Archive of Our Own

“In what appears to be another case of Aqua Town’s mysterious killer, a new victim was discovered just this morning. Officials say that attack most likely happened late last night at about two in the morning. The victim was found with bite marks on his neck and a stab wound in his chest. No further information has been given at this time.” 

Sitting in bed, Grian holds his phone in between his hands. Face illuminated by his screen, he stares intently at the news report playing. He skips ahead in the video. 

“—and that our killer is still at large. Suspects are still being questioned, and police are welcoming any tips from the public. This murder has sent a clear message to our town: it’s not safe.” 

A crease forms in his brow as he pulls the video back a bit. 

“The victim was found with bite marks on his neck and a stab wound in his chest.”  

He moves to set his phone down as he reaches for a notebook, but stops as a text comes in. 

Tortarsauce :p

Are you busy rn? I need to talk to you. 

Grian blinks, “Taurtis?” He reads the text message a couple of times, as if reading it more than once will change what it says, like it’d magically add context if he stares at it long enough. But there is no second text that comes on, only the single question. He frowns. 

It’s rare for Taurtis to be so ominous in his messages. He normally sends Grian some kind of context, something short or long winded. So for him to not give Grian any of that is… concerning. But he knows if it was something time sensitive or an emergency, Taurtis would call him. Still, he should— 

“Grian!” Pearl suddenly calls, pulling Grian from his thoughts. He hurries to close out of the video of the news report while slamming his notebook shut. He manages to do it just in time as well, because the moment he slams the cove down, his door bursts open. 

“Uh, hi, Pearl,” Grian greets, trying to act casual. It’s only been a few days since Pearl was cured of her dream eaters. He doesn’t want to arouse any suspicion from her. 

Yet Pearl looks around his room, lifting a brow, “I’m going to ignore the fact that it feels like I just walked in on you scheming some kind of prank.” Grian’s room is dark except for one lamp, and he’s wrapped his blanket around himself, a pen lying by his notebook. It’s a fair assumption. She then focuses her gaze onto him, “Feel like experimenting?” 

Almost instantly Grian's attention is grabbed. “You had me at experimenting.” He pulls the blanket off of his head and sets his notebook on his nightstand before getting up. 

Pearl laughs as she turns away from the door, her voice carrying down the hallway, “That was the last thing I said!”

“Yeah well— it got me!” 

Grian leaves his phone on his bed, Taurtis’ text going unanswered.

“What are we meeting here for exactly?” Grian inquires, seated on the couch within Mumbo’s study. He peers at the vampire with curiosity, glancing over at  Scar for a moment. The man is seated in a chair, looking quite relaxed. He’s reclined back, one leg crossed over the other. He’s also watching Mumbo, green eyes lit with interest. 

In front of them both, Mumbo seems to be searching for something. He rummages through papers and books, mumbling something under his breath. “Just a moment!” Mumbo answers, sounding a bit frantic. “I know I put it here somewhere!”

Grian and Scar share a look. They both shrug, both equally as confused as the other. Grian looks back over to Mumbo, watching the vampire scour his desk for the mystery thing he’s searching for. 

“While Mumbo over there is looking for his thingamabob, how’s your sister doing after those nasty dream eaters?” Scar leans toward him, looking at Grian. His green eyes focus on the human as he tilts his head, managing to keep his hat from falling off his head as he does so. 

Grian blinks at him, not expecting Scar to be the one to ask about Pearl. He was sure if it’d be anyone to ask, it’d be Mumbo. Though admittedly the vampire is a bit distracted at the moment. “She’s alright. I gave her that crystal she bought at your shop. Figured she needed it more than I did.” 

Honestly, Grian still doesn’t know what to make of Scar. Reading him is as challenging as ever, and Scar’s mask is held so tightly over his face that Grian doesn’t think he could pry it off if he tried. In the two weeks or so that Grian has spent around him, he feels no closer to understanding Scar than he was the day the fae approached him on the street. He’s still hesitant to trust Scar, to trust in his capabilities (though his help with Pearl has lessened that some, despite Grian not being fond of Scar knowing where he lives). 

There’s still that unreachable part of Scar that he’s trying to reach for, the part that Mumbo must have already touched if he’s friends with the man. Scar doesn’t make any sense to him, but maybe that’s on purpose, part of the mask that he wears. 

He finds that it’s a similar situation to Mumbo, except Scar is a bit more hostile, less caring about harming if Grian steps too close or pokes too hard. He isn’t oblivious to the fact that Scar hates humans, his general apathy toward them making it quite clear. But it leaves Grian wondering how to approach Scar, how to get through to him, to walk into the thick of the cloud that clings to Scar and understand it. It leaves Grian wondering how he can connect to Scar and unravel the messy web that surrounds him. 

Maybe once he gets through that, he can trust him. He can trust him in the way he trusts Mumbo. 

“Oh, that’s good!” Scar smiles that perfect smile, and Grian frowns slightly. Yet there’s something that softens in Scar’s face as he follows up with a question, “Did Mumbo’s accidental compulsion work?” Scar’s voice does a weird thing, Grian notes. It not only softens slightly, but he picks up the slightest twinge of concern, a genuine worry. 

Grian’s frown lightens up, and he nods. “It did, yeah.” It’s a flash that he finds in Scar, for a brief moment he’s able to see something past the mask, into the cloud of mystery that surrounds the man. There’s something genuine there, something that leaves Grian curious.

“Aha!” Mumbo suddenly cries in triumph as he seems to find what he’s looking for, spinning on his heel to face Grian and Scar. He coughs into his fist, “Apologies, I had to be er, extra careful about where I hid this. I didn’t want Grum or Jrum to find it,” he pauses with a contemplative hum, “mostly Jrum.” 

Taking his attention away from Scar, Grian turns his gaze to Mumbo, quirking a brow, “Okay?” 

Mumbo walks over to them, dropping into the seat across from him. “Tango finally got the dagger to me.” He sets the box down and slides it over to Grian. 

“Dagger?” Scar looks at Mumbo, out of the loop.

Realizing that Scar has no idea what’s going on, Mumbo explains, “Ah, I figured Grian would need something to protect himself from the monsters in town and… others in case I’m not around to do so.”

Grian ignores them both as he reaches for the box and picks it up. The box is thin but still decent in size, made of a sleek dark wood. Using his thumb, he flicks the top up and he stares in surprise at what sits inside. The blade is silver, the spine a darker color. The handle is dark red with indents for good grip with a black hilt, a red gem nestled into it. The sheath is placed in the box beside it, the same red color as the handle.

Carefully, Grian grabs the dagger, taking it out of the box. He tests the weight in his hands as Mumbo watches him, an eager gleam to his eyes. 

“What do you think?” the vampire questions, fiddling with his hands. He’s leaning forward, and Grian feels like he’s a redstone project that Mumbo is staring at, waiting for something. 

“It’s perfect.” A little smile forms on his face as he passes the small weapon from hand to hand. He’ll have to get some kind of holster he can hide under his clothing so he can carry it around with him. 

“I’ll be sure to let Tango know.” Mumbo smiles, seeming relieved as he sinks in on himself just slightly, his posture relaxing. “Though er… make sure to keep it away from myself and the boys. Just touching the metal is enough to hurt us.” 

Scar stares at the blade with a bit of awe before lifting his gaze to look at Grian, “Do you even know how to use it?” There’s nothing mocking in his voice, just genuine curiosity. 

“Well obviously, I wouldn’t have picked something I didn’t know how to use,” Grian answers. “Dad wanted to make sure Pearl and I could defend ourselves in case anything ever happened. So he taught us a thing or two.” He sets the dagger back down in the box. 

“Too bad you didn’t have that at the circus,” Mumbo comments, before shooting a glance in Scar’s general direction. “Er, no offense.” 

“No, no! None taken.” Scar waves his hands, shrugging. 

“Good, because I totally could’ve done some damage if I had this,” Grian boldly declares. Having it certainly would have made Grian feel less helpless. But now that he has something he knows he can use to defend himself without needing to rely on Mumbo, he does feel more at ease. 

Scar snorts, “Sure, songbird.” His voice drips with sarcasm as he offers Grian a smirk. “Your tiny blade would’ve been no match for my magic and my scythe. Holy metal is harmless for me. I—” Scar cuts himself off before he can finish speaking, realization settling in his eyes. His face then lights up, and Grian can perfectly picture a little lightbulb turning on above Scar’s head. “How silly of me to nearly forget! I had something for you, dear Mumbo!” 

Mumbo perks up, “For me?” He points to himself. 

“Yes yes!” Scar pats himself down, looking at his clothes. He twists in his seat as he digs his hands into his pockets, brows furrowing as he does. Scar finds that his pockets are empty, and he moves to his jacket pocket, feeling a weight press back against him. “Found you, you lil rascal!” 

Grian and Mumbo stare as Scar pulls out a pocket watch from his pocket. The watch is made out of wood, smooth and a deep shade of redwood. Oddly enough, there’s no clock component inside the center of the watch, only two flaps held together by a clasp in the shape of a leaf. The flaps are styled like stained glass, with little shapes etched into them, colored different shades of greens. The pattern looks like it’s made to be a tree, green leaves stretching across both flaps of the front of the watch. 

Scar holds it out for Mumbo to take, a smile on his face, “Here you are!” 

Staring down at the pocket watch sitting in Scar’s palm, Mumbo looks at the intricate and rather beautiful patterns before lifting his gaze to meet Scar’s own. “What is it?” he questions as he reaches and takes it from Scar’s hand. He turns it over to look at the item, brows knitting together, confused. 

“It’s a pocket watch!” Scar cheerfully replies, staring at Mumbo with a smile. “Well, not exactly. Go on and flick it open.” He motions to the clasp holding both flaps closed. 

Grian leans forward with interest as Mumbo uses one of his fingers to flick the latch of the watch open, and both sides of the cover raise up, revealing a swirling mix of colors. “Whoa,” Grian breathes, watching as light emanates from the center of the watch, all mingling and twirling together in a mix of rainbow colors. 

“Scar what— what is this?” Mumbo looks up from the swirl of colors and speckles of magic that lift from the item. 

“A way to get in contact with me! In case I’m not around and you need me, you can open that bad boy up and reach me,” Scar explains. “I’ve used my own magic on it, so you now have a direct line to yours truly.” He winks. 

“No weird watch but not watch for me?” Grian questions, lifting a brow. He’s not really bothered by it, mostly saying something to poke at Scar’s buttons. If anything it’s a bit relieving that Scar isn’t offering him a two way link for communication. 

Scar hums, “We’re not there yet, sorry songbird.” He doesn’t even spare Grian a glance as he speaks. “Besides, there’s no point in giving you one when you’re always around anyway.” He shrugs then, and Grian can’t argue with that. 

Instead, he looks back to the watch in Mumbo’s hands as the vampire shuts it. “So how does it work? It looks different from the communication glyphs Mumbo made. More rainbow-y,” Grian comments.

“That’s because there aren't any glyphs involved at all. I’ve imbued that watch with my magic, and because it’s directly linked to me, there’s no need for a glyph. I just need to have the receiving end.” Scar holds a green gemstone in between his pointer and middle fingers. “Fae magic is a truly wonderful tool.” 

“Fae magic…” Grian murmurs. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that. Is it different from magic like Mumbo’s?” 

“Quite different, I think you’ll find!” Scar hums, and Grian can’t tell if what he hears in Scar’s voice is pride or something else. “Out of every sort of being to exist, fae have the closest relationship with the innate magic that exists within the world. Whether it’s because our realm existed long before the Watchers or because we’re beings made of magic, who knows!” He waves his hand cheerfully, gesticulating with it as he speaks, “We fae tend to have a higher than average magic capacity than most, so we’re a bit more… sensitive to the magic around us.” 

As Scar explains, there’s a light lilt to his voice, happy and perky, but it doesn’t match the look in his eyes. There’s something dark that swirls in the depths of those emerald pools, lurking low and just out of reach. Scar’s eyes are what Grian finds himself drawn to as he listens to the man speak, almost not truly listening to what he’s saying. Except there is a phrase that catches his attention, drawing out more curiosity. 

“The Watchers?” Grian parrots, looking between both men. His brows knit together, “I don’t think I’ve heard of those guys before. Not even in human myths.” 

Scar and Mumbo seem to share a look, some kind of silent conversation happening between them. It’s Mumbo who looks back at Grian, shifting in his seat almost nervously. “They’re… well, they’re a bit difficult to explain. And depending on who you ask, you’ll get a multitude of different answers. Some revere them as gods, and well,” he pauses, fiddling with his thumbs, “others curse their name.” 

Scar reclines back in his seat, taking his hat off and putting it in his lap. “It’s not surprising you’ve never heard of them considering most humans are unaware of their existence.” He shrugs, the perfect image of casual. “Now us supernaturals? We’re highly aware.” 

Grian considers the implications of their explanations, trying to create an image in his mind. “So they’re… gods?” he questions. “They’re your equivalent of human based pantheons, just lesser known because humans aren’t supposed to know.” It seems simple enough, at least on the surface anyway. 

“Sort of?” Mumbo answers, except he doesn’t sound all that confident in his reply. “It’s… no one knows for sure what they are exactly. There’s never been a real confirmation? But most do consider them gods, or godlike beings as the Watchers are linked to the existence of night creatures and magic. Some worship them because of it, and you have your few who are rather miffed about the whole thing and despise the Watchers.” He glances at Grian before looking at Scar and then down at his hands, where he’s still fiddling with his fingers, wringing them together. 

Grian’s seen the motion enough times now to know it’s a nervous habit of Mumbo’s, something to focus on when he’s uncomfortable or uneasy. But why would Mumbo be nervous while explaining this? 

A knock against the wall breaks Grian from his thoughts, and all three of them turn to look at who it is. 

“Ah, I’m not interrupting your history lesson, am I?” Doc stands in the doorway to Mumbo’s study, a light smile dancing along his lips, eyes lit up with amusement. 

Mumbo sits up straight in his seat almost immediately, “O-Oh, Doc! No, of course not! I didn’t know you were coming around today.” 

“Ehhhh, you can thank the Council for that. I didn’t have the time to send a message before coming.” Doc walks into the room, and that’s when Grian spots the bag in his hands. He pauses as his eyes land on Scar, surprise flashing in them. “Scar. Didn’t expect to see you here after so long.”

The fae flashes him a smile, “What can I say? I’m a man of many surprises.” Doc hums in return, nodding his head almost sagely. 

“What’s in the bag?” Grian points to it, staring at the purple colored velvet like material. It isn’t a small bag either, about the size of a small purse. Though Doc is holding the drawstrings in his fingers, letting it hang down. 

“It has to do with my visit,” Doc replies, glancing over to Grian with amusement glinting in his eyes. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the most recent victim that was found, yes?” At all three of their nods, he continues, “This was found.” He hands the bag over to Grian.

Brows furrowing just lightly in confusion, Grian takes it and carefully pulls on the strings. He finds his heart beating with slight anticipation and a burning sense of interest, unsure of what he’s about to see. But why did Doc hand the bag to him? He would’ve assumed that the bag would be passed to Mumbo since he’s the expert on supernatural stuff. 

Grabbing the side of the bag, he lifts his gaze up as it flickers around the room. His eyes linger on Mumbo for a moment, seeing the uncertainty crossing the vampire’s face. Mumbo shifts almost uncomfortably in his seat, looking between Grian and Doc. Scar’s eyes, however, are right on Grian, as he can practically feel the man’s gaze on him. 

A sense of urgency is brought about with everyone’s eyes on him, and Grian returns his focus to the bag in his hands. He inhales silently and pulls it all the way open. Taking a look inside, Grian blinks. “Huh?” 

“What is it?” Mumbo inquires, eyes shining with hesitant interest as Grian reaches into the bag and pulls the small object out. 

He holds it out for Scar and Mumbo to see, the two squinting at it. In Grian’s palm lies a small shard of what he assumes to be metal, shining a silver color. The shard is ragged with rough edges. It’s no larger than the sort of crystal you’d put on a necklace.

It’s almost anti-climactic, really. Grian had been expecting something big, like a severed finger or a bloodied note. Something dramatic to make up for the tension that had slowly been filling the air, as if it were gas into a balloon. But no. It’s just a piece of metal. 

“It’s a… piece of junk,” Scar mutters, which about sums up Grian’s thoughts. 

Except as he stares at the shard of metal, he notices something. He squints, bringing it closer to his face. 

Recognition flicks at him, like a flame to wax as he looks over to the newly gifted dagger sitting innocently on the table. “This is made out of holy metal.” He looks up at Doc, now understanding why the bag was given to him and not Mumbo. The crease between his brow deepens as concern begins to poke through the puzzlement sticking to him. His lips tug in a low, thoughtful frown. “What is this?” 

“What you have in your hands is what we suspect to be a broken chip of the murder weapon our killer has been using.” Doc’s green eyes are dark in the lighting of Mumbo’s study, an unintentional effect that adds to the grim tone his voice takes as he speaks. Grian can see the way his posture is stiff and uptight, probably a mix of stress and tension. He meets Grian’s gaze, “Seeing as you’re working for the Council now, it was requested that you find the origin of that chip. Either the weapon itself or where it was made.” 

Grian nods in return. “Got it.” He’s more than happy to jump at the chance, relieved to return to something that could be thought of as normal. Perhaps the situation itself is anything but, in fact Grian would say it’s the exact opposite. However, tracking down Aqua Town’s serial murderer is far more normal than nearly dying in a death circus and his sister being infected with magical bugs that were eating her dreams. 

This feels like a return to the regular swing of things, him and Mumbo looking into different theories and approaches to the crimes going on after dark. It’s a rhythm that Grian can get lost in, a rhythm to prevent him from getting too inside his own head.

“Hang on a moment,” Mumbo begins to protest, turning his head to look at Doc. “Surely the Council doesn’t need to have Grian be the one to do it. What if it leads him directly to the killer? He’d be put quite literally in the line of fire!”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Grian points out. “Besides, I’m already in the line of fire, aren’t I?” Between the mysterious person who wants him dead and the Council, he isn’t sure which one’s worse. 

Mumbo’s eyes snap over to him. “Not with this.” He frowns. “There’s too many unknowns at play, mate. You don’t know what you’re doing out there.”

His words strike something with Grian, something that makes him frown. The sudden protests from Mumbo have caught him off guard. What can he do, reject a job from the Council? He doesn’t even want to think about what that could mean. Authority figures or not, Grian wants to keep his memories, thank you very much! But Mumbo’s words strike the part of Grian that takes it as a personal challenge to prove him wrong. They don’t exactly hurt him, more so bruise his pride, just slightly. 

So he rises to the challenge, lifting a brow, “You know that’s exactly what I do with you, right?” Mumbo winces. “We’d still be doing this either way! Except now it’s just more official.”

“Yes, but that’s the probl—”

“Mumbo,” Scar cuts in, who had previously been sitting in his seat and watching the two along with Doc. He looks at the vampire, lightly tutting at him, “Grian’s a big boy! If he wants to do a job for the Council then that’s just fine.”

Doc glances to the younger vampire, eyes alight with somber sympathy, “I had counted on you accompanying him to keep anything from happening.”

Grian drops the metal chip back into the bag, pulling on the drawstrings. “Great, then it’ll be business as usual. Just with an added Scar now.”

“Wonderful!” the fae chirps, looking at Mumbo with a pleased little smile. “Isn’t that lovely Mumbo? The three of us doing the Council a favor, I say they pay us with gold!”

Grian snorts, “If anyone should get paid it should be me. I’m the one working for them.” 

Quietly, Mumbo sighs, gripping the edge of the arm rest tightly with his hand. The wood, already lightly splintered from the first time, creaks again. “Right… wonderful.”  It's anything but.

“So, what’s our plan of action here, bossman?” Scar asks quizzically, casting a glance over to Grian as he walks beside him. 

Grian lifts a brow at the name, but doesn’t question it. Instead, he answers, “Well, the weapon is clearly made out of holy metal, if the chunk left behind is anything to go by, right?” He pats the pocket of his pants, where the bag Doc gave them is snug and secure. “I’m thinking maybe Tango might be able to help us out.”

Mumbo hums on his other side, nodding as he listens. Out of all three of them, he’s the one paying attention to where they’re walking. Grian is the one leading their little trio, his eyes set forward and determined. The sun has set by now, so the streets are less crowded than they’d normally be. But he knows Grian, and he knows Scar (even if it’s been a very long time since they’ve existed in the same space. Mumbo remembers his tendencies). “At the very least he might be able to tell us what sort of weapon it came from.” 

He still isn’t very happy that the Council gave Grian the job. He knows none of them are thinking about Grian’s safety, and Doc can only do so much. It worries him, what sort of jobs are they going to send Grian on, and how far are they going to push him? Mumbo won’t let them take it that far. 

Not again. Not with Grian. 

“Right.” Grian nods. “Although, I’m beginning to wonder here.”

“Hm?” Mumbo looks over to the human, taking in his furrowed brows and the gleaming focus in his eyes. Grian’s hair sweeps over his forehead, looking soft and bouncy as they walk. It’s a bit distracting if he’s being honest. 

“Monster hunters use weapons with holy metal, yeah?” Grian asks. “What if our killer is a hunter?” 

Mumbo stops short, foot kicking at a loose rock in the stone beneath him. It rolls against the ground, clicking as the sides of it make contact with the stone. The sound tampers off quickly after, the rock coming to a stop. Grian and Scar also pause, turning to face the vampire.

“That… could make sense, yes. Some hunters are independent after all, and sometimes even other monsters themselves. It’s very well possible that their hunts have spilled into the mortals sphere. But if that’s the case then why leave a body? Hunters are typically more discreet.”  Mumbo frowns at the thought. The theory itself isn’t quite unheard of, there’s been cases of monster hunters turning to murder in the past. But it was quite rare for the killing to sprinkle into human society, or even involve humans. “If it is a hunter, they’re going to be extremely difficult to track down.” 

“Maybe they’re an amateur?” Grian guesses. 

“Then why go after humans?” Scar questions. “Not that I’m against it of course, but monster hunters don’t normally decide to tear out a human’s throat. Not casually, anyway.” 

Both Grian and Mumbo hum in contemplation at that, the former moving to cross his arms and set a hand on his chin. “Maybe they’re trying to send a message.” 

Their footsteps echo against the stone below, seeming louder at night with no one around. It gives Grian the creeps. He finds himself glancing at their reflections in the windows of shops as they walk past. 

He only sees himself reflected in the glass.

It sends a chill along his back, riding his skin like fingers dragging over him with a featherlight touch. 

“What sort of message could they possibly be trying to send here?” Scar questions, snapping Grian’s focus right to him, pulling him into Scar’s orbit. In the glow of the street lamps, Scar’s eyes look a murky green, but almost soft. “‘Rahhh, get out of my town!’ Or something?” he suggests, voice going deep as he imitates the murderer. 

Grian chuckles, “If they sound like that then they’ll be easy to find.”

“A piece of cake,” Mumbo jokes before humming. “Maybe if we got a list of victims we could find some sort of commonality and take a crack at motive.” 

“Sounds like a fine plan to me!” Scar easily agrees, nodding in return. 

Grian drops his arms, groaning. “I can feel my one brain cell frying on me!” he complains, which earns him a little laugh from Mumbo. He looks to his companions, “Let’s just get this thing to Tango and see what he thinks.” 

“Well, we’re here!” Scar gestures to the store front of Decked Out, and Grian hadn’t realized how quickly they reached the place. He frowns as he checks the time, finding it to be a bit late. Most places are probably closed by now, with the exception of twenty four hour convenience stores.

“Let’s hope they’re still around.” Grian glances back to his companions before walking up to the front door. To his relief, he’s able to pull the door open by the door knocker and they step inside. 

Grian leads them through, and finds Tango and Jimmy organizing a few shelves. Jimmy holds a stack of board games in his hands, shifting from foot to foot as Tango moves stuff around, humming. 

It’s Jimmy who notices the three enter, and he perks up, “Oh, hey, it’s you guys!” 

Tango hums curiously, lifting his head away from the shelf to look at the three of them. “Hey! Welcome back to the Dungeon,” he greets, a smile lifting his lips. He looks over at Scar, “I see you’ve brought a friend, hey Scar!” 

“Something like that.” Grian glances back over at Scar, who cheerfully waves at the shop owner.

“What brings you guys around?” Jimmy inquires, moving to set the boxes down on a nearby counter to free his arms. 

“Dagger alright?” Tango looks over at Grian, lifting a brow. 

“It’s perfect actually, and definitely not why we’re here,” Grian answers, pulling out the bag Doc gave him. He holds it out to Tango, “Do you think you could help us figure out what sort of weapon this came from?” 

Tango takes the bag from him, tugging the strings. “I think I should be able to, yeah. I’ve got a few tools downstairs I can use to piece it together. Pun fully intended.” He grins as he opens the bag up. 

“Ah, hang on! It’s holy metal—” Grian doesn’t know what sort of creature Tango is, or if he even is one at all. He’d feel terrible if Tango got hurt because of it. 

Except the man only laughs, flashing him a grin. “All good man! I work with holy metal all the time,” he reminds and Grian cringes. Right. He’s a black smith. Of course he touches holy metal. “Besides, that metal has nothing on a phoenix.”

“A… phoenix?” Grian questions, blinking in surprise. That’s definitely the last thing he was expecting. 

“Mmmmhm,” Tango absentmindedly hums as he pulls the metal shard out of the bag. “Firey wings and all. Though those bad boys are hidden, seeing as I can't exactly go out in the middle of town with them.” He holds the shard up, one eye shutting as he brings it to the light. Jimmy leans in with him, his head inches away from sitting on Tango’s shoulder. “Hmmmm, it’ll take a bit of time, but I might be able to figure it out.” 

Grian looks over at Mumbo, the two matching smiles. Though Mumbo’s is much more of relief than Grian’s is. “How long do you think it’ll take?” Mumbo inquires as Tango sets the shard back inside the bag. 

Tango sets a hand on his chin as he hums. “Hmmm, maybe a few hours? Why don’t you guys stop by in the morning and hopefully by then we’ll have an answer for you,” he suggests, offering them a smile. 

“How about the afternoon instead?” Jimmy cuts in gently, giving Tango a stern loving look. “Tango’ll probably crash in the morning if he doesn’t take any proper breaks tonight.” 

“I’ll take breaks!” Tango exclaims, straightening his back as he looks at Jimmy to defend himself. Jimmy looks at him with a face that spells disbelief, and Tango grimaces. He then addresses Grian, Mumbo, and Scar, “Alright, maybe stop by in the afternoon.”

After discussing things with Tango and Jimmy a bit longer, the trio leave. They find themselves wandering around under the shine of moonlight, incessant chatter rolling from Scar’s lips like fog. Grian doesn’t pay him much attention as he speaks, regaling Mumbo with tales. He seems to have a story for every street they walk past, some that Grian has a hard time believing. Scar exaggerates and stretches the truth, though his stories are a bit entertaining. 

Scar’s voice is calming to listen to, becoming a pleasant white noise to be lost to. Grian lets his voice drift through his ears as if it were a gentle melody, low with honey and fine silk, smooth and harmonic. He registers a word or two as he’s deep in thought, a multitude of thoughts on his mind. 

Thoughts about the possibility of a monster hunter being the culprit still sit on his thoughts, and Grian is curious to know what Tango will be able to find, if anything. 

Although, he’d be lying if he said that was the only thing he was thinking about. His mind keeps dragging him back to the moment earlier in which he looked at their reflections in the glass. It’s a rather chilling image that greets him each time his thoughts walk down that path, inevitable and inescapable as Grian mentally returns to that store front. 

What he doesn’t notice is Scar’s voice pausing as two green eyes land on him. A shoulder nudges his own, and Grian looks up. “Looking deep in thought there, songbird,” Scar hums. “Thinking about your murder theory again?” he questions, something teasing in his voice. 

“Yes and no,” Grian answers, glancing in his direction. “I’m still trying to piece some things together like the neck injury and the weapon and motive but… well to be honest that’s sort of on the back of my mind right now.” 

Mumbo makes a curious noise, “Something else you’re thinking about?” 

Just behind is another store, a bakery of some kind. The name of the place isn’t all that important, but Grian spots pastries sitting innocently on a rack right by the window, a ploy to pull customers inside. What’s important in this moment, is that when Grian focuses on the window, he only sees himself. 

“Back when we were walking around earlier, you both didn’t have reflections in the glass windows,” Grian says, staring at the window for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Though, didn’t you say that you have a reflection, Mumbo?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset, simply curious as he pokes around. 

Mumbo and Scar pause, causing Grian to stop his stride as he looks at the pair. 

“O-Oh, er…” Mumbo scratches at his cheek awkwardly, glancing away from the human. “I erm, I do. But I also don’t?” he answers, brows pulling together. “The mirrors I have in the manor are all enchanted, which allows me to see my own reflection. But in public spaces that’s a different story.” 

“Enchanted mirrors,” Grian mumbles, mostly to himself. The idea shouldn’t surprise him, really. As he’s learning, almost anything is possible in Mumbo and Scar’s world. But it is an idea that reminds Grian just what sets them apart, a blatant reminder that he is human while Mumbo and Scar are not, technically speaking. It’s easy to forget at times, when Grian hangs around them and they all laugh and smile and experience the world together. 

Scar watches him, green eyes seeming greener and deeper than before. “Tell me, songbird, have you ever heard the myth that monsters have no soul?” he inquires, his voice taking on some whimsical note, voice airy and sing-song, timbre raising to something secretive, something light. 

Grian looks at him, taking in the way Scar’s face is so carefully guarded, eyes opaque. He frowns, “I haven’t.” 

The fae lets out a soft hum, gaze far off. “Souls are quite precious, aren’t they? They’re the magical essence of a person, holding their very identity together. Without them, you’d be an empty shell, a husk of a person.” He holds his hand out, and Grian watches a green blob form in his palm, teardrop shaped with the end wisping away. “Rumor has it that monsters don’t have souls, we’re soulless creatures, empty inside. Our reflections don’t appear in glass because there isn’t a soul to reflect.” Just as easily as Scar summoned the light, he curls his fist around it and snuffs it out. “Of course, I do happen to have a reflection, but thanks to my amayzin’ glamour, my reflection doesn’t appear.” 

A huff leaves Grian’s lips as soon as Scar is done speaking, “Well that all sounds like rubbish to me.” 

“No, really! I don’t have a reflection because I’m using my glamour,” Scar tries to argue, but Grian shakes his head. 

“Not that, Scar. I mean the thing about not having a soul,” he corrects. “Reflection or not, you both have a soul. Monsters are still living beings, right? You’re both still living beings. You have personalities and memories, and identities. So that myth is rubbish.” 

There’s a stunned silence that hangs in the air between them all as Mumbo and Scar stare at Grian with equally surprised faces.

Despite his surprise, Mumbo’s face is softer, eyes rounder with astonishment as he looks at Grian. Disbelieving chuckles drip from his lips as he shakes his head, “I will never understand you, mate.” 

Scar doesn’t say anything. 

There’s a familiar ding that sounds from his phone, stealing Grian’s attention away from their conversation. Brows knitting together, Grian takes his phone out of his pocket and checks it. 

It’s another text from Taurtis. 

Tortarsauce :p

Hey man, can we talk soon? It’s urgent.

Worry flares up in his gut, the images of Taurtis’ limp and bloody body flashing in his mind. Grian’s lips tilt low on a frown, something uneasy tearing right through him. It can’t be anything supernatural related, could it? Taurtis is back home in Evo Town, he should be safe there. There’s no murderer haunting the streets. Maybe there aren’t even any supernaturals there. 

“Everything alright, Gri?” Mumbo questions lightly, concern shining in his eyes. 

Grian glances back down at his phone, and takes a breath. “I’m fine, yeah.” He frowns at his screen. “Let’s—”

There’s a flash of light, causing Grian to freeze. Hand lowering, his gaze flicks around to stare at the floating orbs of glowing light that begin to appear in front of his face. The orbs are small, glowing a soft yellow that reminds Grian of a lightbulb. They’re all over the place, hovering in the air and by the ground. The orbs tangle around Mumbo and Scar’s legs, drifting up into the space around them. 

Along the ground, the lights create some sort of path. 

With his attention captured, Grian finds himself reaching out to one of the lights, completely forgetting around the phone in his hands. He mindlessly slides it back into his pocket. Staring at the glowing lights, Grian’s head starts to go fuzzy, his surroundings becoming nothing more than a backdrop for the lights in front of his face. He can’t think straight, the edges of his thoughts becoming nothing more than sand that slips through his fingers – they’re impossible to hold with the lights in his eyes, their warmth drawing Grian in. 

He takes a step forward, entranced. 

The sudden movement from him catches Mumbo and Scar’s attention, and Mumbo looks over at Grian, “G?” 

“Mumbo, look.” Scar grabs his arm, pointing at the lights that have surrounded them. 

A quick glance at the area shows Mumbo that the lights are everywhere, seemingly following them like a shadow follows the sun. “Fairy lights?” Mumbo mumbles under his breath as he takes in the small orbs floating around them, covering the area. He hadn’t even realized that the lights were moving in on them. He looks back to Grian, muttering a curse. “Grian!” 

The human doesn’t respond, and Mumbo is moving toward him without thinking. He puts himself in front of the lights in Grian’s vision, setting his hands on his shoulders and gently shaking him. Grian’s pupils are wide, a golden light shimmering within them, swirling around in the depths of his eyes. “Grian, you have to look away! Ignore them!” 

Grian walks forward, Mumbo’s hands falling away from his shoulders. 

Scar whistles as he watches Grian walk off, “Those are some pree-tty potent fairy lights.” 

Mumbo frowns, something deep and panicked, woven with concern before moving to follow him. “Of all things, it had to be fairy lights. Have we accidentally wandered into some fae’s territory?” He looks back over at Scar for confirmation as the other moves to follow him. He knew that some fae were territorial and often guarded their territory with fairy lights, using them to lead unfortunate travelers to a rather terrible fate. They’re hypnotic and depending on how much magic is imbued in them, highly powerful. 

“Not here.” Scar shakes his head, a little frown on his face. “As far as I know, anyway.” 

“Great,” Mumbo mutters, “this is something intentional then.” They’ve blindly walked into some sort of fae lain trap and Grian’s gotten caught up in it. “Don’t lose track of him.” Mumbo means for it to sound a bit more assertive, strong. But with the fear swelling up in his chest, his voice comes out shaky and pleading as he looks at Scar, who nods. 

Despite his plea, they manage to lose track of Grian anyway. 

When they finally find Grian again, Mumbo’s heart is in his throat. 

The fairy lights have led them to a small patch within the forest, leaving them surrounded by trees. It’s a less dense area of forestry, but trees are still littered about. The leaves above have spots of exposure, allowing for the night sky to poke through the green. The spot they’re led to is covered with fairy lights, thick and abundant as they circle the area, offering enough light to rival the sun. 

Mumbo stops short as soon as his eyes land on Grian and the person standing behind him. “Ah, Grian!” Mumbo shouts in panic, staring at the knife pointed right at his throat. The stranger has an arm wrapped around Grian, a gold hilted knife held right up against his throat. Grian’s eyes are still dazed and unfocused, and he looks much like a ragdoll being held up. The vampire takes a step toward him. 

“Don’t move!” the stranger yells, voice feminine. It’s then that Mumbo sees long pink hair, two buns sitting on either side of her head. Her ears are pointed at the end, blue eyes sharp and fierce as she stares both Mumbo and Scar down. There’s a cloak sitting over her, the hood pooling around her shoulders. 

Immediately freezing, Mumbo holds his arms up passively, Scar doing the same beside him. There’s a surge of protectiveness that swells up in Mumbo’s chest as he stares at the knife pointed at Grian’s pale skin, and his hand twitches. He wants to take that knife and snap it in half. “Who are you and what do you want?” he all but growls, low and dark.

“Hello boys,” the woman greets, the words curling sweetly around her lips. “I believe you have something I want.” 

Mumbo tenses, eyes narrowing as he glares at her. “And that is?”

“Give me the velvet bag or the human gets it,” she replies, squinting at Mumbo. She attempts to deepen her voice as she speaks, trying to make her seem more intimidating. Had there not been a knife threatening to take Grian’s life, Mumbo probably would have laughed. 

“The bag?” Mumbo questions before realizing that the fae is talking about the bag from Doc. It’s something he doesn’t have, as it’s currently in Tango’s possession. He curses his luck, gritting his teeth. 

“The bag that contains the metal shard! Hand it over and this man gets to live another day!” she then exclaims, pressing the blade deeper against Grian’s neck, and Mumbo can feel his panic rising. He doesn’t have the bag, and Grian is out of commission. It’s just him and Scar and their magic and–

His magic. That’s right. 

Taking a deep breath, Mumbo tries to calm his nerves. He needs to think. They don’t have the bag or the metal shard, and Mumbo isn’t sure if this woman is alone or not. She could have allies hiding within the trees, and Mumbo isn’t willing to leave that up to chance if he were to engage in combat. Not with Grian’s life added to the stakes. So what else can he do? 

Why not just give her what she’s asking for? 

“Alright,” he sighs, “I’ll give you the bag.” Slowly, Mumbo nudges Scar with his foot to get his attention. Their eyes lock and Mumbo motions to the rock on the ground, wiggling one of his hands. “Scar?” 

“Right, the bag, yep!” Scar exclaims, nodding quickly. He leans down to get the rock, before crying out in ‘pain’. “Oh, ow! There’s a sudden sharp pain in my side, it’s real bad!” With fast reflexes, he grabs the rock and shoves it into his pocket. He moves to hold his side with another noise of pain, and doesn’t move, as if waiting it out. 

The woman frowns, “This better not be a trick.” 

“It – It isn’t!” Mumbo stammers quickly, shaking his head. “Scar’s used too much of his magic today… it’s taken a toll on him,” he lies, hoping it’s enough.

When the rock is securely in his pocket, Scar moves to push himself up, exaggerating his sigh. “I think it’s passed! Magic pains are no joke, I’ll tell ya! Now, let me get that bag for you so Mumbo can have his human back.” He slips his hand into his pocket. 

Behind his back, Mumbo uses his hand to cast his magic, forming the image of the metal shard and bag within his mind. When Scar pulls his hand out, the rock has changed into the bag, and he passes it over to Mumbo. 

The vampire takes it before showing it to the fae and slowly walking to her. Her eyes widen and she reaches for it when Mumbo is close enough, but before she can grab it, he pulls it out of her reach. “Give me Grian first,” he demands in a fit of bravery and protectiveness. 

“Take him,” she says hastily, all but throwing Grian at him. 

Mumbo yelps in surprise, tossing the bag so he can catch Grian in his arms. On instinct, he holds the human against him, stepping away from the woman with a narrowed gaze. He watches as she pulls the bag open to check its contents, and gulps. He silently wills his magic to be good enough to trick her, heart beating nervously in his chest. He casted the right spell, right? Is it strong enough? Oh dear, will it hold? Did he create the right illusion of the metal shard? Will–

She closes the bag and stuffs it into her pocket, “Pleasure doing business.” She smiles kindly at them before disappearing from their sight. The fairy lights begin to fade away with her departure. 

A loud sigh of relief leaves Mumbo as soon as she’s gone, and he’s certain that he would’ve collapsed to the ground if he weren’t holding Grian against him. 

Speaking of Grian, Mumbo hears a low groan from the human resting on his chest. Relief floods his veins as his body loosens, and a small smile finds its way onto his face. Grian lifts his head up, and his eyes are once again focused and a full deep brown. “Mumbo?” he says, blinking a few times as he comes back to awareness. “What the heck happened?” Grian questions, looking around as he steps back from Mumbo’s arms. “And why are we in a forest now?” 

Shoving down the mourning that runs through him as he loses Grian’s warmth, Mumbo huffs, “Fairy lights.” 

“What?” Grian stares at him with obvious confusion. It’s rather endearing, and Mumbo can’t help but laugh.

“Let’s head back to the manor, I’ll explain on the way.” 

Neither of them notice the way Scar watches them, something stormy in his gaze.

The following afternoon, Grian returns to Decked Out with Mumbo and Scar. He teases Mumbo over his umbrella, and Mumbo fondly rolls his eyes at his teasing. Scar throws in a light joke or two, and Grian doesn’t hesitate to build on them. 

In the end, there isn’t any real information that Tango can offer them. 

He scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “Sorry man. There’s just no special details that my magic could find to link the shard to a specific weapon.” 

“It’s fine, thanks for trying,” Grian says as Tango passes the bag back to him. “Was worth a shot.” 

“I might be able to help.” Scar perks up, causing Grian and Mumbo to look over at him. 

“Really?” Grian questions, something slightly skeptical in his tone. 

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you meet a guy or two that owe you a favor.” Scar smiles charmingly at him, but there’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with Grian. 

“That’s great!” Mumbo exclaims, smiling. 

Although hesitant, Grian agrees to let Scar try to find any information on the shard. The fae gives him another smile when Grian hands the bag over to him, and there’s something that tells Grian it’s a bad idea. 

Maybe it’s because Grian still doesn’t trust him. Maybe he’s being too suspicious. All Scar is trying to do is help them, and suspicions or not, Scar is a friend. It wouldn’t hurt to put some faith in him. 

(Later, Grian will look back on this moment and curse himself.)