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“I think it’s probably up to us to start,” Webb said, huffing at the steam wafting from their teacup, still too hot to drink. “… and by ‘us’ I mean I’m nominating Ariadne, as I am currently having the vapors.”

The Curator looked worried. Faraday looked faintly amused, chin resting in his hand.

“The vapors?” he murmured.

“Yes. Due to my agonies.”

Faraday grinned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Ariadne scrunched up her nose, nudging him lightly, and shifted so she was leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees.

“I don’t mind getting you up to date,” she said, then glanced over at Webb, expression plainly saying: everything?

Webb took a careful sip of their tea, closed their eyes, and nodded.

“Well, alright.” She drew in a deep breath. “My name is Ariadne, and this is my partner, Faraday. I’m a vampire, um, obviously. And Faraday is a stitch-witch. I guess this all starts a while back, with my sire, a vampire named Grimm…”

Ariadne recounted the story from the beginning: her involvement with Grimm, her escape with Faraday, the years in between, the chance encounter with another vampire. Her lingering guilt and concern about Grimm’s growing power. Their meeting with Webb, and the events of the night so far.

There, she hesitated. “So… Webb mentioned that you were one of the people they got information from, and… we wondered if you might know something.”

“You wondered if I was involved in giving you false information,” the Curator said in their soft, sibilant voice. “Working with this vampire to hurt people.”

“No,” Webb blurted, sitting up a little, the blanket sliding off their lap. “Well—a little. I considered it, obviously. I was afraid. But—”

The Curator waved their hands, gently trailing smoke. “It’s, it’s alright, Webb. I don’t blame you. You’d be fully within your rights to be suspicious. You’d never seen me for what I was, and you knew someone had betrayed you…”

“So you’re saying you’re definitely not involved?” Faraday asked quietly. He had made himself comfortable and pulled out an embroidery hoop, stitching as they discussed.

The Curator’s shoulders hunched and they shook their head so hard that bits of them seemed to drift away like scattering ashes. “No,” they said, firm yet tremulous. Despite the emotion in their voice, they seemed unable to raise it much louder than a soft murmur. “Not… deliberately. But of course it’s possible that I might have been a source of some information that was misused…”

“Where do you… learn everything that you share with me?” Webb asked, sitting up, a little more prepared to re-enter society again, despite their headache and the bruises to their ego. “You—I mean, you don’t really owe me an explanation, about you, or about anything, but…”

The Curator shook their head again, looking at Webb with an earnest expression. “I don’t… owe you, but I’d like to tell you. You’re in trouble, so if there’s something I can do…” They trailed off again before seeming to gather their thoughts. “I’m a collector. Of many things… books, and antiques, and art, and all those things, of course, but I also collect… stories. And information. About people, mostly.”

“Collecting teacups and collecting information strike me as slightly different hobbies,” Faraday said, tone slightly cautious.

“I’ve heard things about shadowfolk…” Ariadne trailed off. When the Curator looked over at her, she sat up quite straight, looking flustered. “I mean, they’re rumors, and obviously I’m sure you’ve heard shitty things about vampires, too.”

“It’s alright,” the Curator said quietly. “I’m well aware of our reputation. It’s part of why I don’t really… I try to stay out of sight, so I don’t frighten people.”

“Sounds lonely,” Faraday commented, still focused on his stitching. The Curator seemed slightly startled, looking down at their hands.

“… I suppose it can be,” they agreed.

Webb wasn’t sure what to do or say to that, fidgeting with their now-empty teacup. “So… you mostly stay here, out of sight? Do you ever go out?”

“I do. Just to watch, and listen.” They seemed flustered, after having said that. “I’m sorry, that probably sounds quite… creepy. I don’t mean it to be. I just… want to be involved, without anybody having to—to deal with who, I mean what, I am.”

“There’s a shadow person who’s a famous actor,” Webb protested, feeling their chest tighten for some reason they couldn’t quite pin down. “If you wanted to just go around being yourself, people would just get used to it eventually, right?”

The Curator examined them with those inky black eyes, thoughtful. “I’d often wanted to say something very similar to you,” they said gently.

Webb grimaced at that, dropping their gaze. “Fair enough,” they muttered.

“Back to the topic at hand…” Ariadne said hesitantly into the silence after it had lingered for an uncomfortable beat too long, “I’m willing to take it in stride, this whole shadowfolk thing. And trusting that you weren’t trying to do anything to hurt Webb. But we do actively also still have the Inquisitors after us, and need to decide what we’re doing next.”

The Curator nodded. “As long as you’re here, I don’t think we need to worry about the Inquisitors,” they said. “Or anybody else for that matter. I don’t want to make grand promises I can’t keep, but in my tower, I’ll keep you safe.”

“It feels safe,” Webb said quietly. “It’s a beautiful place.”

The Curator looked equal parts pleased, startled, and flustered, their dark eyes going wide. They were clearly incapable of blushing, but smoke began to rise from their glossy hair at an alarming rate.

“You’re welcome to stay here tonight, if and when you need to rest,” the Curator stammered. “I understand if you’d rather not, of course. But there’s plenty of room. And as, I mean, as for the situation with Grimm…” Their demeanour grew more serious. “I had heard some rumors about him recently that might be of interest to you.”

Ariadne perked up immediately. “Rumors?”

The Curator coiled their fingers in an idle circle, trailing smoke. “Yes. I’m not really that interested in political power struggles, but it’s something that’s important to keep an eye out for… they like to make it your business whether you’d rather stay out of it or not. I’d heard that for some time, Grimm was building power in the north without really intending to do anything with it, exactly. Violence and hedonism, obviously, which we can hardly condone—”

Webb felt their lips twitch a bit, despite themself. The Curator’s quiet way of speaking made everything they said come out with somehow the same amount of emphasis.

“We cannot condone it,” Faraday agreed. He also seemed to find it funny, and caught Webb’s eye. Webb glared half-heartedly back.

“But it was very localized,” the Curator continued. “Then all of a sudden, within the last five years, he started to grow more ambitious, more hungry. Uncharacteristically combative, to the point where his clan got into an altercation with another nearby clan and wiped them out—absorbed them.”

Ariadne looked anxious. Faraday set aside his embroidery and rested one of his hands on her knee, squeezing.

“Do you know why the sudden change of heart?” he asked.

“I don’t,” the Curator admitted. “But I do know that one of the vampire lords here in the city has been a bit displeased about the situation, and has made her feelings on the matter known. Veracity Yun. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

There was a chorus of nods around the room. Veracity was known to be influential and clever, a vampire lord who had no qualms about flaunting her status, but also no interest in disrupting the status quo enough to risk anybody taking up arms against her.

“I don’t know her personally,” Ariadne said, “but I’ve heard she’s not, like, the worst, as far as vampire lords go.”

“Not someone you want to mess with, certainly,” Faraday said.

The Curator nodded. “I’d heard—and again, this is just a rumor—that Veracity and her clan are eying the situation with Grimm with a mind to take care of him now before his power grows any more and starts to threaten hers. If that’s the case…”

“She might know something,” Webb finished. “And it might be in her best interests to help us out. If we can make it worth her while. Do you know how we can get in touch with her?”

The Curator shook their head. “I’m sorry. Not directly. But I can… I can try to find out.”

“We’d appreciate that very much,” Ariadne said sincerely. “You’ve been a great help, Mx… Mx. Curator.” She tripped over the words.

Webb glanced between her and the Curator. “… do you have anything else you’d like us to call you? It doesn’t have to be your real name or whatever. You can join the club.”

The Curator looked thoughtful. “Real names… I’m not sure I have a ‘real name’ in that sense… but you’re right that it seems a bit unwieldy.” They ducked their head. “… you can—you can call me Lore. If you’d like.”

“Lore,” Webb echoed, with a little smile. “I like it.”

Lore’s hair started to coil with smoke again, like an overclocked teapot. Ariadne was politely pretending not to notice.

“What do you want to do next, Webb?” she asked, leaning her head against Faraday’s shoulder. “Should we head back out right away? We’d planned to go to the Drawing Dead to meet with another one of Webb’s contacts…”

“Though I’m less confident that interaction will end positively,” Webb said dryly, rubbing their face with their hand. They glanced at one of the clocks on the wall. It was just shy of around nine o’clock in the evening. The Drawing Dead would just be getting into full swing shortly, they knew, and since it catered largely to creatures of the night, it typically wouldn’t wind down until shortly before sunrise—around five or six o’clock in the morning.

That gave them plenty of time. They were a little on the tired side, and there was more that they could do here, where they knew they were safe: research, rest, spending a bit more time with the others and seeing if there was anything more that they knew that might be useful. They still had their notebook to check in on to see if the Inquisitor had written anything back. And it was possible that something unexpected could happen when they were out, leaving them in a bad place and low on fumes.

On the other hand, they now had a whole new lead to add to the pot, and the longer they delayed, the more likely it was that something could happen to Jenny Lim and her companions before they had a chance to intervene. That is, if they were targets for trouble, and if Webb could do anything about it either way. There was also Sia Sileny Belmont to potentially get in touch with or learn more about, as well as the vampire that Ariadne had met with before.

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“Things… aren’t okay,” Webb said, very slowly. The words felt leaden on their tongue. “Actually things are a bit of a mess. I came… to ask for your help.”

As soon as the words were out of their mouth, Webb realized they were true. They weren’t entirely sure they knew until that moment, and they weren’t quite certain how they felt about it, either. They licked their lips, crumpling the paper slightly in their hand.

“I’m… being targeted for some reason. Or, more like, being used. I don’t think that the targeting is personal except that someone is using me to lure my customers out to become eternally dispensing Vampire Free Slurpee Day machines, and the Inquisitors are after me, which is, you know, extremely stressful! They’re ghosts with swords! They’re probably lurking in my house playing my Nintendo Switch! I don’t know if I can go home now, or ever, and I don’t have anybody to turn to, which is why I’m here talking to the air in a haunted-ass castle in front of two people I met this evening and one person who I’ve never actually seen and might be one of the people fucking me over, I don’t know—”

Ariadne made a little noise under her breath. Webb saw Faraday reach out and squeeze her arm, his expression drawn, his eyebrows furrowed.

“But the thing is,” Webb continued raggedly, “either you’re an extremely twisted asshole with way too much time on your hands, or you’re innocent in this, or you’re being used like I am, because otherwise me spending time here, and, you know, all the rest of it, it would be a pretty messed up game, you know? I don’t know why you are the way you are, whatever that way is, but you’ve been kind to me, and since I’m apparently really over this whole evening, let’s just be out with it and call it a night.”

Webb flung their arms out wide, heart hammering so hard they swore they felt like they’d just been sprinting for their life. Their breath was coming fast, audible and ragged in the sudden silence. They pointedly turned to face the room, not ready to look at Ariadne and Faraday now, or maybe ever again.

Something impacted the back of their legs. They let out a soft curse, losing their balance and overbalancing, falling back abruptly—into the embrace of an armchair that had suddenly slid across the rug directly behind them.

“Whoa—” Faraday’s voice, startled, followed by Ariadne’s concerned, “Webb??”

“I—” Webb began, voice failing as one of the thick blankets draped over the nearby ottoman lifted up and was unceremoniously dumped over Webb’s head. They heard a thump from the fireplace and tugged the blanket down to see ash and embers drifting down from where a fresh log had just been tossed into it.

For a moment, Webb thought that the smoke curling around them was coming from the fire. But there was too much of it, and it was too dark, and it seemed to be coiling closer, slowly forming into a humanoid shape. It stretched out its arms, wisps of inky blackness—that Webb suddenly realized was more shadow than smoke—forming into delicate hands that lightly picked up the blanket’s edges and tucked it properly back around Webb.

As Webb stared up at the shape forming in front of them, they watched glossy black hair tumble down around the shape’s narrow shoulders. They had a heart-shaped face with expressive brows—despite being entirely made of shadows—that were creased in worry, and they visibly seemed to draw in a breath, though surely they didn’t need one.

“It sounds like you’ve had a very rough night,” they said in a soft voice. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I can help, but if I can, I will.” They bowed their head. “You’re safe here with me.”

Webb’s breath caught. They heard a ragged noise from their throat that they weren’t emotionally ready to claim as their own.

The Curator straightened up, a motion that was both very real and somehow very other, still looking down at Webb. Despite them not really having eyes to speak of, Webb still felt their gaze keenly. “Why don’t you, um, both of you, go ahead and… have a seat,” they offered to Ariadne and Faraday. “I mean you no harm, I promise.”

Webb glanced over to see Ariadne slowly relaxing from where she’d hunkered down in a feral-looking crouch, eyes gleaming, blackened claws extending from her fingertips. The brightness in her eyes faded as they flickered between Webb and the Curator, then slowly relaxed, although her posture still remained attentive and wary. Protective—not of Faraday, who seemed to be feigning nonchalance, but of Webb.

They didn’t know how to feel about that, either.

“It’s fine,” they muttered, tugging the blanket a little more tightly around themself. “We wanted to talk so let’s just… sit down and talk.”

The Curator watched as Ariadne and Faraday sat down in the other chairs, then turned their attention back to Webb, ducking their head slightly.

“Can I… fetch tea for everyone?” they offered. At the chorus of polite agreement, the Curator took a drifting step towards the other room, then paused again. “Webb generally prefers Earl Gray. Milk, extra bergamot, rose, or lavender if available. However, as it’s already growing quite late, if you’d like something else…”

Webb started to answer, but found that their voice had completely given up the ghost. They felt a stinging sensation in their eyes, a burning at the back of their throat. Rather than respond, they just nodded helplessly, shoving their face into the blanket and breathing in deeply, trying to keep their shoulders from shaking.

“… maybe something like a chamomile,” they heard Faraday suggest politely. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“Ah, a-alright, I’ll… be right back,” the Curator stammered, still in that breathlessly soft tone, sounding somewhat flustered. Webb felt the breeze stir their hair as they vanished from sight.

It was quiet in the sitting room after that. Rain continued to patter gently against the roof and windows, and the fire crackled. An armchair creaked as Faraday or Ariadne shifted; Webb heard them murmuring softly to each other.

Webb tugged their hat off, pushing their sunglasses back up into their unruly hair, and pressed the heels of their hands against their eyes, rubbing until they saw spots and stars. They breathed in through their nose, then out through their mouth, and looked up at the others balefully.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me make you forget this ever happened?” they suggested.

Ariadne had jumped a little when addressed, but then just made a face, wrinkling her nose. “Not likely,” she huffed. Then, more gently: “It’s… it’s fine, Webb. I get it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Webb said breezily. “Obviously this is all going to plan, isn’t it?”

Faraday raised an eyebrow. “Well… we are, in fact, here and speaking with the Curator, yes. I suppose in that sense you are perfectly correct.”

“So just follow my lead and try not to think about my feelings at all, ever, at any time,” Webb suggested.

“Ah, yes,” Faraday said dryly. “I do see that works out so well for you.”

“They have a bed, and a bathtub,” Ariadne interrupted. “Do you think they can use it??”

“Ariadne! That’s rude,” Faraday murmured.

“It’s not! I’ve just never met one of the shadowfolk before. I’m curious!”

Shadowfolk. Webb had heard of them, but the stories surrounding them were even wilder than most. Unstudied, usually unseen… they were the monster’s monster. All that Webb knew for certain was that they were able to shapeshift and pass through shadows, and that—supposedly—they showed themself to portend doom.

That figured.

Doom reappeared very shortly bearing a tea tray piled high with steaming teacups and a pile of Little Debbie Devil Cremes. Webb knew what kind of cakes they were specifically because, they suspected, the Curator kept them on hand just for Webb.

“What the fuck,” Webb whispered, immediately shoving one directly in their mouth.

The Curator settled themself on one of the other chairs, legs crossed, fingers fidgeting slightly. At rest, they seemed perfectly formed and humanoid, down to the smallest details; Webb could make out the thread pattern of their shirt and the small indent to their upper lip, despite the fact that they’d reformed entirely out of nothing right before their eyes.

“So…” the Curator said hesitantly, looking back and forth between them all. “I got… a lot of what you were telling me, but I’ll admit, it was all a bit… much. I did mean it when I said I wanted to help, but perhaps… proper introductions are in order, first? And then… I suppose I owe you something of an explanation, and I’m happy to… to answer questions, though I’ll admit… I’m not sure where to start.”

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“Well,” said Faraday, his voice low and seeming overly-loud in the darkened hall, “I suppose that’s as direct as one could expect.”

Webb took a step forward towards the stairwell. They’d never actually been upstairs before—and had certainly never been here at night. They usually let themself in when it was quiet, but well-lit; one of the downstairs doors would be open, leading into a small sitting room where tea would be waiting, hot and steaming as if freshly poured, though Webb never saw anybody set it down.

Their relationship with the Curator had begun early on in their career. Back then, before they’d really built up their network, they’d posted some flyers around asking for tips and sightings. They hadn’t bothered with online—that was a swift route to a lot of spam and garbage.

Shortly after that, they’d received what would become the first of many letters that they’d exchanged with the Curator: a peculiar pen pal at first, but one that had graduated to an invitation to the Curator’s home, when more sensitive information was involved, it seemed. The types of tips they received from the Curator varied greatly, but were generally reliable, though they asked never to be credited as the source.

Webb had asked questions throughout the years, of course—how could they not be curious about who or what the Curator was?—but was met each time with a gentle rebuff. They’d thought it best not to push the boundaries too much and risk losing a valuable contact.

They were a combination of both intrigued and uneasy as they began to head upstairs, glancing back only briefly to confirm that Ariadne and Faraday were behind them. The stairs creaked gently as they proceeded, their hand gripping the railing tightly.

“Webb?” Ariadne whispered. “Are you sure about this…?”

“Of course,” Webb lied. Then, more assuredly: “I’m curious, more than anything. I… I think it’ll be fine.”

I trust them almost came to Webb’s lips, but was quickly discarded. They didn’t know the Curator well enough to trust them, they reminded themself. Webb didn’t think they knew anybody well enough for that. And wasn’t this whole ludicrous day happening because they’d extended even the most minuscule amount of confidence in other people and were being soundly punished for it?

Even so, some of the nicest days they could remember over the last lonely decade were spent curled up in the Curator’s sitting room, listening to quiet music playing and reading what the Curator had set out for them. Letters, of course—at first simply briefs outlining rumors, information, and leads. But over time, the letters occasionally asked about Webb. What kind of tea they liked. Were there any snacks they preferred? What did they like to read?

And the next time they visited, there was new tea, and the requested snacks, and a book with a little note outlining what the Curator liked best about it. At first, they preferred that Webb read the book in the sitting room, rather than take it home with them, but over time that changed as well.

As long as you tell me all about it later, the letter had read.

“I don’t know if they can… hear or see us,” Webb said quietly, hesitating as they reached the second floor landing. It was dark here as well; Webb could see curtains fluttering in the high arched window, the dim light from the street and the flicker of Ariadne’s flashlight illuminating several enormous bookshelves and another narrow hallway. “Sometimes I’d talk to them as though they could hear me, but—I mean. Maybe I just like hearing the sound of my own voice.”

“That is something I’d picked up about you,” Faraday murmured.

Webb didn’t deign to respond to that, continuing up the stairs. Every time they seemed to be approaching the darkness looming ahead, another light flickered on.

Webb examined one as they passed by. It was an old-fashioned type of lamp, designed to look a little like an ensconced lantern. They reached out to turn the small knob, flicking the light off, then on again.

“I don’t smell anybody…” Ariadne said, pressing up close to Webb’s side. Her face was tilted up, her tongue wetting her lips. “Outside of the two of you, obviously.”

“And how good’s your sense of smell?”

“Extremely good,” Ariadne said.

Webb paused. “And how do I smell?” they asked. They weren’t sure why. Sometimes words just came out of their mouth and then they had to deal with the consequences.

Ariadne scrunched up her nose, sticking her tongue out a little. “Also extremely good.”

Ah, yes. Well, they were magic-blooded now, after all. Though that thought gave them pause.

“… you must have known the entire time that I wasn’t… that I was…” Webb trailed off, giving her a slightly accusatory look.

Ariadne just shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me if it became relevant, but before that, it was none of my business.”

Webb let out a heavy breath, but then just continued onwards. They’d think about how that made them feel a little later.

The winding stairwell ended, finally, at the top of the tower, opening up into a spacious library and reading room. A crackling fire in a massive fireplace cut through the chill of the nighttime air. The room was full of antiques and oddities: a delicate globe in a golden stand, a carving of a raven perched and looming from a bookshelf, glass cases behind which there were even more books and coins and statuettes.

As with the downstairs sitting room, on each wall hung several oaken-framed paintings of beautiful vistas—sunsets, mountain ranges, and ocean views. There was also another door out of the sitting room that seemed to exit into a bedroom; Webb could see the edge of a four-poster bed and what seemed to be a clawfoot bathtub.

Faraday let out a soft, low whistle. Ariadne tugged on Webb’s sleeve and whispered. “On the table, there.”

Webb looked to where she was pointing and saw a neatly-folded piece of crisp, heavy paper. They hesitated for only a moment before picking it up, thumbing it open. In the Curator’s neat cursive, it read:

Is everything okay?

Webb swallowed hard, staring down at that, reading the three words over and over again. They’d practiced everything in their head already: be honest, but not too honest, be cautious, try to pry for information, keep it simple, but now that they were here in this place that felt melancholy and comfortable and strange all at once… should they leave a letter and go, like they usually did? Should they talk out loud and just… wonder if anybody would answer, though they never had before?

There was also the fact that Ariadne and Faraday were here, too. Webb had a relationship with the Curator, of a sort—these two were complete strangers. Would they get a different reaction if they asked to speak with the Curator privately?

And as for that question, what… what could they say to that?

[Please suggest or +1 an action in the comments.

As a reminder, it can be thoughts, words, deeds, or curiosities!]

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[Content warning: spiders]

The Curator lived in an actual, honest-to-goodness stone tower tucked away in a heavily-forested neighbourhood with a fantastic view of the city and the valley below. Webb caught more than a handful of heads turning as Ariadne’s bike rumbled down the quiet, winding streets, lit by pools of light cast by evenly-spaced streetlamps.

Eventually, the streetlamps became fewer and further between. Distantly, it occurred to Webb that they’d invited Ariadne out to an extremely secluded secondary location, which was Don’t Get Murdered 101, but it was too late to back out now.

Ariadne rolled to a stop in front of the tower gates, killing the ignition. “Wow,” she said, muffled under the helmet. “Would you get a load of this place.”

Heavy trees and a thick hedge walled the Curator’s property away from the road. The tower itself was barely visible from the gate aside from the vague, looming shape and a single top-floor window lit with a soft orange glow.

“Well, looks like somebody’s home, at least,” Ariadne added as she dismounted, offering a hand to help Webb off as well. They grasped it tightly—then didn’t release it as they stood in front of her, heart racing.

“Yeah,” they said hoarsely. “Listen. Ariadne. There’s something I need to talk to you about before we head inside.”

Webb couldn’t see her expression, but her head tilted to the side, and she squeezed Webb’s hand uncertainly in return. “… of course. What is it?”

“Not here,” said Webb. Glancing around, they spied a copse of trees whose foliage was so heavy that it had created at least a little bit of a shield from the drizzling rain. “This way.”

They tugged Ariadne that way. She took a seat, gingerly, on a bit of fallen log and took her helmet off, shaking out her hair and looking up at them with a concerned expression. “Should Faraday be listening to this or…?”

Webb pulled off their helmet as well, trusting to the extremely dim light to obscure their eyes, for now. “Is… that an option? You didn’t tell me where he was.”

“Well, if you don’t mind…” Ariadne slid a hand into her hood and pulled out a massive, palm-sized spider that immediately started to climb up her wrist.

To their credit, Webb didn’t let out more than a small, indignant noise of surprise. “Oh.” A pause. “Well, why didn’t he do that earlier?”

“It takes a bit of time to cast, and he has to take off all his stuff like his wallet and phone,” Ariadne said as she gave Faraday-the-spider a little kiss, then set him down on her lap. “But it does make him very cute and portable.”

There was a slight shimmer in the air, as though something were being unravelled. A moment later, Faraday was sprawled halfway across Ariadne’s lap, bracing himself on the log. He was still wearing that brightly-colored coat; as Webb watched, some of the pieces of embroidery seemed to skitter and chase each other across the fabric until they eventually settled into place again.

“I won’t ask if you missed me,” Faraday murmured. He seemed to take in the mood pretty quickly, glancing around the darkened woods, brows creasing a little. “Is this the place?”

“Yeah,” Ariadne said. “But Webb said they had something they wanted to tell us, first…?”

Webb had crossed their arms, just watching this byplay with a ticking sense of nervousness. On the one hand, a vampire and a witch surely would have some sympathy, what with having visible weird powers of their own. On the other hand, Webb sure had put themself in a great position to be murdered if this went south.

They drew in a breath. “I needed to know if I could trust you,” they said, before they could change their mind. “This has all been a lot to deal with, and you’re strangers, and you’re asking a lot of me. So, I used magic on Ariadne.”

They both seemed startled, but not immediately angry—that was a good sign, at least.

Ariadne touched her own cheek with one gloved hand. “Oh,” she said softly. “I’d thought I’d felt… something. But I don’t remember… What did you do?” She seemed troubled, understandably wary.

“I can compel people to tell the truth,” Webb said. “I can also make people forget things, within reason. Adjust perception, rewrite memory. And a little bit of compulsion, but I haven’t ever…”

“What did you do to her?” Faraday asked, his voice low and even.

“I just asked if she was lying to me about this, and what your motivations really were. She answered truthfully, and I made her forget I’d asked. That’s all.”

Ariadne turned her phone around a few times, then set it on her lap, thumbing it to flashlight mode and illuminating the small space around them. Rather than turn away, Webb let her examine their face, taking in their appearance, the almost catlike gleam of their eyes in the darkness.

“… well,” Ariadne said after a moment, with a sigh and a bit of a wry smile. “I suppose I can’t really hold it against you, under the circumstances. Besides, I can do something a little similar. I’ve done worse and I’m not proud of it.”

Vampiric mesmer. Webb knew about that, though they hadn’t wanted to be the first to bring it up. Vampires were known to be able to charm and otherwise coerce and influence those they wanted to bring under their thrall. They were pretty sure they’d be able to notice if Ariadne tried something like that, but as for whether or not they’d be able to resist…

Webb’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve never hurt anybody with it,” they muttered. “But it’d make things complicated if people knew.”

“They start to look at you a little different?” Faraday prompted, giving Ariadne’s knee a little squeeze. “Yeah. We know.”

“… I get it,” says Ariadne. “I mean. I really get it. And… it’s okay. I’m glad you got some reassurance, and I hope it means we can work together a little better. As long as you promise not to do it to us again without consent, I’ll also give my word that I’ll never do anything like that to you, either.”

She looked very serious, slightly troubled still, but she favored Webb with a small smile when they gave her a nod.

Faraday stretched out with a sigh, then rose up, stepping a little closer to Webb. “You want to ask me too, don’t you?” he asked, reaching out to tilt Webb’s chin up with his fingers. His hands were fine-boned, lightly callused, and warm to the touch. Webb froze in place, staring up as an electric buzz ran through them, practically rooting them to the ground.

“Uh,” said Webb. Behind Faraday, they swore they heard Ariadne giggle.

“Go ahead,” Faraday prompted. “Do I need to do anything, or…?”

Webb finally regained control of their fine motor skills and grabbed Faraday’s wrist, tugging it down. “No,” they snapped. “Just—don’t look away.”

“The view is nice,” Faraday said agreeably.

Webb enthralled him out of sheer self-preservation at that point. At least when Faraday’s expression softened, vague and pliant, Webb no longer felt like a butterfly pinned to a card. Their cheeks still burned.

“Have you been lying to me?” they asked through gritted teeth.

“No,” came the dreamlike answer.

“What do you want to get out of working with me?”

“I want to try to do good,” Faraday said slowly. This was a more complex question; it seemed to take him a moment to sort through his thoughts and find what was most true. “I want to support Ariadne. And… I want to get to know you.”

Webb closed their eyes, feeling the connection between them drop. They drew in a breath through their nose, then huffed it out again.

There was always the off chance that either Ariadne or Faraday could be lying to them. Webb didn’t really know the extent of their own abilities, though they did know that any ability could technically be countered by willpower, magic power, or otherwise. Faraday was a witch—who knew what wards or tricks he had up his sleeve?

But as much as Webb preferred to keep themself separate from other people, they did understand people. They’d learned to read body language and pick up on subtle tells and how to coax for information and guide people into sales.

They felt like they could trust these two, even if they weren’t sure they were ready to.

“… you’re fine,” they muttered. “We should… I mean, that’s enough. We should head inside.”

“Sure,” said Ariadne, as Faraday turned back to look at her. “Thanks, Webb. For telling us, I mean.” She paused, chewing at her lower lip. “Can I ask… I mean, not to be rude, but what are you? Were you always able to do that, or was it the valefication?”

Webb grimaced, a lie immediately forming on the tip of their tongue… but they felt like they owed them more than that. Maybe not everything. But more.

“I’m human. I just… had a run-in with the fae,” they said, tone a little terse. “About a decade ago. A chance encounter. I was… changed, after.” They tugged off their hat, letting their untidy hair tumble free, revealing the pointed tips of their ears.

Ariadne’s eyes had widened. Faraday looked intrigued and a little worried. Webb hauled their hat back on before he could say anything or—worst case scenario—try to touch them.

“It’s not a big deal,” Webb said hastily. “I just… I mean. You asked. So there we go. It’s fucking cold out here, though, so can we please…?”

Ariadne looked torn, but nodded. “Yeah. We can… of course. What are we going to do? Just head inside? Knock at the gate?”

“We could always take a look around, first,” Faraday suggested.

Webb shook their head. “I want to approach this aboveboard if possible. Especially if we’re going in with the assumption that the Curator might be on our side. And if it turns out they’re not…”

“Then we’ve walked directly onto their home turf and have no idea what we’re in for?” Faraday said. Ariadne jabbed him with an elbow. “What! I’m fine with it, I am. We’ll protect Webb if that happens. Which I’m sure it won’t,” he added hastily.

Webb groaned a little, pulling up their hood and putting on their sunglasses. They had no idea if their eyes could affect the Curator—whatever they were—but they probably ought to keep them in reserve either way.

“I usually get an invitation,” they say, leading the way to the gate. It was unlocked, and creaked slightly when they pushed it open. “But… as you said, there’s a light on upstairs, so… yes, let’s knock, and then just see what happens.”

Ariadne and Faraday exchanged glances, but fell in step behind Webb as they made their way up the winding cobblestone walkway. The grounds were overgrown but at least slightly upkept; this late in the season, the flowerbeds were mostly barren, but showed signs of flowers having been in bloom earlier in the year.

The front door was a massive oaken thing with a heavy wooden knocker. Webb reached up to grasp it—and found themself getting a handful of air instead as the door abruptly swung open in front of them.

“Oh,” Ariadne whispered. Webb could hear Faraday suck in a breath.

“Hello?” Webb called out into the entrance hall, taking a hesitant step inside. It had been some weeks since they’d last been here, but it was as they remembered: a wide reception area and hallway, a spiral stairwell off to the left, and several closed doors directly ahead. The room was dim, lit only by the weak light of Ariadne’s phone flashlight, casting warped and looming shadows.

Webb glanced back at the others, then took a step inside, wiping their shoes off on the mat. They heard Faraday and Ariadne following suit—and then, the sound of the door closing behind them.

A lamp flickered on in the stairwell, light pooling against the glossy hardwood and marking a clear pathway further up into the Curator’s tower.

[Please suggest or +1 an action in the comments.

As a reminder, it can be thoughts, words, deeds, or curiosities!]

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[ Please read the kickoff post before commenting! ] 

Ariadne made the decision easy by immediately starting to fill Faraday in on everything they’d learned so far, particularly Lekha’s disappearance after taking the Hallow Society job and Sia’s unexpected vampirism.

Faraday nodded along, taking that in with a slight frown as Ariadne paused only when the server came by to pour him some coffee. Webb, hungry again after having barely been able to pick at their dinner, ordered something called a Cheesesteak Melt Hashbrown Bowl out of sheer masochistic curiosity.

“So that’s where we’re at,” Ariadne murmured after the server stepped away again. “It’s something, at least.”

“Who gave you the tip you ended up passing along to Sia?” Faraday asked Webb.

Webb frowned, curling their hands around their coffee cup. “It was Pax.”

“So that’s one maybe traceable to Pax, the other to the Hallow Society…”

“Or she could have just become a vampire totally independently of all that. I mean, you didn’t mention anything about recruits being part of the whole thing,” Webb pointed out, looking at Ariadne.

“No, but that’s definitely something Grimm does,” Ariadne said. “Maybe it just… depends on the person? Or his whims? I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Vampire lords don’t go around making everyone into vampires, obviously, but growing your clan and keeping them loyal to you is part of the whole… thing.”

She’d started to look a little unhappy again, as she’d done previously when talking about Grimm. Again, Webb felt that unsettling little twist in their stomach thinking about having pried the truth out of her about an obviously personal subject.

They did what they had to do, they reminded themself. She didn’t need to know—about it, or about Webb. They didn’t think she’d hold the magic part against him, not exactly—it was pretty common for humans to pick up magical abilities or undergo some sort of transformation in their lives. Some people took it well, embracing their new life with excitement and enthusiasm, casting off their perceived mundanity wholeheartedly. Others struggled with it, especially if it upended their previous life; Webb had heard of families splintered, relationships lost, paths irrevocably altered.

Close to the valley like this, you had to just accept the supernatural as part of your life. But further out… there was still a lot of fear, and confusion, and misunderstanding. And even with other supernatural creatures, an ability like Webb’s wasn’t always welcome.

To be fair, there was a lot to potentially be afraid of. “Did you have any trouble with the Inquisitors on the way here?” Webb asked Faraday.

He shook his head. “There was just the one that I saw, and they followed you for a bit before heading back. It just took me a bit longer to catch up. Ariadne is a menace on city streets.”

“That reminds me, Webb. How far away is the Curator’s place?

“About a fifteen minute drive,” said Webb. “So… we’ll have to figure out a way to get over there, with all three of us.”

Faraday stretched out in his seat, giving Webb a little wink. “Now that we have a little more time and aren’t immediately being pursued by a blade-wielding phantom, I’m sure I can manage something.”

Webb frowned at him the entire time that the server was setting a plate down between them. They picked up a fork and immediately impaled a stack of potato. “Well, isn’t that lucky.”

“I do my best to please,” Faraday said easily.

Webb shot a glance at Ariadne, betrayed to find that she was just grinning, teeth indenting her lower lip a little as she tried to stifle it, eyes widening. “What?” she asked.

“Did you find out anything more about Sia?” Webb opted to change the subject instead.

“I’m just signing up for an account to subscribe to locked content,” Ariadne said, flashing Webb a peace sign. “If it turns out she’s connected to Grimm, maybe she’ll let something slip that we can use, and if not.” She shrugged, and smiled. “I get to see titties, I guess?”

“Truly, you can’t lose,” Webb said dryly. “You didn’t already have an account of your own?”

“If you mean to subscribe, no—other vampires really don’t do a lot for me,” she said, easygoing. “And if you mean to release my own content, no, but I’m happy you’d think I’d be a hit.” She crept a hand out to try to steal one of Webb’s hashbrowns.

“Did I say that?” Webb lightly slid the plate out of the way. “And don’t be crass. You have to have the whole bite at once. You have to understand the whole Waffle House culinary balance of flavors they’ve got going on.” They held the fork up to Ariadne’s lips instead.

Her eyes widened a little, but she obediently leaned forward and ate the bite off Webb’s fork.

Webb, who realized what they’d done about a second too late to stop themself, just stared back at her, then pulled the fork back and returned to eating, trying to brush that off by immediately pretending it hadn’t happened.

“… here,” Faraday said after a moment, bemused, glancing between Ariadne and Webb. “Let me grab my credit card for you.”

“You don’t need to buy my nudes, babe.”

“For the subscription…”

Webb sank down in their seat a little, grateful that the moment had passed. Unfortunately, they liked flirting with people. And they were very interested in pretty blonds wearing leather who rode motorcycles and would clearly be down for a little light bloodplay.

But obviously, under the circumstances, every part of that was a bad idea. For one thing, there was no time to fuck around when they were being hunted down, their livelihood was completely uprooted, and peoples’ lives potentially hung in the balance. It was irresponsible and also frankly way too much pressure.

Then there was the fact that Webb’s usual “relationships” had an approximate typical duration of twelve hours maximum. They met plenty of people out and about Hallow Point, got to know them well enough to get invited to a room or an appropriately secluded corner or movie theatre, and that was it. No morning after, no second date.

Not only did they not follow up or stick around, they also made most of their dates forget that that was an option.

Webb didn’t use their abilities very often. They’d been a normal human, once upon a time. But sometimes things happened, and sometimes those things weren’t very pleasant, and you woke up in the hospital with your life in shambles and the ability to influence peoples’ thoughts and memories with eyes that were distinctly not human anymore.

They’d fallen into a deep depression for several years after that, withdrawing from any relationships, shutting themself away from the world that they didn’t want any part of. And even when they eventually came crawling back… well, they didn’t want anybody else knowing what they could do, or what they really looked like under their hat and behind their sunglasses.

They never coerced anybody into anything, of course. But a little mesmerizing could make most people forget all about the way Webb’s eyes were an unnatural yellow-green, and the way that other parts of their body were not quite right anymore. And it could also make it so Webb never got a follow-up text or call. Webb could be a pleasant moment that they remembered distantly like a dream they put behind them and moved on with their life, much better without Webb in it.

Ariadne and Faraday clearly had a good thing going on. They were obviously, to Webb’s mild despair, nice people. Webb could help them out a little, figure out how they themself wanted to start over somewhere else, and be done with it. No getting involved. No making mistakes.

Webb pushed their plate away, finished off their cup of coffee, and stood up. “I’m going to the restroom. Let’s head out after that.”

Ariadne nodded, wiggling Faraday’s credit card between her fingertips. “I’ll settle the bill.”

Tucked away in the stall, Webb tugged out their notebook again. No message from the Inquisitor. Propelled and inspired by their own personal commitment to making bad decisions, Webb pulled out a pack of crayons they’d lifted on their way past the hostess’ podium and carefully drew a simple cartoon of a horned figure wielding a sword, their ghostly ‘hair’ wiggling off towards the edge of the page. Then they drew a little heart next to it.

Snapping the book shut, Webb slid it, and the crayons into their jacket again. They finished up, washed up, and headed back out to find Ariadne waiting outside by herself, a helmet under each arm.

“Ready to go?” she asked, a smile lighting up her face.

It made Webb’s steps falter. They weren’t used to people seeming genuinely pleased to see them. And in this case, they absolutely didn’t deserve it. This was pretty much the first time they could remember that they had to look someone in the eye for more than a farewell after they’d messed with their head, and it felt… not good.

Webb shivered a little, tugging their sleeves down slightly and hugging their elbows. “Yeah,” they muttered. “Faraday just going to meet up with us again later?”

Ariadne patted her bag. “I’ve got his stuff,” she said, which wasn’t quite an answer. “You seem cold… do you want his sweater? It’ll be worse once we start riding…”

The late autumn air was getting chillier and chillier as night had fully fallen. Webb had a thin rainproof jacket over their cardigan, but it wasn’t much against the wind when they were blazing down the street, and their pant hems were still damp.

“Absolutely not,” they said, reaching out to take the helmet. “Let’s get going. I’ll give you directions…”

It was weirder, this time, settling onto the bike with Ariadne, arms wrapped around her waist. Webb tried to put it out of their mind. Focus on figuring out what to do next, they reminded themself. How much did they want to tell the Curator? How did they want to approach the line of questioning? To that point, how were they going to approach the tower in the first place? Just walk up and knock on the door? Or try to snoop around a little first?

They tried to think about that, and only that, as the ignition roared to life and Ariadne sent them peeling away from the Waffle House and into the night.

[Please suggest or +1 an action in the comments.

As a reminder, it can be thoughts, words, deeds, or curiosities!]

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Well… I didn’t quite get back on track with the earlier post because I failed to finish before I had to run D&D. But every day is a new opportunity. Earlier post tomorrow. So grateful for everyone’s participation and comments so far! Hope you’re enjoying! ♥