Chapter Text
✧ ✦ ✧
The light dimmed and went out. Charles swayed in the sudden darkness and promptly dropped to one knee. At first glance, his surroundings seemed eerily still. The only sounds he could hear were his own figmental heartbeat — an echo of life he hadn’t had in decades — and the ringing in his ears, fading like the siren of a speeding firetruck.
He closed his eyes, grounding himself with a deep breath. When the vertigo subsided, Charles cautiously rose and looked around.
The room he found himself in felt more like a neglected storage or an archive than anything else. Undisturbed air lingered in the dim, dusty space, and the only light came from a faded green exit sign on the wall.
After confirming his immediate surroundings safe enough, Charles took stock of his own state. Luckily, nothing felt amiss. Well, he definitely missed his cricket bet and his backpack, but that couldn’t be helped now. Overall, he felt fine, aside from a few lingering spots in his vision, but even they were almost gone by now.
There was a wooden shelf protruding from his stomach.
With a startled curse, Charles phased awkwardly out of the shelf. The empty space he left behind stood out in the otherwise cluttered storage — it looked as if something had been taken from there, or, rather, swapped — and Charles, unfortunately, had taken its place.
“Fuck, Edwin will kill me,” Charles muttered under his breath. “Crystal will probably help — could be a fun team-building activity, right? And Niko will cheer them up”.
Well, the Niko part was probably an exaggeration — Charles could admit that. Her wide, alarmed eyes were the last thing he saw before the rune light flared too bright, and the ritual circle swallowed him whole. Good thing he’d managed to push Edwin off it just in time. And Crystal — she’d been safe, hadn’t she? Standing behind the table, well out of the rune’s reach.
He was the only one affected, which was good news. And the bad news, well, that could wait, couldn’t it? First, he needed to assess how deep was a shit hole he’d thrown himself into. Panic later. He was pretty sure his mates at the office were panicking enough to cover for him anyway.
Moving with caution, he approached the nearest wall and stuck a hand through it. He felt no change in density and withdrew it with a sigh. Basements. He hated them. They always made him feel... uneasy.
As did this blasted case. Honestly, when their local antiquary asked for their help retrieving an artefact from another universe, Crystal had laughed right in his haughty face. For one, it was impossible. For two, they specialised in helping ghosts move on, not on… that. Charles had been solid they'd refuse! But Edwin? He’d been intrigued. And, worse yet, Niko had looked bloody excited. The hefty payment the client had promised only made it harder to turn the case down.
The rooms on the ground floor housed some sort of exhibition, which Charles had expected. The halls were empty, which checked out too. They had chosen the timing for the ritual with utmost care — off-hours, in case the artefact was displayed somewhere public. No need to surprise a crowd with a prised exhibit being swapped for some random thing in broad daylight.
At least, that had been the plan. Charles becoming the swapped object definitely was not.
Charles phased through the wall onto the slightly damp sidewalk. The street looked rather unremarkable. The evening sky was cloudy, but not overcast, and he quickly spotted the moon — the same waning crescent they’d been waiting for the past few days.
For a moment, he allowed himself to entertain the thought that the ritual had failed. Sure, Edwin would be salty about him fumbling months of thorough research and weeks of preparation. And the antiquary? He’d be none too pleased with the prospect of waiting even longer, just because instead of his wet dream of the off-universe artefact, they fetched some junk from the local museum. Charles would handle it. He’d deal with the dissatisfied client, weather Edwin's ire, and whatever else Crystal and Niko threw his way for making them worry. If he could just mirror-jump straight to the office…
Charles took a deep breath. Then another. Edwin was probably losing his mind with worry right now. At least the girls were there with him. Niko was a natural at calming Edwin down — she’d make him see reason. And anyway, maybe Charles could crash their panic party in a tick or two. He just had to check a couple of things before he could mirror-jump back to the office.
“Right, then. Here we go.” He muttered to himself and moved on.
Soon enough, he spotted a little café down the road. It was closed for the night, but not like he wanted to order anything, was he? Just needed a mirror big enough to squeeze into.
In the bathroom, though, Charles hesitated. He touched the mirror, and its surface rippled instantly, the ephemeral reflections swirling around his fingertip. For a tick, he just stood there, watching the ripples, unsure what destination to choose. Then, an idea struck him. The next moment, the ripples calmed a bit, settling into a familiar vision — a daring art installation by Crystal’s parents, just as he'd seen it with her last week.
Well, if that wasn't a good sign, then what was?
He stepped out of one of the many reflective pieces.
"Oi! What d'you think you're doing, messing with art, ya numbskull!" Charles spun around and caught the angry eye of an old-ish looking ghost. "Some folks are tryin' to enjoy it in peace!"
“Chill, grandpa, modern art is performative! It's supposed to be interacted with!” Charles flashed the ghost a cheeky smile and waved at the chaos of mirror pieces around them. "Can't interact by reflecting in it, though, can I?"
The old ghost grumbled something under his breath about young punks thinking they’re the centre of the bloody world…
“Hey, has the motto changed recently?” Charles interrupted.
“...and having no manners whatsoever!” The ghost wrapped up his rant, glaring at Charles like he’d just stolen apples from his backyard garden. “Are you makin' fun of me, ya little delinquent?"
Behind him, on the antique facade of yet another museum, the giant red letters read: "ART IS A LIE THAT TELLS THE TRUTH."
Charles jumped back into the nearest mirror piece.
This time, he didn’t have a specific location in mind, just the general idea of somewhere he used to frequent — somewhere he knew well enough that any differences would be immediately obvious. A place he could also trust himself to recognise as being exactly as it should be.
He really shouldn’t have worried. The mirror spat him out of a reflective storefront, and although he was a little disoriented from such an aimless jump, he instantly recognised the cityscape.
“Oh, fuck me,” Charles breathed, leaning against the wall for support. Where the London Eye should have stood, a jagged, needle-like tower pierced the night sky. His knees buckled slightly as he stared, unable to deny the truth any longer: the ritual had worked perfectly — aside from that tiny hiccup of grabbing him instead of the intended offering.
And now, he’d been traded for the artefact from their twin universe. He was utterly, hopelessly fucked.
✦ ✧ ✦
“Are you having a meltdown?” asked a cat. Charles turned toward the voice — a little calico cat sat a few feet away, staring at him unblinking. Charles sighed. And what if he was? Given his circumstances, it was kinda in order.
God, he really was not in a mood to deal with a pesky feline, too.
Cat shifted from paw to paw, as if unsure, then cautiously approached Charles and bumped him with her head. Was she trying to act friendly?
“Piss off, cat, I’m having a moment here. Go… chase a bird or something” Charles tried to imbue his words with severity, but not aggression. The cat wasn't being a total nuisance, after all.
“More like half an hour.” Mused the cat. “That’s my hunting ground, you know? I’m hunting vermin in this storm drain and guess what? It needs concentration.” Despite her tiny size, her tone shifted to that of a mama cat schooling a clueless kitten. “And I cannot concentrate while you’re sitting here with all your dramatic sighs and pitiful sniffles. So do us a favour, mate — cheer up or bugger off, will ya?” The last words she clearly styled after Charles’ own accent.
What an asshole.
“Oi!” Charles admonished indignantly. “That was totally uncalled for!”
But, well. Although he hated admitting it, the cat was probably right. He spent enough time sitting on the sidewalk and spiralling that his thoughts made full circle and started to repeat themselves. And that just wouldn't do, would it? He couldn’t leave all the work of saving him to his mates. Might as well start asking around.
“Say, cat, can you possibly contact your mates in another universe?” he asked. What? Cats knew things, it was totally worth a shot.
“You know what?” said the cat, left ear twitching. “I changed my mind, go back to sighing and sniffling, I think I hear a mouse in that other drain”. She sprang to her paws, tail swishing the air, and trotted away.
“Thanks, mate!” Charles yelled after her, clambering to his feet as well. She might’ve been a snarky furball, but she’d snapped him out of it. And that was something, wasn’t it?
Nothing around him looked wrong, was the thing. Sure, there were some flashy landmarks out of place, but the world overall? Felt the bloody same as usual. He knew this street well — it was one of his favourite routes. A good walk here always helped clear his head after a tricky case or calm him down after a debacle.
Which, coincidentally, was exactly what he needed right now.
He wasn’t in this alone, he reminded himself, retracing his usual walking route. Edwin was definitely working hard to sort out this clusterfuck. The girls too. Though Charles really hoped they’d taken a break to get sleep some. No sense in working yourself into an early grave. Especially if you were alive.
He also hoped they wouldn’t be too worried about him. Because he wasn’t lost, was he? What happened earlier wasn’t just one fumbled ritual — it was a chain of successful ones, capped off by one that went slightly awry.
The first ritual, about a week ago, had been to pinpoint the parallel universe nearest to theirs — the so-called twin to their own. According to the books, there shouldn’t have been much difference. Barely any at all.
Charles glared at the Starbucks logo across the street. The single-tailed mermaid, now sporting a funky bob, smiled cheekily over her bare shoulder.
With the second ritual, they’d managed to find and mark the artefact the wretched antiquary was after. That one was a tad more tricky than the first. The same item almost certainly existed in their own universe, but apparently it wasn’t as valuable and, moreover, it wasn’t what the client wanted. So they’d tied the second ritual to the first, steering their search into the other universe instead of their own. Edwin had beamed when it worked. He even showed some teeth. And with Crystal still in the room, no less. Madness, that. Charles felt lighter just remembering it.
Unfortunately, thinking about the third ritual only soured his mood. That was the big one: the ritual to actually retrieve the artefact. It was the most complicated of the lot. Everything had to be aligned perfectly — timing, ingredients, and an item of comparable magical weight to swap for the artefact. Because, as their research repeatedly reminded them, one couldn’t just remove something from a universe. Couldn’t just add something to it, either.
They were so thorough! And yet, something went wrong.
As much as Charles wanted to blame it on something simple — like an ingredient not being fresh, the timing being off, his runework being shit, or even Edwin’s spellwork being faulty — he knew it wasn’t any of those things. If that was the case, the ritual would have just failed to do anything. But it hadn’t failed. It had worked. And it had sent him here.
The only explanation that made any sense was that they’d chosen the wrong item to trade. Likely not enough oomph in it. Whatever that meant. So, instead of sticking to the intended trade, the spell must’ve grabbed the next best thing within its reach — a ghost.
Charles still felt the echoes of ice-cold terror he’d faced when the ritual went off the rails. Instead of pooling neatly under the trade items they’d piled at the center of the circle, the rune-light stretched out vile, probing tendrils — toward Edwin, who hadn’t even noticed, too busy focusing on getting the spell right.
Charles’d thrown himself in there, shoving Edwin out of harm’s way. He’d tried to get out of the circle too, of course, but it had already activated with the magical weight of a ghost factored in, hadn’t it? No removing more than was already accounted for.
Stopping near a familiar gate, Charles felt his shoulders relax a bit. Just seeing the gates made him feel like he hadn’t been completely ripped from the world he knew.
He supposed he should think himself lucky the spell had grabbed him whole. Would’ve been a right nightmare if it ripped just a chunk and he’d had to figure out how to retrieve a leg or half his mug.
Not that there was any question of how to bring him back home. That much was already known — tested, even, in a sense. His mates back home had this universe marked. All they’d need to do was repeat the second ritual to pinpoint and mark him. That one was easy-peasy. After that, they’d just need to recalculate and perform the third ritual—properly, this time.
The real question was how he could help them from this side. And the answer was obvious: he needed to reach out. Make sure they knew he was safe and sound for now. It’s what he would need, after all, if their roles were reversed.
There was only one place he knew to go to for such sort of thing.
Charles phased through the gate.
Would’ve been a bit rude to pop in by mirror, wouldn’t it? Jump scares never made the best first impressions — especially if they ended with him on the wrong side of Edwin’s binding spell or staring down his own cricket bat. And with him looking like a proper impostor, no less. Or maybe he was just a little wary of barging in on this world’s agency domestic bliss. Who knew?
Either way, front door it was.
Climbing the stairs, Charles snickered at the ridiculous scenarios spinning through his head. Edwin was going to go cross-eyed, wasn’t he? And Crystal — oh, she’d just roll with it. She was crazy like that. Niko, though? She’d probably be delighted above all reason, handing out silly nicknames to him and the local Charles. She might even bully him into adding some accessory or two to his wardrobe, just to tell them apart.
Though, speaking of the local Charles… he really hoped they’d get on alright. Because being brills with other people? That never extended to himself, did it?
From afar, the agency door looked much the same. The light filtering through the frosted glass was a bit colder, maybe, but Charles wouldn’t bet on it — he’d rarely seen the door from the outside anyway. And minor differences were to be expected, weren’t they?
What he didn’t expect was the name on the door.
Dead Boy
Private Investigator
Est. 1989
Charles frowned at the sign. “What a lame name,” he muttered, rapping his knuckles on the door.