Chapter Text
The woman’s steps were light and unbothered as she walked into the fair. Her smile was a constant, excited and bright, eyes wandering to see what it provided. She charged into the incense-smoke-dense air and nimbly dodged the crowd, eager to lose herself in the stalls.
Hours later, she left the fair with a hollow pang in her chest and the sense of having lost something important.
Thud-thud-thud, feet padded against the pavement, shaky, tired huffs of breath above it all. The duck, young and tired and absolutely ragged, glanced up at the sky.
He’d been out too long. Summer had passed, and as autumn ticked by the night had started to grow longer. With the long summer days and short nights, he’d always been able to make sure he got home safe before dark. Now that the sun dipped to slumber faster, he miscalculated when the night would descend. Silently, as he padded faster away, he cursed the twilight sky.
Smiling faces flitted at the edge of his vision, and he knew they weren’t there, not really. Faint wisps of flowers made him grit his teeth. The streetlights weren’t on yet; it was bright enough, still. But the sun was already setting, and it was still a long way away from Killmotor Hill.
The bus stop wasn’t far from where he was. He only needed to take a few more steps to it, past the gaping, dark alleyway that seemed to beckon with the yawning void it contained. There was a faint scent of incense smoke; faint, and barely there at all, but there all the same. He suppressed a shudder and hurried past it.
The scent of summer flowers flared, cloyingly sweet to the point where he felt like gagging, as something both dragged and pushed him into the alleyway. He wanted to cry out but all that he could manage was a surprised squeak, barely loud enough to draw attention. His back hit the wall with a resounding thump and he peeked through his eyelids, previously screwed shut in instinctive fear response.
Little duckling? a voice that wasn’t truly a voice whispered, frost tickling the ends of his feathers, a giggle concealed underneath too-innocent voice. Little green one, why do you wear the spring leafling’s color when old autumn has moved in?
Louie wondered if Uncle Scrooge could feel it when he swore out of his earshot. He probably couldn’t, but it was probably safer not to bet on it.
Little duckling? the voice grew impatient. Little one, why did you run? Little duckling, why do you keep your silence?
“Let me go,” Louie managed to grit out. His breath puffed in a mist against the cold the spirit spread.
The spirit paused. Louie couldn’t tell what kind of face the spirit was making, but he had a feeling it was a frown. That wasn’t an answer to my question.
“It’s not,” Louie said. “Let me go.”
Shouldn’t mortals be polite when they ask for something?
And spirits shouldn’t? Louie thought, but bit back the response. He didn’t want to say please. It felt like a trap, somehow, but one he couldn’t put his finger on.
The spirit’s face twisted, impatience giving way to anger. Little duckling, what do you say when you ask for something? What do you say? What do you say? What do you say? What do yOU SAY? WHAT DO YOU SAY?
Cold pressed against him, digging deep into his lungs and stealing his breath away. Louie gasped, unable to speak and not wanting to. He clawed at the spirit’s hold, but his fingers went through cloth and spirit-flesh and rent nothing. He struggled against the spirit’s hold until he couldn’t spare any more effort to do so, fingers numbing and vision darkening.
So this was how he died, he thought bitterly, not by the hands of Uncle Scrooge’s numerous enemies wanting to exact revenge or even by Doofus Drake’s careless advances, but by a spirit’s whims.
Just as he thought he would be done for, a sharp, fresh scent hit him smack in the nose, dizzying as it mingled with the suddenly thick scent of incense smoke. Something wrenched away the hold the spirit pushed at him, and he gasped and choked, wheezing and coughing as he desperately dragged air into his lungs.
How dare you! the spirit yelled, indignant. He’s my prey –
“He is not,” a voice, harsh and cold like axe against frozen lake, cut through the spirit’s protests. “He is a mortal and he is beyond your domain.”
And you are not? the spirit demanded. Are you not a mortal, yourself? You have no power against me, and you carry no hold over me. The duckling is mine as I see fit.
“Did you form a contract with him?” The tone was dry and unimpressed. “From what I see, you’re only trying to take his energy to feed your own. Go back to where you come from, spirit. I won’t harm you if you do. Don’t harm any more mortal on your way.”
You are crossing a line. You hold no power against me.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
The scent of flowers flared in the air, overtaking the previous one – it wasn’t as cloying as before, instead fresh and bright, with a touch of salt in it. Whatever the spirit saw, Louie couldn’t see beyond the dark curtaining his vision. The spirit startled and for the first time a tremor of fear soured the remaining sweetness of the spirit’s magic-scent. Lunaris’ Contracted mortal.
“I see my reputation precedes me.” The stranger’s own magic-scent dissipated, if only slightly. “As I said. Go back to where you come from.”
Louie could feel the spirit straightening up. No. You have no power over me, mortal. The duckling is mine.
“Unless you have formed a contract with him or have a legitimate claim over him, I stake my claim. He doesn’t belong to you.”
He doesn’t belong to you, either, the spirit said. If he belongs to neither of us, he belongs to the one who stakes claim first. And I staked my claim first. The spirit dove to Louie, and he scrambled back, but his back already hit the wall.
A shield manifested, just as the spirit’s clawed hands closed in on him. It repelled the spirit, the scent of summer blooms scattering like fallen petals being blown by angry gust. Louie blinked as the spirit snarled, baring teeth in outrage. I staked my claim! You were supposed to be mine! It was a legitimate claim, the only reason it was not is if – the spirit stopped and stared straight at the stranger. You knew.
The stranger didn’t answer. Instead he stood to his full height, the bright scent of his own magic and incense smoke rising around him. “You tried to stake a claim to one unclaimable by you. For this I banish you; go back to the Spirit Realm.” Decisive hands slashed through the air and the fresh, bright scent sharpened, giving Louie a headache. The spirit’s scent vanished abruptly and the darkness in the alleyway lifted, if only by a fraction. The spirit’s shriek was loud, and brief, and piercing. Louie flinched against the sound.
The spirit was gone.
It didn’t mean the danger had passed. He glanced at the stranger. He wore a loose, dark tunic – dark enough that Louie would consider it black, except when he moved he could see deep blue shining at the creases of the cloth, reflecting light – and white sash tied at his waist, with metallic stitching that seemed to be stuck between silver and gold without being able to decide what to be. He looked almost harmless, if not for the hard-edged look in his eyes and the glints of metal hidden beneath his sash. There was something about him, nudging Louie at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t tell what. He felt familiar in a way that Louie couldn’t understand. As far as he knew, he’d never seen the stranger in his whole life.
The stranger regarded Louie for a moment, then relaxed, the edge in his gaze softening though it was still sharp. He approached and offered Louie a hand. “Are you hurt?”
His voice was odd, Louie noted. Raspy and a little hard to parse through, but it felt like something was layering it with something else. Like two voices overlapping, but it felt like a single voice. He shoved the observations away to take the offered hand. It tingled in his touch. “I’m fine,” Louie said instead, then added, “more or less.”
The stranger eyed him, sharp gaze looking up and down. “You have a bruise, but it’s nothing that won’t heal,” he noted. “That was a close call. Don’t you know how to deal with spirits?”
Louie paused, then reluctantly shook his head. After all, the stranger helped him. “It’s… a new development.”
The stranger’s gaze grew sharper for a split second, then he blew out a great huff. “The Moon’s touch is on you. Was it gifted to you?”
Louie snorted darkly. “Gifted. That’s one way to say it.”
The stranger’s gaze grew somber with sympathy. “Unfortunately, you have to learn to live with it. How long have you had it?”
“Maybe about a month? Almost two? I’m not totally sure, but just about.” Louie shrunk into his hoodie, wanting to hide in the folds of the fabric. “It’s been… a challenge.”
The stranger hummed. “Well, you’ve got the sense to not get yourself tangled up with spirits, at least. Not answering was a good move. Ones like that one like to twist words until it suit only their needs. Though, things vary. What worked with one spirit may not work on the other.”
Louie sighed. “Yeah, I noticed.”
The stranger snorted with dark amusement. “Word of advice? Try not to attract their attention. Incense smoke smell is a good indicator that the Veil is thin or if something is near. If you smell it and don’t see incense, go to the other direction.” A pause, then he added, “But don’t run. They might get curious and chase you instead.”
“Avoid incense smell and get away but try not to run, okay.”
The stranger nodded and glanced away, then took a step back. “Run along, now. Be careful.”
Louie blinked and nodded. “Right. Thank you for helping me.”
“It’s no problem.” He glanced at the mouth of the alley and inclined his chin. “But really, go. You’ll miss your bus.”
Louie made a confused sound, frowning slightly. Then the faint sound of bus engine reached his ears, and panic shot through him. He scrambled to get to the bus stop, barely managing to blurt a hurried “thanks – gotta go – bye” to the stranger before dashing away.
When the bus pulled away, Louie panting against the glass he rested his temple on as he slumped in the seat, the alleyway was empty and barren as though nothing had ever happened there.