Shelley’s inability to tell time then anything serious.

At least Oliver had texted to say that Gerry was still sleeping and they wouldn’t be in until later. That, at least Sasha understood, the less she thought about the resurrection ritual the better, but she doubted it had been any more fun on Gerry’s end.

“You... may have a point.” Sasha conceded. “I don’t know if it’s safe for you to go alone, though— if something did happen—”

“This is just recon.” Georgie said, waving off Sasha’s concern. “If I see anything concerning I’ll call, but I’m also a bit better at defending myself then Jon is. I never filed down my claws and I know how to use them in a fight. Not to mention I actually eat properly. Jon—  well, there’s a reason he’s short. Growing up his diet wasn’t exactly what it should have been and there are consequences to that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sasha asked without thinking. She tasted static on her tongue, but she didn’t try to stop Georgie from answering.

“Well, you can survive on meal replacement shakes, but a growing kid needs more than that, sometimes I think that’s why he ended up in the temple. In order to feed, you need to Know things about the people you're feeding from. Of course Jon would be drawn to a place like this. Sometimes, I wonder if he even had a choice.” Georgie blinked uncertainly. “I— probably should have told you that... look I— I’m going to find Melanie. I, I think I should go.” Georgie shook her head to clear it.

“Melanie is welcome to stay here, she would only slow you down limping like she is, and you may be able to defend yourself but she probably can’t right now.” Sasha said pleased to have come up with a reason not to be alone.

“You may be right. Yeah I’ll— did you see which way she went?”

Sasha pointed towards the stacks and Georgie set off in towards them.

“Mel?” She called out, wandering deeper into the ancient shelving units.

A muffled ‘here’ caught her attention just before she nearly tripped over the other woman. She was crouched on the floor, files spread out around her.

“What are you—  no, it doesn’t really matter. I’m going to try and find Jon. Are you ok to stay here with Sasha until I get back? She could probably help you with those files.” Georgie said. She tried to make it sound like she was doing Melanie a favour, their short cohabitation had quickly led her to realize that Melanie was about as skilled at taking care of herself as Jon and arguably more stubborn. Still Georgie had managed to wrangle Jon, so she felt she had this well in hand.

Melanie looked torn, she glanced at the files, then at Georgie, then at her cane.

“Besides I doubt you want to have to deal with entering Jon’s territory uninvited.” Georgie threw in. Smiling to herself as she saw the indecision resolve on Melanie’s face.

“Ugh, yeah, can’t say I have any desire to perform that song and dance.” She said making a face. Georgie’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion, before she managed to smooth her face into an impassive mask. She wasn’t sure if Melanie was using an expression or talking about a Mer custom. But if it was going to work in her favour she wouldn’t argue either way.

“Right, I’ll be back soon, let Sasha know if you need anything ok? She can probably help you move all that to a table, it can’t be good for your leg to sit there like that.”

Melanie rolled her eyes, but the smile she gave Georgie was a fond one.

“Fine, get out of here and find our wayward Priest.” She said and as Georgie turned to walk away, she heard a barely whispered,

 “Stay safe.” The warmth that came to her cheeks then had nothing to do with the Archives central heating.

***

Sasha hadn’t said much since they had moved the files to the break room table, her eyes constantly darting between the door and her phone. She was so on edge that Melanie could practically taste it.

“So Georgie tells me you’re a Scribe then?” She said trying to throw the poor woman a bone and get her mind off of her missing boss.

“Hmm? Oh. I, yes. I guess.” Sasha said, turning her focus onto Melanie.

“Wow, don’t sound so excited.” Melanie said shifting in her seat. Her leg ached.

“I-it’s—” Sasha sighed and slumped down into her chair. “I have a lot of feelings about it. Excitement is probably in there somewhere. I just haven’t got to it yet.” She said. Melanie nodded.

“I get that. I think I feel the same way about having legs full time. It’s something that if I could have chosen it, I might be really happy about. But, because there wasn’t much choice involved, it's hard to parse out my feelings on the matter.”

“Yes!” Sasha said, lighting up somewhat. “That’s it exactly! It’s like—  on the one hand, I chose to be here. I chose to work for the Magnus Institute and I wanted to learn more about the supernatural. But I didn’t choose to become the supernatural— ah, no offence.” She added with a wince.

“None taken. I didn’t choose to lose my ‘supernaturalness’, so I get where you're coming from. Like, I know that Jon saved my life. But I miss my home ya know?”

“God, I can’t imagine how difficult that must be for you Melanie. I am so sorry.” Sasha said, finally shifting her focus completely from the door to Melanie. Melanie shifted, not sure what to do now that her plan had worked. Sasha wasn’t thinking about her missing boss, but Melanie wasn’t exactly comfortable diving into her own emotions that deeply with a complete stranger. She gave Sasha a tight smile, she never knew how to respond when people apologized for things that weren’t their fault.

“It's not like you cut me off from my home forever.” She said with a shrug.

“No, but it still sucks. I’m sorry you have to deal with that on top of a traumatic injury.” Sasha said, and she sounded genuine. Which made Melanie feel a bit bad for having been so dismissive.

“I mean, it’s not like I spent that much time at home, I just— I miss having the choice you know?” She said, trying to make up for her earlier blasé attitude.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Sasha ran her fingers through her hair, succeeding only in tangling it further and sighed. She looked down at her hands, then back up at Melanie. “See— I’m not actually a proper Scribe yet, right? I’m like 80% of the way there, but I need to receive the mark of Felor to finish the process— according to Jon, at least.” Her eyes flicked to the door again for a moment but they were quickly back on Melanie.

“Do you—  do you want to be a Scribe?” Melanie asked, leaning in, curious despite herself. It was odd to hear her own problem from the other end.

“I don’t know? I mean, from what I’ve been able to get out of Jon, from the moment I received that first Mark I was pretty much set on this path. And strange things going on with the Institute aside, I don’t think it’s a bad thing, necessarily. Shelley seems happy enough now that they’ve figured themselves out a bit more. Even Gerry, exhausted as he was yesterday, didn’t seem too upset to find out he wasn’t human. And I know I’ll still be human if I become a fully realized Scribe... I just— everyone talks about how powerful these holy books are. But I spent a fair amount of time in Artifact Storage and I know just how dangerous they can be, too! I don’t know if I can handle that kind of power? Hell, I got passed over for the position of Head Archivist and while I can’t say I envy Jon’s job these days—  if I wasn’t ready for a promotion, how could I possibly be ready for something like this?” Melanie pursed her lips.

“I’m a mermaid.” She said. “Or at least, I was. Merfolk are a pretty powerful bunch, before Jon did—  whatever it was he did to my tail, I could easily take down a man twice my size and have him for lunch if I wanted. On land or off.” Sasha's face did something funny at that comment, so Melanie rushed forward. “That said, on land— merfolk? Are one of the weakest of the supernatural species out there. So, if we— at our weakest, can take down a man—  well, what I’m saying here is that you are a part of this world, right? So, is it really so crazy for you to have a bit of your own power to balance the scales? Hell, your boss is well on his way to becoming one of the most powerful beings in the UK. Eventually, he’s going to find himself some enemies.” Melanie noted Sasha’s flinch and the way her eyes darted to the door. “If he doesn’t have them already. And don’t you want to be able to defend yourself?”

“Yes? I mean I guess... it just—”

“It’s the choice thing. Yeah. So, if you don’t have a choice about what you're going to eventually become... you do still have a choice about when it will happen. Which is more than what I got.”

Sasha stared at Melanie. Melanie felt like she was being flayed open by that gaze. She shifted uncomfortably. Unsure of what to make of it, had she crossed some unspoken boundary?

“You're right.” Sasha said, finally breaking the tension. She gave a humourless laugh. “You are absolutely right. And more to the point, I’m useless right now. Georgie is off looking for Jon and I can’t help. The only time I’ve been even a little bit useful was when I was acting as a Scribe. I should embrace it.”

“That’s, not exactly what I meant.” Melanie said, trying to backpedal, unsure of the fire that seemed to be lighting in Sasha’s eyes.

“No, no. But it’s true. Shelley started to improve when they embraced what they had become. Gerry only got a body again when he accepted that he was a Banshee. And Jon is only struggling now because he’s doubting himself. And here I am doing the same thing. If I wasn’t meant to be a Scribe, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in right now. So—  so, fuck it.” She held her hand out. “You're a follower of Felor right? Mark me.”

Melanie looked dubiously at the proffered hand. This was not at all how she had expected this conversation to go. Still, who was she to take Sasha’s choice away from her? Melanie took her hand.

When she let go, Sasha was out of breath and her eyes darted around as if something had been chasing her. Melanie smiled. It was nice to know that even in her present state, her god hadn’t abandoned her.

“Is—  is that it?” Sasha asked when she had caught her breath. “Am I—  a full Scribe now, do you think?”

“Only one way to find out.” Melanie said, and she pulled out the blank notebook that she had brought with her for her own note taking. “Wanna try and write a book?”

Chapter Text

Sasha hadn’t really known what to expect when she started to write. The pen hit the paper and it was like there were two worlds. The one that she was living in and the one just outside of her range or vision. She could feel the edges of it with the pen, though, like if she just worked hard enough she could pull it through. She wasn’t really paying attention to the story she was writing, but she knew that wasn’t the important part. It was about the shape.

Reality had a certain shape to it, and if she could match it, just closely enough- and then guide the reader slightly to the left of it.

Sasha thought that she understood, now, why Jon was so taken with the lesser gods. And why he was so insistent that gods and mortals were equal. She felt a bit as though she was reaching out to them and shaking their hands, and that this book, this story, was the result. It was something of them both. The best parts of both. Made by mortal hands and god touched. She understood why Jon called them holy books; and why what Leitner had done to them was so very abhorrent. She— oh. She was finished. She stared at the final page, to her surprise, it contained no words. Instead, it was a drawing of a seal. A drawing rendered in far more skill and detail than Sasha was normally capable of. It drew her in and she wanted to stroke its soft fur and pull the skin tightly around her shoulders.

She shut the book. Melanie was staring at her.

“What— that was— I. Wow. I’ve never seen anything like that.” Melanie said in a hushed voice. “It was— I could feel  the gods around us, but-not? It was like— I don’t even have words to— ”

“Here.” Sasha handed her the book and Melanie took it reverently.

“Thank you.” She whispered. Melanie had never really understood why scribes were so valued and important. They didn’t really have any merfolk scribes and while Melanie knew the books held power— she shook her head and tried to focus on the book in her hands.

It looked like a simple notebook, but she could feel it humming beneath her fingers; and it was ever so slightly damp. She opened the first page and began to read.

***

Tim splashed some cold water on his face before looking up to meet his eyes in the mirror, and winced. The bags there weren’t exactly subtle and he’d need to pull out all the stops for dealing with that if he didn’t want the others to catch on to how poorly he had slept that night. But how could he sleep? The Circus had taken everything from him. Danny, his sense that the world was a safe place… and so much more. Just when he thought he may have finally picked up the pieces of himself and patched himself up with his little archival family— the damn Circus nearly took Jon, too, and now he was going to have to face it.

He wanted revenge, of course he did, Danny had been his whole world and what they had done to him… Tim wanted to see them burn. But he was just so tired. He wanted the incident with Jon to fuel the existing rage and fan the flames once again from simmering coals to a raging inferno. But it didn’t. Not in the way he wanted. He felt like there were too many emotions for his body to contain and they were equaling out to a net zero.

He ran a hand through his hair, or at least attempted to. It got caught up in the curls he still wasn’t really used to and Tim sighed. Settling for tugging at it instead, before reaching for a spray bottle to wet it down some to try and get it under control.

He glanced at the innocuous yellow door in his living room. The one that hadn’t been there when he had moved in.

“Shelley?” Tim called. The door vanished. But Tim heard a creaking sound behind him and turned to see it had reappeared and Shelley was leaning casually in the new door frame. They inclined their head towards Tim and Tim looked down at his pick in defeat. “Help me with my hair?” He asked.

“Of course.” Shelley said, taking the pick from Tim and laying it on the bathroom sink instead. They began gently finger combing through Tim’s damp hair, it felt odd, sometimes like Shelley’s fingers were actually a comb; and sometimes like a whisper, or the gentlest brush of claws.

“You are… troubled.” Shelley said carefully. Always so carefully.

“Yeah.” Tim agreed. Not sure where to start.

“Did— you wish to talk about it?” Shelley asked and Tim shut his eyes leaning into their gentle ministrations.

“I-I don’t know if I can.” He finally murmured. “It’s— did I ever tell you about my brother?” Tim asked, he watched Shelley carefully in the mirror. Shelley shook their head.

“He-I— god! Why is it still so hard to talk about this? He was killed. By-by the circus. They, um, they skinned him.” Tim took a steadying breath and looked away from Shelley’s reflection. “And Jon nearly died like— 8 times since accepting the Head Archivist position. And now we think something might be— I don’t know… wrong with the Institute. And on top of all that— I have to face the circus again. I just—! I feel like every time I start to gain ground after losing Danny— I only find I have more to lose.” Shelley didn’t say anything, and Tim let himself relax into their touch. Finally Tim heard Shelley take a deep breath.

“What would you like to happen Tim?” They asked. And Tim frowned.

“Revenge for Danny, and for my friends to be safe.” He said, though he was unsure having been asked to speak it aloud.

“Do you want revenge or do you want justice?”

“I— what’s the difference?” Tim asked, brow furrowed.

“What happened to Michael Shelley was awful. He did not deserve it. Gertrude Robinson tricked him, he had worked with her for so long, and he admired her. Thought of her as a… Hmm, paternal figure of sorts.” Shelley flicked a hand and Tim’s curls finally started to obey some sort of order. “She put a map in my hands and told me to slay the monster.” Tim blinked in surprise at the first person pronouns. He didn’t think he had ever heard Shelley use first person pronouns before. “That the world was at stake. She showed me those that had been turned mad by this power and spoke of how that would happen to the whole world. Learning of her death, that was not revenge. That was justice. She hurt many people in the name of her crusade. Perhaps, she knew how she was hurting people, perhaps not. Likely she just didn’t care. I thought about luring her here. Twisting her mind until she knew what it was to be Unmade. But—” Shelley shook their head.

“Why didn’t you?” Tim finally asked.

“I think I would have. Eventually, but when she died, I tried to take it out on your Archivist. Thought that if my revenge was taken from me, then perhaps his death would be my justice. But it wasn’t. He was… kind to me. You have been kind to me. That is my justice. The fixing of what was broken.”

“I— don’t know if that will be enough for me.” Tim said in a whisper. Ashamed to think it but knowing it needed to be said. “I need them to suffer— I need—”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Do you need them to suffer— or do you just need to know no one else will be hurt?” They asked, finally taking their hands from Tim’s head.

“I don’t know.” Tim said.

“Would you harm the changeling child for your revenge? The one that ate your receptionist?”

“No! I don’t— they’re just a kid— it’s not their fault, I don’t think they would have hurt Rosie if there was another option.”

Would you forgive them if it were your brother they had taken?”

“I don’t know!” Tim said, hands going for his hair to tug at it in frustration, but Shelley caught them. Gently holding them, and looking at Tim so tenderly. “You're going to drive me mad.” Tim whispered.

“Madness is in my nature.” Shelley responded. “Do you think Danny would want you to seek vengeance?”

Tim sighed, his eyes dropping to where their hands were still clasped. It felt like touching cotton candy today— and the sound of cinnamon.

“No.” He said, unsure if he felt defeated, exhausted, or just empty.

“Revenge is not wrong.” Shelley said. “It is— not right, perhaps, but it will not help, I think.”

“So what, the circus still needs to be stopped, and there’s still something wrong with the Institute, and Jon— if I don’t  go for vengeance— what do I do?”

“Time is, difficult. But what is not difficult, is the present. The past will change with your memories, and you will never actually experience the future, but right now?”

“Live in the moment then?” Tim asked with a sigh.

“Live for the moment.” Shelley said, reaching out to smooth a stray curl from Tim’s head and gently spinning him around to face them. Tim’s eyes met Shelley’s and then dropped to their lips. Shelley leaned down just a little bit, and Tim met them the rest of the way, and when their lips met, Tim thought that perhaps this  was the sort of moment he could live for.

***

Jon wasn’t in his apartment, but there was no sign of a struggle, so Georgie tried not to let it panic her. The door had been locked, and Jon had taken his usual messenger bag, so at the very least he had left home alright. She decided to take a walk around the area, attempting to listen for Jon's voice. Occasionally making low sub vocalizations only other sirens would be able to hear.

She tried not to panic overmuch, Jon had never been fantastic about keeping in touch, he often forgot that people existed if they weren’t right in front of him. Georgie had privately theorized that perhaps this had to do with his lack of choir growing up. Or possibly, it had been the homeschooling.

Georgie herself had gone to public school. Her parents, and most of the parents of her choir, being of the belief that the children would be able to feed better from a school environment, lots of small temptations there— and that the siren kids would be better adapted to interacting with humans in the future. They hadn’t been overly concerned with secrecy, either— what little kid doesn’t tell people that they are secretly a dragon or a mermaid? Georgie shook her head, she had been getting off track, she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t see the man until she had stumbled directly into him. Spilling his coffee all over his fancy looking suit.

“Oh gods! I am so sorry!” Georgie said, reaching for her purse and whatever napkins she may have stashed there earlier. The man gave her a glare that felt like a physical blow. “I— I’d be happy to pay for a new one? Or your dry cleaning bill? I just— I was trying to find my friend Jon and—” she was babbling as she tried to soak up the coffee from the man’s clothes with the napkins. She blinked at a sudden throb in her head.

“What—” she started to say.

“It’s fine.” He said tersely. “It tasted terrible anyway.”

***

Elias’s first response to getting hot coffee spilt all over his nice clean suit was to invade the mind of the perpetrator, to make her suffer for making him suffer. It was really only partially her fault, he knew he should have been paying attention, but he had been Watching something else.

However at the first brush with the woman’s mind he realized that he had seen her before. This was the woman that Jon had spoken that horrible screeching language to. So carefully, as she babbled and helped him dab at his suit with crumpled up napkins, he slipped inside her head.

She didn’t think in words as much as Jon did, and her mind was a confusing combination of song and English— but mostly, it was images. Elias dove deeper. And the woman, Georgie, made a slightly strangled sound.

“What—” she started to ask, but Elias was very good at what he did.

“It’s fine.” He said, mostly to distract her from what he was doing in her head. “It tasted terrible anyway.” He carefully extricated himself from her mind and pushed away from her. Giving her a last sneer just to be safe he turned and walked away. His own mind roiling with the possibilities of what he had just learned.

Chapter Text

Georgie found Jon in a café not long after spilling her coffee on the strange man. He was sitting across the table from Martin, their hands touching and both of them resolutely not looking at the point of contact. She wasn’t sure to laugh or scream. On the one hand, thank goodness Jon seemed to have gotten his head out of his ass as far as Martin was concerned, she had begun to think he may never actually figure it out. On the other hand, he had blown her off and made her so worried for a date? Rude.

The two of them startled rather dramatically when they caught sight of her. Hands quickly going to forks or coffee cups, Martin’s face a glowing red, and Jon’s a mask of panic. She took a deep breath and pulled out a chair for the table to join them.

“I'm guessing you forgot you had agreed to meet me at the institute last night?” She asked turning the chair and straddling it. 

“What?” Jon asked, then went for his phone scrolling back through his messages. “Oh, oh Georgie I am so sorry, I really wasn’t paying attention and-” She raised a hand to cut him off knowing that he was likely to ramble for a while if she didn’t cut him some slack.

“It's fine Jon.” She said with a sigh. “I'm happy for you two, really, but next time you need to blow me off to go on a date, just, text first? There's been way too much happening lately for that not to be a standard policy.” She finished, snagging a piece of bacon off Jon’s plate.

“I uh, yes, yes of course, I'll just, get the bill and we can go back to the institute?” Jon stammered out. Georgie rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet.

“Yeah, you do that, I'm going to go across the street and get a coffee. I’ll meet you outside.” She didn’t wait for a response before turning and heading out.

Martin was giving Jon an uninterpretable look, his cheeks still flaming red. Jon tried to feel for his desires but there was so much there that he couldn’t really interpret it.

“Is it?” Martin asked, a slightly breathless quality to the words.

“Is what?” Jon asked confused.

“Is, is this a date?” Martin seemed to be holding his breath, Jon suddenly found air difficult to come by too. He mentally ran the conversation back and spotted his mistake- but, well, was it a mistake? Did he want this to be a date with Martin? He pursed his lips in thought. Maybe? He had hardly had time to come to terms with how he felt and this seemed so fast.

“I don’t- do you, did you want it to be?” He asked there was a tiny hint of static to the words but Jon couldn’t help himself. His breath stuck in his throat as the words escaped.

“Yes.” Martin said, then seemed surprised by his own candor and his brows furrowed just a bit. “I didn’t mean to say that-” Martin began but Jon cut in quickly. 

“Oh um, ok, I- I think I might, also maybe, like that.” Jon stammered and Martin’s protest trailed off as the words sunk in, his eyes lighting up as they snapped to Jon.

“Oh! Um, ok.” Martin said, face turning even redder. “Cool.” The painful awkwardness was cut by the arrival of the server.

“Was that one bill or two?” They asked, and Jon fumbled for some cash and stood, shyly offering Martin his elbow as he stood. Martin took it with some confusion; before it occurred to him that claws probably made handholding a bit of a riskier endeavor than it might otherwise be. Martin had no idea how he felt. He had had a crush on Jon for what felt like years now, he never actually thought it would come to anything. Surely Jon had been able to sense the desire there for a while now. He risked a glance at Jon, who was resolutely looking anywhere but Martin. Then again, it was possible Jon knew about Martin’s feelings, and had no idea what his own were. For a being that could sense desire, Jon seemed to have a hard time understanding his own. His simultaneous reluctance and excitement for priesthood, the insistence that he was a solitary creature, while somehow having more friends and connections than Martin had ever had- Jon needed someone to show him that his desires mattered too, and Martin had a feeling that he might just be perfect for that role.

The spider ring on his finger squeezed gently and Martin smiled, giving Jon's hand tucked in his elbow a gentle pat.

***

The kiss Tim had shared with Shelley must have affected him more than he had realized, or else the shortcut he took through Shelley’s hallways to save on tube fare had scrambled his brain more than usual Tim thought.

“Hey Shelley, are you seeing a harbour seal in the Archives?” Tim asked, still standing in the doorway between Shelley’s halls and the Archives. Shelley wrapped themselves around Tim in a distinctly serpentine manner, and hummed; making Tim’s toes curl as he felt the sound caress his insides.

“No. I see no Harbour Seal.” Shelley said after a minute.

“Sure.” Tim said. “This might as well happen.” And went to the kitchenette to make some coffee. Clearly, if he was seeing seals in the Archives where no seals existed it was going to be a two cups of coffee sort of morning. He could feel Shelley’s laugh like an ice cream headache echoing behind him. The Not Seal bounced along the floor behind him. It barked irritability, but he firmly ignored it until he was finished making his coffee.

Then he stared at it. It stared right back. Very slowly, he reached out a hand to poke its nose. It’s long neck retreated into its body away from his finger. He pulled his hand back, and it’s neck returned to its original position.

“I think there’s a can of sardines in the cupboard if you’d like some?” Tim offered. The not a harbour seal barked what Tim assumed was a yes. He nodded and grabbed one of Jon’s extra tins of sardines putting it on a plate on the floor for the thing that wasn’t a harbour seal. Tim sat and sipped his coffee, watching as it swallowed most of the fish in one go.

“So Georgie said she found them and they- Oh! Hey Tim!” Sasha said coming around the corner.

“Sasha.” Tim acknowledged, raising his coffee mug a few centimeters in greeting. “How’s your morning going.” He asked, looking her in the eye, resolutely not looking at the seal.

“Its been… its been good.” She said decisively. And Tim got the impression that her morning had been busier than his. He waited for her to offer an explanation. None appeared to be forthcoming.

“So, I beat Jon and Martin here then?” He asked.

“What? Oh! Yeah, Georgie was worried so she went out looking for them, apparently they stopped to grab breakfast.” She paused chewing on her lip. “Georgie said they were sitting awfully close together.” She said conspiratorially. Tim raised an eyebrow.

“Did she now?” He said, intrigued. “Good for Martin.” Sasha laughed.

“I guess that means I owe you lunch. I was certain the two of them would never figure it out.”

“That’s your own fault for betting against my excellent sense of love.” He said waggling his eyebrows. The not a harbour seal snorted at that, and Tim opened his mouth to say something about it, but before he could Jon and Martin finally made an appearance.

***

Jon stopped walking abruptly enough that the other two only barely managed to avoid knocking him over. There was a seal, in his Archives, he narrowed his eyes at it. Something wasn’t quite right. The seal wasn’t an intruder, he hadn’t felt anything unusual enter the Archives, so it probably wasn’t a normal seal.

He stared at the seal. The seal stared right back.

“That’s not a seal.” He said, and between the space of one blink and the next, Melanie was sitting where the seal had been, a large coat draped over her. Laughing so hard she nearly knocked herself over.

“OH man your faces!” She gasped. Wiping away tears and pushing herself to her feet. Her clothing was thankfully unaffected by the transformation, for which Jon was immensely grateful, he didn’t have a problem with nudity, but there was a time and place and in his Archives at 8 in the morning was neither the place nor time.

“How did you become a Selkie?” Jon asked, the static on his tongue making him wince a bit, but he could sense that Melanie wanted to talk about it, so he tried not to feel too guilty.

“Sasha did it.” Melanie responded promptly then frowned. “Well, sort of.” She pulled a note book out from under the seal skin coat she now wore, and offered it to Jon. He took it in surprise, gently opening it to a random page with a careful claw. It contained detailed anatomical drawings of seals.

“Is that a Leitner?” Martin asked from over Jon’s shoulder.

“No.” Jon said snapping the book shut, so Martin wouldn’t be overly exposed to the influence of Felor he could feel oozing out from between the pages. “I believe it’s a James.” He added looking up at Sasha. Her desires were contradictory, but a longing for acceptance seemed to be the strongest. “Congratulations Sasha. This is incredible work.” Her shoulders lost some of their tension and she smiled.

“Thanks.” She said

“Wait so are you a full Scribe now then?” Tim asked.

“I, I think so?”

“And you’re happy about that?” Martin asked, gently shouldering past Jon. “Did you want this?”

“You know what? Yeah. Yeah I think I did.” She said. “I asked Melanie to give me the final mark, because if I was going to change it was going to be on my terms, and I’m glad I did it. It, it feels right.” She offered a smile, and Jon didn’t need to nudge Tim to act out his desire to hug her. Tim had wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, despite her laughing protests. “Tim!” She cried smacking him lightly on the back, “Put me down you oaf!”

Jon turned his attention from the new scribe to the new selkie still sitting on his floor.

“Is this- I mean are you-” he frowned tasting the static.

“Is this what I wanted?” She offered. Jon nodded gratefully.

“Yes, that.” She frowned thoughtfully, and pushed herself to her feet, only swaying slightly, the injury on her leg having mostly healed with the transformation.

“I don’t know yet. It's different.” Melanie said.

“Good different or bad different?” Georgie asked from over Jon's shoulder.

“Just, different. Not bad though, I think I will get used to it- and at least I'll be able to swim again.”

“Humans can swim too you know!” Tim said tuning into the conversation after having put Sasha back down. Melanie snorted.

“No you can't- you can avoid drowning. That is Not swimming! It's more like-”

“Sorry” Martin said, stepping forward to get their attention, “not to interrupt what I'm sure will be a fascinating argument, but, what exactly brings you here so early?” He asked looking first at Melanie and then Georgie. He had a feeling this was a conversation that needed to be had and that it would take a fair amount of time before it happened on its own. Georgie had neglected to share when they had been on their way to the archives, and while Jon might have been able to sense what they wanted, Martin was still in the dark there.

“Oh! Right.” Georgie turned to Jon and let out a series of noises that made Martin's nose bleed. He blinked. Sasha shook her head as if to clear it, and Tim looked mildly dazed.

Jon nodded and responded with what sounded like a note, before bowing slightly to Melanie. To Martin’s surprise, Melanie bowed in return.

“I’ll call up ahead and you should be able to get your credential card from the head librarian there- Martin can show you the way to-” Jon glanced at the temple staff in various states of recovery from hearing Sirillian unprotected for the first time. “Ah.”

“Oh gods I am so sorry!” Georgie said panic colouring her tone. “I completely forgot you’re all human-” She winced when they all took a moment to respond. “I am so sorry Jon, I should have known better.”

Tim was the first to recover, the constant exposure to the halls of madness giving him a bit of an edge there.

“What the hell was that?” He asked, not mad but deeply confused.

“Shit, I really am sorry-”

“It’s fine Georgie.” Jon cut in. “Martin why don’t you make everyone some tea, I’ll take Melanie and Georgie up to the library, and explain once I get back.” Martin nodded, glad to have a clear task and Jon quickly led the two out.

***

“I really am sorry Jon you’ll pass that along right? I sort of forgot they were all human.” She added with a wince.

“It's fine.” He said waving a hand. “It’s my fault anyway for not meeting you here before everyone else got here.”

“See, this is why no one likes Sirens.” Melanie said with a playful smirk. “At least my native doesn’t cause madness.” She nudged Georgie’s shoulder gently and Georgie let out a sigh.

“It really is fine, they had to be exposed to it sooner or later anyway.” Jon said with a sigh of his own. “I- I’m to host the Weavers Ball, and they will hear plenty of Sirillian then-”

“You're doing what!?” Georgie cried stopping them just outside of the library.

“Ah. I didn’t tell you then.” Jon said awkwardly. “I, um, I am to host this year’s Weaver’s Ball.” Melanie gave an impressed whistle, and Georgie dragged a hand across her face.

“No Jon. You did not tell me that.”

“Right. Well, um, I’m hosting the Weaver’s Ball.”

“Only you Jon.” Georgie said with an incredulous laugh. “Not even a full priest yet and hosting the biggest event of the year.” She shook her head. “Well, let me know if you need help I guess, that’s- that’s huge.” Jon gave her a nervous laugh.

“Martin’s been a big help so far, but I may well take you up on that, I, uh, you can expect your invitations in the mail soon.” He offered a nervous smile. “But we can discuss this more later, lets get your library access sorted.” Jon said.

***

Gerry woke up, and that was strange.

He hadn’t really expected to wake up. He had been at least half convinced that the day before had been one of the incredibly vivid dreams he had had while dying of a brain tumor. He waited for a moment before opening his eyes. The bed wasn’t familiar but that was normal, he had never really stayed in one place for too long even before his mother’s death. There was a strange oversweet taste in his mouth, and he could feel the strange unfamiliar muscles in his throat tensing. He licked his lips and nearly cut his tongue on canines that were sharper than he remembered them being.

He opened his eyes, and pushed himself upright, rubbing his hands across his face, it was strange to be greeted by the sight of new tattoos, he had had the Eyes mark on him for so long that seeing something new was jarring. The new marks were already fainter than they had been the night before, but he could still see the strange lettering dusted over his skin. He let his finger trace some of the marks on his arm, and he supposed he was going to have to learn to read them eventually, he smiled a bit at that, one of the few good memories he had of his childhood was the language classes his mother had enrolled him in, leitners came in every language, so she had felt it necessary for him to be versed in as many languages as possible, and he was relatively fluent in Latin, Italian, Sanskrit, Greek and Mandarin, and was at least somewhat familiar with half a dozen other languages. He may not have been to a proper school, but the language classes had been an escape from the house. When he had been young they had been a way he thought he could gain her approval, but once he realized that wasn’t going to happen, they simply became a nice escape, where he could pretend to be normal for once. It would be nice to learn something new again, he hadn’t really had the time for anything new in the last few years of his life.

Oliver was in the kitchen doing something with bones.

“Oh you’re awake! Good morning, did you sleep alright?” Oliver asked, he brought the plate of bones to the table gesturing for Gerry to sit down. The double layered tone was present in his voie, though to Gerry’s surprise it was actually quite soothing.

“Fine.” Gerry said, he may have said he slept like the dead, except he had personal experience in that department and could say with confidence that he had slept much better than that. Oliver nodded and Gerry watched as he selected a bone from the pile and bit into it without hesitation. He knew he had eaten bones last night, but it seemed so much stranger now in the light of the morning, and he hesitated to grab any for himself. His stomach growled and Oliver gave him a pointed look.

“You should eat now, we wont be able to eat again until we come back here, non banshees get kinda weird about our diets sometimes- Jon’s cool about it, but I don’t know about his humans, and its usually just easier not to rock the boat ya know?”

Gerry stared at the bones, and hesitantly grabbed one.

“So what happens if I do eat normal food then?” He asked, partly to distract himself from the wet crunch of breaking bones, partly out of morbid curiosity. He felt his throat do that strange flexing thing again and bit down hard on the bone. Just as the night before it broke easily under his teeth and he sucked hard on the rich marrow inside.

Oliver shrugged.

“It's not going to kill you to eat it or anything, but it won't have much flavour anymore- you know how cats can’t taste sweet things? It’s sort of like that, though you will probably feel a bit sick if you try to eat too much human food; we just aren’t designed for the kind of things humans eat, but don’t worry, we have lots of our own unique dishes. But Jude figured you might have some weird hang ups having never been exposed to the finer points of Banshee cuisine.” Gerry couldn’t disagree there.

“What sort of things do you normally eat then?” He asked.

“Carrion mostly, bones, dead things, I know it probably doesn’t sound all that appetizing right now, but trust me, the way your venom interacts with it- it's going to change the way you view road kill forever.” It took Gerry a moment for that to sink in, but in his defense, he had just slept for the first time in years and was still a bit groggy.

“Wait, I'm sorry, venom? I’m venomous!?” Oliver nodded and tapped the side of his neck, where Gerry could just make out some faint markings along his throat.

“Oh yeah, super venomous, the glands run along the neck here, and it will break down pretty much any organic matter it comes into contact with- you should probably avoid kissing anyone or spitting in their faces until you have a better feel for it honestly.” Oliver added as an afterthought. Gerry really wasn’t sure what to do with that information, and he felt his throat constrict in that strange way, huh. Of all the things he’d seen and experienced acid spit wasn’t the strangest, though it certainly hadn’t been what he had expected. It all felt very inhuman, but not the way avatars seemed to be. There was a strange mundanity to the fantastical nature of this new world he found himself in, it wasn’t dream logic, it was grounded and real in a way the entities never had been. Mary must have hated it, he found himself thinking, and maybe that alone was reason enough to trust it.

“What time are we heading to the Institute?” He asked after a few moments to process what Oliver had said. Oliver checked his watch.

“We can head out once your finished eating, if you’re sure you want to be a part of this, no one is going to judge you if you want to take some time to recover. This doesn’t have to be your battle Gerard.” Gerry shook his head.

“Yes it does, Jon knows a lot about the world he comes from but Nikola, she’s from my world, she’s one of the monsters that my mom taught me about before I knew my ABCs.”

“I get that you may feel some kind of debt to Jon for helping you out, but I promise he won’t see it that way, that’s not how he thinks of things.” There was a deep rumbled vocalization that Gerry suspected a human wouldn’t have been able to hear before Oliver continued. “Besides you do need to be careful there, Jon is a good guy, but he’s still a siren, I’m not saying he would intentionally influence you to do something you don’t want to do, but pulling on desire is as natural as breathing for his kind, he may not even realize he’s doing anything, but he’s certainly more powerful now than when I first met him, nearly on par with a siren who has the backing of a full choir. I’m not saying this to make you distrust Jon, he almost certainly has your best interest at heart, just, make sure you have your own best interest at heart too yeah? You’ve had a rough few years, just, make sure this is what you want to do.”

Gerry didn’t say anything,but he thought about the conversations he had had with Jon, the genuine earnestness he seemed to approach everything with, Gerry had seen a lot of evil in the world, until a few weeks ago, he would have said most of the world was evil, but Jon didn’t. And that optimism had given Gerry his life back, and maybe Jon wouldn’t see that as a debt that needed repaying, but Gerry did, and choices mattered.

“It is. Not sure I really know how to rest anyway.” Gerry finally said and Oliver nodded.

“Good. Then finish up and we’ll get going.”