Chapter Text
Another case had been solved, but with two less silver chains, eight less candles, three less brass bells and a rather more battered paranormal pocket watch than they started with, the Dead Boy Detective Agency needed a restock. When in Port Townsend, they had to rely on the resources of Tragic Mick’s shop, but for the thirty years of detecting before that time, they would always take a trip to Camden Market.
London markets each had their uses. There was Borough Market, which offered an assortment of odd fruits and expensive cheeses, as well as Crystal’s favourite stall, which flaunted a range of different jams. Of course, the ghosts in their now expanding agency had never had any use for Borough Market because they did not and could not eat, but Crystal had often found herself wandering towards the area on her weekly food shopping, and would often bring back the most random vegetables. In passing, however, she could often buy lunch at Portobello Road, which always had several different street food stands.
For years, Charles and Edwin would purchase their rosaries, spell books and ancient herbs from a hidden shop in a forgotten corner of Camden Market. Camden was famous for its alternative fashion and homemade jewelry, as well as several magic trick dealers and gemstone stands. But there wasn't a stall quite as supernatural or quite as random as Clive’s.
After her first few visits, Crystal had wondered whether the shop really had a name, but the angle at which it was tucked behind the wall and the insistence with which it hid itself from the public view meant it didn't have much space for any sign, so it remained referred to by the shop owner’s name. Clive was a ghost in his early thirties, with a buzz cut and lip piercing. He had an abrupt manner of speaking and eyelinered eyes which would often stare disapprovingly at the few visitors he got. This, and the deceptiveness of the shop’s non-existent front, was probably the reason why he got so few visitors, but the agency was not complaining. They often arrived to find that Clive had any item that they needed, and had there been waves of inexperienced members of the public wafting through there daily, his shop might not have been so cluttered with exactly the items they were searching for.
‘Good evening,’ began Edwin, approaching the desk where Clive glared up at them from. ‘We have recently depleted many of our exorcism items, so we will be needing,’ he cleared his throat (Crystal knew by now that it was entirely for theatrical purposes), ‘Eight occult candles, two silver chains - medium length please, three brass bells and your finest paranormal pocket watch.’
‘What are you paying?’ grunted Clive, who had been nodding along to Edwin’s list. He leaned closer to the counter as Charles approached with his bag. Placing it down and reaching his arm into the bag, Charles pulled out a tarnished but elaborately decorated box with a brass handle on its side, then looked at Clive.
‘The source of our last case. Honestly mate, we’re glad to be rid of it, though it seems like your kind of thing. Be careful, right?’ He pushed it towards the seller. Clive took it in his hands and started to wind the handle as a haunting tune seeped out from the box. As the song reached its last verse, the lid flung open and a fabric jester swung out over the edge, making everyone in the shop except Crystal jump tensely.
‘If that wasn’t frightening enough,’ said Crystal sarcastically, ‘there’s also a possessed ring hidden inside somewhere, we just couldn't work out how to get it out.’
‘And I certainly don’t intend to watch you try, not after the power it demonstrated. We have clients to see if you don’t mind, Clive.’ Edwin said insistently. Reluctantly putting the jack-in-the-box back down on the countertop, Clive rose from his seat and moved through to the back room. He emerged moments later with a necklace stand draped in different metal chains, a box of bells and a handful of candles. As he turned to the shelf behind him to retrieve a polished pocket watch, he asked, ‘Want candlesticks with them?’
‘No, just the candles will do fine, thank you.’ Edwin replied. He looked reluctantly at Crystal and gestured to the necklace stand. ‘Would you mind?’
She looked back in confusion for a moment, but then realised, ‘Oh, there’s iron too, right.’ and pulled out a couple of silver chains from the entanglement of iron necklaces. They were placed into the bag along with the rest of their purchases, and they muttered a few goodbyes to the shopkeeper, who was curiously shaking the jack-in-the-box.
*
Crystal told the other two that she would take the tube home, but that she wanted to go past Portobello Road for some lunch first, so the other two decided to mirror hop back. As they wandered through the market, they approached a stand that literally sold mirrors.
‘Fancy that,’ said Edwin, but then something near the ground caught his eye. A ragged ginger street cat brushed past Charles’ ankles. Edwin tensed seeing it, and breathed in sharply.
‘You’re still thinking about him, aren't you.’ Charles said, raising his eyebrows to his friend, as he stepped into a tall mirror. Edwin followed after him, emerging in the office.
‘I most certainly am not.’ He felt heat rising in his face, and held his hands up to his chest on instinct.
‘He’s over the Atlantic Ocean, mate. As far as he’s concerned, it's his town and he's not leaving any time soon.’ Charles told him, and Edwin pursed his lips impudently in response. Edwin knew what question was coming. ‘What was going on between you two anyway? I wouldn't ask any other time, but if it's still getting to you, I want to know how I can help.’
‘Charles I - Perhaps, given that us two becoming … a thing has happened, I owe you an explanation.’ he sighed.
‘You don't owe me anything mate, I just want to know what's going on in your mind.’ Charles caringly leant a hand on Edwin’s shoulder. He leaned into it, and let out another breath. ‘The first time we met,’ He began, moving to sit on the couch, and Charles followed.
Edwin spilled the whole story to him, from the warehouse to the alleyway. It felt strange recounting all of this, like thinking it over chronologically from an outside perspective had changed something with how he saw it. ‘I did have… feelings for the Cat King. Certainly not friend feelings, he really got on my nerves. There was something about him though that made me realise things about myself.’ Charles nodded in response, ‘And I suppose,’ Edwin continued, ‘I never would have realised my feelings for you. This -’ he gestured between them both, ‘would not have happened.’
Charles laughed, ‘Thank you Cat King,’ he exclaimed sarcastically, ‘But mate that’s intense. He was messing with you, I’m not surprised you didn’t want to say anything to us. I probably would’ve bashed him up a bit for you though, given the chance.’
‘Charles he’s ancient, incredibly skilled, you saw what his cats did to that corpse.’
‘Yeah, well, I guess we don’t have to worry about this stuff, we’re not going back anytime soon.’ Charles paused, then Edwin noticed his eyes glinting mischievously. He leant closer to Edwin, close enough to be breathing in his ear. ‘I have learnt something new though.’
‘Yes?’ Edwin asked, his voice as steady as he could manage.
Charles lowered his speech slightly. ‘I know now that whispering in your ear makes you lose your thoughts.’ There was a moment of quiet in which Edwin suppressed a shiver, but then he shook his head, careful not to brush Charles' lips with the proximity they were at.
‘I’m sure you know that I take great pleasure in telling people they are wrong, and you Charles, are wrong.’
Charles smiled, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, leaning back from Edwin’s cheek. ‘How’s that then?’
‘I do indeed have thoughts when you do that.’ he held the back of Charles' head this time, drawing him gently to where he was before, near to his ear, ‘Just not thoughts about … detective work.’ He could sense his friend's smile against the air next to his cheek.
With this, Charles drew closer to his neck and softly pressed his lips to it, making Edwin involuntarily writhe. The hand on the back of his friend’s head pulled him in with more urgency, as Charles kissed his way up the detective’s jawline, his cheek, his lips. They connected in a tender but passionate kiss, Edwin’s hand still resting in his friend’s curly hair. He started to tug at Charles’ top few buttons, pulling them loose, as Charles’ hands found their way to his now slightly wonky bowtie, carefully reaching into the knot to try to draw it apart further. By this point, Charles was sitting on Edwin’s lap and had his legs round either side of his friend's hips, arms busy with the tie at Edwin’s neck, and then the top two buttons of his shirt. He was certain they looked thoroughly dishevelled, and hoped with some distracted part of him that Crystal would not find them in this compromising situation.
She had been told almost immediately after the two had talked about the romantic nature of their attraction towards each other so it would not be as unexpected as it could be if she were to return at that time. Crystal, however, was elsewhere occupied.