Archie had never been drunk before.

Sure, he had tried a drink or two after his twenty-first birthday, but he had quickly decided that alcohol wasn't for him. The constant buzz in his head, the gurgling of his stomach, the warmth that clung to the back of his jaw and danced across his ears. He didn't like it. The slower cognitive speed, the slurring and stumbling over his words, and the delayed response time. He didn't like it.

The lights of the club were invigorating as the beat of the thumping subwoofers found its way into Archie's body and moved his limbs along with it. Laughter echoed in his ears; some of it even sounded like his. Gangly limbs flailed about rhythmically, and cheering encouraged further display. He had even managed to find himself a tie at some point throughout the night; it was now wrapped around his head.

Archie was drunk.

But for the first time in his life, he didn't seem to mind. Harri was enjoying herself, dancing and laughing alongside him. The cute bartender kept topping up his drinks, and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Archie felt like he actually had a chance with her. Maybe alcohol really could solve all of his problems? He fell into a hypnotic trance, letting go of his thoughts as he became one with the music, distancing himself from everyone around him, and letting the warm feeling in his belly lull him into an idyllic place.

The music fell into a decrescendo, a hush falling over the dancefloor. Tension hung in the air before the tweeter suddenly started to build, a snare and high hat queued up the beat, before suddenly the entire club burst out in unison as the bass dropped.

"I'M NOT GRAY!"

The 'Calder City Blues' was a favourite track among the city's mundane population. Originally a viral clip from an interview at a horrific crime scene involving the abduction of three children under twelve, the mother had lamented, 'I'm not gray,' to the reporters seemingly unprompted, leading to numerous remixes. The most popular of which was of course 'Calder City Blues', a heavy house track by DJ R3TCH!D R@T.

You couldn't walk down Milk Street during the evening without hearing the familiar beat pumping from behind the doors of its various clubs. 'The Haunt' in particular was known to host R3CH!D R@T frequently, and tonight was one such event.

The strobing lights followed the resumed tempo, pulsing along with the meter as the dance floor exploded. Archie had never had this much fun in his entire life, but a strange sensation was washing over him. It started in his toes and went all the way to his head. The room began to spin, and he stumbled forward, pushing himself off a nearby support column before stumbling into a pair of women. He heard laughter again, but this time it sounded like it was only his, followed by the sound of shattering glass and curse-laden shrieks.

He needed another drink.

Approaching the bar, he managed to flag down another bartender, re-ordering the cocktail that Carmilla had made for him, although she was nowhere to be seen. He pouted into his drink, looking around for the buxom, raven-haired beauty, hoping to weaponize his liquid courage for the good of getting her number, or at least her 'Snapshot' handle.

"How many of those have you had?"

Harri suddenly appeared beside Archie, causing him to jump, spilling the drink in his hand before he sloppily bent down and slurped up as much as he could so as not to lose the magical elixir that was responsible for the thus far best night of his life.

"Only like three," Archie replied, holding up a hand with five splayed fingers. "I don't tell you enough how pretty you are."

"That's sweet, but you're very drunk. Not a good look, Mr. Hardwick." Harri shook her head, "You need water and grease, like yesterday."

"I need you, like yesterday," Archie replied, his words slurred as he attempted to playfully poke Harri, not realizing the force he put behind his finger. She winced, quickly pushing his hand away before Archie opened his mouth again, his glassy eyes batting eyelashes that looked like they came straight out of a Maybelline ad towards her.

"Our babies would be smart and beautiful."

"I'm more surprised you can still manage three-syllable words. What are you drinking?" Harri asked, taking the glass from Archie's hand before batting his hand away from petting her hair. She took a sniff of the glass before a small taste. Her eyes widened as she shook her head.

"Oh, hun, you are going to have the worst hangover. This is pure sugar." Harri replied, "We need to get you to a greasy spoon stat, coffee, bacon and water. That's all you're getting from this point on."

"But I want the magic juice," Archie pouted, piquing up as Carmilla reappeared behind the bar.

"How's my favourite customer?"

"He should be cut off." Harri interjected, putting herself between Archie and Carmilla, "Is he all settled up? We're about to leave."

"Oh," Carmilla replied, looking from Harri back to Archie, "Is this your girlfriend?"

Archie stared back at Carmilla; he hadn't previously noticed the colour of her eyes. The subtle hues of gray mixed in with her blue reflected the light of the club, giving them almost a supernatural violet glow. He felt drawn in, forgetting the question or Harri for a moment as he froze like a gazelle caught in a snare by a hungry lioness. The stillness of his mind was broken, his internal monologue waking up and snapping him back to reality.

Say something smooth, you idiot.

"Not if you're available," Archie replied, making a finger gun and following it with a clicking noise out of the side of his mouth.

"Sorry," Harri interjected, her jaw agape. "I've never seen him like this; he's pretty wasted."

"He is pretty," Carmilla replied, "I think he's cute."

"I guess," Harri shrugged, "If you're into that kind of thing." Her voice trailed off as she realized that Archie was hanging onto her every word. Scratching the side of her head, Harri looked at her feet, pursing her lips before tucking a strand of straightened hair behind her ear.

Archie stared at Harri. The side of his face twitched slightly. What did she just say? After all this time, he felt like a burden had been lighted, only it was a damper that just stoked a fire.

If you're into that kind of thing? Where does she get off? I've been buying her drinks all night. If you're into that kind of thing? What kind of thing does she think I am? She does realize I'm a person, a person with feelings, right? Feelings for her, especially. I thought we were friends and she doesn't even think of me as more than a thing?

"Uh," She cleared her throat, "We really do need to get you something on your stomach that's not sugar or liquor." Harri insisted, gently wrapping an arm around one of Archie's.

"No," Archie stated flatly before finishing the drink he held in his hand. His knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping the glass. Shifting his body, Archie turned away from Harri, hunching his back and looking straight down at the counter.

"No, I'm staying here, where people like me." He replied bitterly, pushing the empty glass forward for a refill.

"Archie, c'mon. You're drunk, you're not seeing things for what they are-"

"No, I think I'm seeing things pretty clearly," He snapped angrily. He slammed the glass down on the bar rail before standing up from the stool. Taking a step back, Archie stumbled, nearly falling to the floor before Harri caught him. Taking hold of the countertop, he shook her off before straightening his shirt and standing up.

"I've got to hit the head, don't wait for me." He stated, swaying back and forth as he did before spinning around and heading for the bathroom.

"I'm so sorry," Harri apologized behind Archie to Carmilla, "I've never seen him act like that."

"I don't think it's me you have to apologize to," Carmilla replied, cleaning a glass as she watched Archie walk toward the restrooms. "I'll watch out for him if you want to take off. Maybe give him some space until cooler and more sober heads prevail."

"Nah," Harri shook her head, "I think you've done enough for tonight."

Pushing through the crowd, Archie continued his way towards the washrooms only to realize the size of the line leading to the men's. Apparently, someone had managed to fudge their way through a code inspection since there was no way the bathrooms were undersized enough to cause a line of this length.

Shaking his head, he felt the need to urinate rapidly rising within him as his eyes darted back and forth across the club, looking for an alternative option. Seeing no other signs indicating a second bathroom, his eyes landed on an exit sign to the adjacent alley.

Hastily pushing through the crowd, Archie burst the door open, the cool night air doing him no favours before he ducked around a corner and found himself a secluded spot amid dumpsters and shadows. The zipper on his pants echoed in the quiet alley before being replaced by the steady stream of what felt like a firehose worth of piss he had to unload from his bladder.

Relief washed over Archie. There were few sensations he had experienced that felt better than this did in the moment.

"Yo!" The voice called angrily.

"What the #&$% do you think you're doing?" The familiar voice added. Archie shook himself out before zipping up his pants. Taking a step back to turn around, he soundly found his face smashed into the nearby brick wall.

And the world went black.

Ow.

His head was spinning. His vision faded in and out. The smell of vomit assaulted Archie's nostrils as he found the strength to push himself up. One side of his face felt like a cat had mauled it from where his skin had roughly dragged against the coarse brick wall. The other side felt swollen and sore; his tongue felt around loose teeth while Archie slowly regained his bearings. He felt like he had been whalloped with a sledgehammer. The smell of vomit refused to dissipate before Archie suddenly realized it was his. He brought an arm to his mouth, vomit staining the cuff of his shirt before he spat the residual from his mouth. Vermillion mixed into the vile substance, as blood flowed freely from his gums and tongue.

His eyes were still seeing stars as Archie tried to piece together what had hit him. He didn't have to look far, however, merely moving his head towards the sound of sneering laughter. Jeers echoed in the alley before another fist pummeled Archie, nearly dropping him to his knees as pain screeched through his entire being. The fist in question shot back, through the air, like a snapped rubber band, while the other dragged along the ground, retracting back to the elastic-like figure it belonged to.

"Pretty Boy ain't lookin' so pretty now."

Right, the @$$#@% from earlier.

Archie rubbed his jaw before turning to look at his assailant. He was flushed from the alcohol and, despite the cooler night air, still warm to the touch. Even still, he felt the sting of his own blood dripping down the side of his face. Panicked eyes darted back and forth from the less-than-kind audience to the busy street towards the front of the club, rapidly surveying the dark alley for an escape. In a fleeting moment of sobriety, Archie cursed himself for not having left with Harri; instead, he was about to experience the World Record for the shortest time with a spine.

"Does this look like a pisser to you, sweetheart?" Jake asked, as Archie shook his head. The problem was that he lost his filter somewhere in the club.

"Definitely looks like a toilet."

"Right," Jake let out a hollow laugh, winding his arm back before it suddenly shot forward, closing the gap and delivering a blow to Archie's abdomen. Unfortunately for Archie, apparently his stomach wasn't empty. It started in the back of his throat, before he exhaled harshly, followed by a retching gag. The limited remnants of a mostly liquid dinner spilled onto the ground in front of him while his eyes saw exploding stars again. The invasive smell of his own vomit caused a third gag while his body tried to empty itself further in revolt.

His ribs felt like they were cracked, and his head was spinning. Hell, even his testicles felt like they had retracted deep into his perineum. Five minutes ago, Archie had considered drinking regularly; right now, he was wishing for the sweet release of death, and luckily for Archie, it seemed like Jake and his Dragons might actually grant that wish.

"I forgot you were funny," Jake finished his statement. "Problem is, this is Dragon turf, and you're defacing Dragon turf."

"Safe to say I didn't hurt property values then." Archie retorted, immediately wincing at his own words.

Inside voice, go back inside now, kay?

"You've got a cajones on ya," Longo smiled, "Surprised you've been hidin' this long."

"I wasn't hiding them," Archie straightened up, wincing as he took a deep breath. "Your mom was busy gargling them."

You definitely should not have said that.

"Ain't nobody comin' ta save ya this time." Jake sneered, cracking his neck before pointing towards Archie. "Kill him." The order didn't exactly come as a shock, though cold-blooded murder felt like a slight escalation. In all of Archie's time in the District Attorney's office, he couldn't recall a single murder being attributed to the Dragons.

But that didn't mean he was going to stand here and wait to find out.

Archie pushed off from the wall, running as fast as he could out of the alley and onto the main street. Normally, running straight into Dairy Way traffic was considered suicide, but in this case, so was staying still. Frankly, Archie was more eager to become a hood ornament than a punching bag.

A horn echoed past his head as he sprinted through traffic. If he had anything left in his stomach, he would have thrown up again. Behind him, the angry din of upset gangbangers echoed after him. But it was the one overhead that worried him the most as Jake used his Gray-abilities to sling shot himself through the air before flattening out and gliding above, easily over taking Archie again.

"Ya know, I was really hopin' ya'd fight," Jake quipped as he landed in front of Archie. "It'd be a lotta more fun for me if ya fought back some."

In his life, Archie had been in a grand total of three fights. The common denominator?

He lost. Everytime.

"Believe it or not," Archie huffed, it was only now, having stopped, that he started to notice how hard his lungs were working. "I'm not really thinking of what's best for you at the moment."

Jake's face turned from a grin to a sneer before another fist rocketed towards Archie. He looked back and forth, trying to get his bearings for somewhere to run. His head was spinning, his knees felt like they could give out at any second, and his feet refused to move. Crossing his arms over his face, Archie closed his eyes and prayed for it all to be over.

Only the punch didn't come.

A scream rang in his ears, prompting Archie to open his eyes. They widened as black fur appeared before him, the large dog snarling loudly, spittle flying from the corners of its clamped maw as rows of razor-sharp teeth held Jake's arm pinned between them.

Archie knew better than to knock a gift dog in its very sharp mouth.

Angry shouts echoed in his ears as Archie began to run again, rounding the corner just in time to disappear before the rest of the Dragons caught up. A howl hauntingly hung in the night behind him, followed by more screams and a horrific crunching sound that Archie wouldn't be able to escape for at least the next week.

Crossing another street, he came to a stop outside of a large bay window before looking around and finally admitting to himself what he had feared the most.

He was lost.

Patting down his pockets, Archie felt for his phone. A sigh of relief echoed down the empty street as he pulled it out, immediately tapping on the missed call notification. Hopefully, Harri would be able to help-

The thought was interrupted as something collided with the side of his jaw. The phone clattered across the pavement just in time for Harri to pick up, and her frantic cries echoed into the night. Archie tried to scramble for the phone, but it was too late. Jake was already on top of him as another rubber fist impacted his rib cage, this time Archie knew for sure that something had cracked.

He barely had time to stand before he saw Jake preparing another blow when out of nowhere red eyes appeared and a pair of heavy paws shoved Archie backwards against the fenestration. The window shattered under the force of Archie's weight being slammed against it. Glass shards flew across the floor while Archie crashed through a display. Numerous lacerations covered his body, pain felt like it was coming from everywhere. A metallic taste filled his mouth, barely noticeable between the numbness and lingering taste of his own vomit. Spitting, blood splayed across the cold wooden floor beneath him.

A pained groan escaped from between his lips as his body refused to respond to his insistence that he move. A bark rang in his eyes, pure adrenaline beginning to take over as he worked solely on survival instinct. Numerous objects filled the dark shop, towering over Archie as he crawled along the ground, searching for a place to hide before finally coming to rest hidden beneath a towering bookshelf.

"Archibald Hardwick..." The whisper felt like it crawled inside his head. His head whipped around side to side, crouching even lower to the ground as he continued to hide behind the bookshelf. Furious voices echoed from outside the shop before the sound of crunching glass alerted Archie that they had entered the store. The aged wooden floor creaked as the Dragons continued to look for Archie. He winced as a sudden crash echoed nearby.

There was no doubt in his mind that they were desperate to tear this place apart to find him.

"Hardwick..." The voice grew more persistent, "I can give you the power you desire."

A growl sent a shiver down his spine as it was followed by a scream. The sound of a body impacting against a wall shook Archie to his core. Another scream echoed across the store, and Archie's nose recoiled as he smelled urine; unfortunately, he quickly realized it was his.

The whispering voice continued to crawl through his skull, it bordered on agony with how persistent it was. Archie's eyes darted around, looking for the source of the voice, before his eyes were drawn to a large book on the shelf above him. Bound in weathered leather and tarnished metal, he had never seen such a tome in any of his numerous visits to the library. From within its pages, an ethereal glow emitted in the darkness of the shop and a morbid curiosity arose within Archie. A shaky hand reached towards the book, touching it before almost instantly retracting. The book tumbled loudly to the floor, and Archie quickly pounced on it. If the situation were better, he probably would have laughed at himself for how futile that had been.

"There you are!"

Archie's eyes went wide as a Dragon rounded the corner, spotting Archie and the glowing book in the darkness. He slid backwards, the metal edge of the cover catching on his palm. A cry of pain came from between Archie's pursed lips as fresh blood spilled down the fore edge of the grimoire he gripped. It suddenly fell open in his hands, the once glow now nearly a blinding light.

"Archibald Hardwick, accept my help!"

Everything felt so loud.

The cold wooden floor beneath him offered little to no comfort as Archie's nose was bombarded with the foul smell of something burnt and rotten. He still felt like he could throw up. Disoriented and unsure of either where he was, let alone when it was, he started to stand only to be immediately blinded by a beam of piercing light. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, only to be tackled roughly onto his knees. Before Archie could even register what was happening, his arms were wrestled behind his back and clasped into two rings of metal that dug against his wrists. A thick, waxy ointment dripped from the cuffs onto his skin, numbing his hands and forearms.

Somehow, even amidst the acrid smell of burnt flesh, the potent odour of the ointment cut through. It was a relatively new tactic for the Calder City Police Department; topical Griseosporine wasn't yet widely available. But special weapons development had fast-tracked it for deployment in Calder City as a sort of beta test. Beyond the numbing, it should have no ill effect on Archie, at least as far as he knew. He only had limited exposure thanks to shop talk with a few associates from the District Attorney's Office, whom he still met up with for his monthly sessions of 'Gargoyles and Graves'.

"If you attempt to use your powers again, we will be forced to respond accordingly." The officer snarled, his hand feeling like it was going to snap Archie's arm in two.

Wait! You're arresting me?

Archie cried out internally as the handcuffs were placed on him and he was hauled upright. He looked from the uniform on his left to the one on his right. The two large officers dwarfed the scrawny, lithe man held firmly between them. Several body bags lay on the floor while another had been loaded onto a gurney and wheeled into the back of the ambulance sitting outside.

Hey! I have rights! I didn't do this! Where are my Miranda Rights? C'mon, officer, procedure doesn't just go out the window because you're a xenophobic prick!

"Alright, bub, let's make this easy. Just tell us what your powers are." The other office stated. Archie wanted to roll his eyes. Were both of them seriously going to ignore procedure?

"Powers?" Archied replied in a confused tone, finally finding a voice that wouldn't get him further battered and bruised in the back of a cruiser.

"I'm not Gray, I don't have any powers." He continued, his tone insistent as the officers scoffed at the response.

"More like 'not a Gray right now', eh? Had a little too much fun at the club, then? Maybe we scored ourselves a designer cocktail and had a little trip?" The officer asked, locking Archie's arms into a painful position.

"Let me guess, it's just a phase, you're just figuring things out." The second officer deadpanned. The first nodded along, before interjecting again.

"If there's anything I hate more than a Gray, it's a wannabe Gray."

Archie found himself unable to look away at the body bags. Who was inside? What killed them? He winced as fragmented memories suddenly came back to him. The mysterious book that called his name, the cut on his hand. His fingertips brushed against his palm, causing a grimace as they touched against the wide cut. He remembered the Grim coming alongside him, the black dog attacking the Dragons while fire rained from the pages of the book. Words that Archie didn't understand had come out of his mouth, and a power, a power unlike anything he had ever felt, flowed through his body.

The book!

He adjusted his thigh awkwardly, attempting to hide his excitement at the recollection of the book's gift.

Where was the book?

His eyes darted back and forth frantically, searching for the massive grimoire as the officers continued to parade him towards the cruiser. From the corner of his eye, underneath a nearby armoire, Archie caught a glimpse of the tattered page edges encased between hard covers bound in worn leather and edged in tarnished steel. A faint glow called to him before he hauled through the front door alongside the shattered bay window and loaded into the back of the awaiting police cruiser.

Archie resigned himself to silence, listening to the roar of the engine as the officers, disinterested in doing their job properly, piloted the vehicle away from the antiques store and towards the connection that would take them out of Milk Street and into the Sound, or central Pointe Bordeaux.

Any eye warily watched Archie through the rear view mirror before the hand shifted to the dial for the radio, turning it up as Archie let out a deep exhale and sank further into his seat, his hands still cuffed behind him.

"I hope that dial stays locked in on WKNT as our 'Days of Remembrance' special tribute week continues. This morning, we're taking a deep look into the 'Where Are They Now?' category. Today, listeners, I have a very special guest and a sort of local historian. You know her by the 'Snapshot' handle '@TheCapesCrusader', but typically she goes by Becca. So, Becca, I have to ask, since you know your Calder Capes pretty well, do you remember the Piper?"

The Days of Remembrance? When would they end? Archie rolled his eyes, stifling a scoff of his own. Growing up, he had always wanted to be a Gray. Now in adulthood, he had come to terms that it was never going to happen. Last night was likely a one-off, and he wouldn't ever see the strange tome ever again. It was hard living a life so mundane, so ordinary that you slipped through the cracks even amongst normal people. It was almost bizarre that Archie had found himself in handcuffs and not in the back of the ambulance in one of the body bags he had watched the paramedics carry out.

"I've got to be honest, with how his career ended, Paulie, I don't think anyone is forgetting the Piper. Ignoring the garish outfit and the terrible name, his horrifying abilities certainly kept him in the headlines. As I recall, the Piper used technology to augment his Gray abilities to implant subliminal messaging into the minds of his foes."

A feeling of discomfort crossed Archie's face. The way they were talking about 'The Piper' felt almost reminiscent of the strange voice he had heard last night. It had permeated every ounce of his skull to the point of being overwhelming, all while knowing his name. Perhaps, it was actually a good thing he'd never see that Grimoire again.

"Right, yeah," Paulie replied to Becca before she continued to speak.

"And despite being the marketing exec from hell, still held the record for the least amount of collateral damage right before he broke bad." The guest speaker noted.

"Always a shame when they do that. So where is he now?"

"Dead, killed in a shootout with the Pointe District Police in the middle of Swashbuckler's Splashdown." Becca informed both Paulie and the listeners. Archie remembered that day. It was several years ago now, if he recalled correctly, nearly eight. He had been in high school when it had happened. Their senior trip to the 'Splashdown' had to be cancelled because of the shooting.

"Oof, that is rough, buddy. Anyways, folks here's local artist and current Calder City favourite, DJ R3TCH!D Rat with 'I'm not Gray (& I Luv It)."

"Ugh, not this crap again," The officer driving griped as the other chuckled before taking a drink of the coffee he had kept stashed in the car.

"You are listening to the University station."

Even in the back of the police cruiser, Archie couldn't help but feel the catchy beat again. The vehicle came to a stop as the officers reached their destination and pulled it in front of the Pointe Bordeaux Precinct. Archie watched the passenger side officer exit the vehicle, while Archie found himself unable to stop his head from continuing to keep time with the rhythm of the music. Just as the officer opened the rear door to the cruiser, Archie felt the beat drop before looking up at the officer as he was pulled from the vehicle, opening his mouth only for the now viral lyrics to come out.

"I'm not Gray!"

The steady tap of a cane alongside the steady click from the heels of a pair of well polished hard-soled shoes echoed even amidst the hustle and bustle of the busy sidewalk. Adorned in a freshly pressed black suit atop a matching shirt and accompanied by a perfectly paired tie, the man cut a striking, well-dressed figure. He continued in a straight line, a gentle mane of grey hair stopping just above the nape of his neck blew around his ears in the gentle breeze. The man did not move as the people parted around him, stepping out of his way as Deaglán Galloway approached the antiquities shop that bore his name in brass letters.

It was only upon approach that Galloway noticed the commotion outside of his place of business. Keen gray-blue eyes narrowed as they stared intently at the concerning sight ahead. Galloway's lips pursed disapprovingly at the sight of his store window shattered and scattered across the sidewalk. The familiar smell of burnt flesh and scorched wood lingered even in the sea-mist-laden air while the aging man watched the police cruiser depart with a suspect in tow. Clicking his tongue behind his teeth, Galloway took a few more steps towards the scene of the crime, deliberately tapping his cane harder with each step to draw attention to himself.

"Sir, I need you to stop. This is a crime scene."

"And I need you to step aside, lad. This is my shop." Galloway retorted, bringing his cane in front of him before placing both hands atop of it. "I'll need to be makin' sure that none of my stock is missing."

"My officers would be happy to assist-"

"Nay, you're not hearing me," Galloway waved a hand before tapping his cane. "You'll be leaving now. Seems you've already got a suspect in tow, and I have no intention of pressing charges." He tapped his cane again, behind him, the shattered glass flew back together, merging before restoring the missing window pane, and all signs of damage to the exterior of the shop, the window and its door disappeared in an instant.

"Doesn't look like there's any evidence of forced entry to me, now is there, Officer?"

"I, uh-" The officer stammered, looking from Galloway to the ground, to the window and back to the strange man in front of him. "Sir, I really must insist-"

"I insist you drop all investigation into this case and leave at once." Galloway interrupted, his hands twisting the cane clasped between them before performing a quick pair of taps on the sidewalk. "In fact, it'd be better if you forgot you were even called here at all."

"I uh," The officer stammered before suddenly turning around and waving the others towards the pair of cruisers.

"False alarm, there's nothing here. Dispatch must have gotten it wrong." He called as Galloway allowed the right side of his mouth to turn up slightly. One by one, the remaining officers fell into the same trance, forgetting why they had been at the antiquities shop to begin with. Politely waving goodbye as the cruisers departed, Galloway tapped his cane against the locked front door, prompting it to swing open before entering inside.

The interior hadn't fared much better than the exterior. Bookshelves were overturned, and near priceless relics spilled across the floor. Galloway's eyes narrowed as he examined the shelves, lifting the cane in his offhand before his right took a hold of it, ready to unsheath at a moment's notice. Across the shop, his eyes darted to the back bookshelf, a notable gap where a particular book had been.

"Qra thoghairm!" Galloway snapped, extending a hand. From underneath another shelf, the object in question suddenly flew. His arm recoiled at the impact of the opus as the heavy tome landed in his open palm. Cradling the book to his body, Galloway looked down in horror at the crimson-stained cover.

Fresh blood on the cover could only mean one thing. Someone had attempted, or worse, actually managed to open the cursed grimoire. Though thought to be inert of its mystical energies, the particular tome in Galloway's hand was said to have belonged to Zechariah Auber, one of, if not the most powerful warlocks to have ever wielded the extradimensional energies known as mag'ik. Auber was said to be beyond the reach of Death itself, having escaped and ascended to a higher plane of being. His grimoire was all that was left, and while numerous other tomes claimed to be the genuine article, most were red herrings left behind by Auber himself.

Except for this book.

Galloway had done his research, he had verified the sources, dated the materials used in its cover and even attempted to open it himself several times. Dark whispers appeared to come from the book in the stillness of the night, but they never called out to Galloway, instead warning him to stay away. Galloway had spilled his own blood trying to break the lock; he had unleashed the full force of his powers upon it, but the cover would not budge.

The Grimoire of Zechariah Auber was little more than a paperweight, so Galloway, in his vanity, had displayed it like a trophy in his shop. Proud and out in the open where anyone could see. Especially since the one person outside of himself who could open it was locked in a cell, his memory and abilities taken from him for the safety of not only Calder City, but the world at large.

A gentle hoot from the rafters redirected his attention. A small smile crossed Galloway's lips as he extended his arm, and the small screech owl glided down to the offered perch. The bird's claws gently wrapped around his arm while the little grey owl groomed its feathers before looking up at Galloway, its large eyes unblinking as it hopped around excitedly.

"Wren, were you here all night?"

The large bulbous eyes seemed to blink in agreement, the bird letting out a small titter to further drive the point home. Galloway stroked the bird's head feathers, tucking the tome under his arm before tapping his cane to put the rest of the room back in order.

"I'm surprised you allowed the store to get so out of hand. I would have expected you to set them straight, my little friend." Galloway mused to the little owl, scratching under its chin with a free finger. As if responding, Wren let out a meek hoot, followed by a few other noises, before Galloway waved his hand. A glittery shimmer emitted from his hand, expanding outwards and washing over the store before illuminating the past positions of a dark, canine-like shape.

"Another familiar?" Galloway mused grimly while the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The notion of another mage breaking into his shop challenged Galloway's earlier dismissal of it as a standard burglary by one of Pointe Bordeaux's many desperate street gangs.

"Though not Grip," He added, the wolf-like shape easing his mind that the raven had not been here. Still, it wasn't unheard of for an arcane practitioner to have more than one familiar; there was still cause to be cautious. Walking back towards the main counter, Galloway tucked the grimoire safely beneath it; the mystery of whose blood had opened it would have to take a back seat for now. The presence of another mage's familiar was far more pressing, especially considering who the only other mage in Calder City was.

And if it was his blood, then Emyrs help them all.

He could never be allowed to get his hands on the Grimoire of Zechariah Auber. Mag'ik was already a fickle mistress, and though Galloway had made his peace with it, the allure and appeal of the grimoire's power were too much for ordinary folk. In the hands of the extraordinary though...

Galloway had seen the madness its pages could wrought.

Picking up an old phone still connected to the store's landline, Galloway carefully spun the dial, waiting for the tone before it began to ring. A click on the other end assured him the line was open just before an operator answered. The ancient switchboard redirected his call to an orderly as Galloway began to speak.

"Yes, I'd like to check on a friend of mine," He requested, his hand tightly gripping the receiver. There was always something unnerving about calling out to the Caulfield Asylum and Institute. The entire facility felt like an anachronistic phenomenon.

"No, I'm afraid I don't have his name. He was admitted under the alias 'John Doe', suffers from a terrible case of amnesia, I'm afraid. Yes, third floor, solitary room." Galloway nodded as the voice answered on the other side.

"And he hasn't left his room? Not even last night? Okay, very well. No, no reason, I just had a nagging feeling. Glad that's resolved though." Galloway replied, "Thank you for your time, good day." He concluded the call, hanging up the receiver and breathing a sigh of relief.

"I, too, felt a disturbance last night."

"You should knock, little bat. I do not recall granting you permission to enter." Galloway replied to the woman's voice without lifting his head. "My affairs are not of your concern."

"The store is not your private place of residence; that old curse on my kind doesn't provide the same protection here." The woman replied, examining the state of Galloway's Emporium. A playful smile crossed her lips before she propped her arms in front of herself, placing them over her chest.

"Your shop has seen better days."

"Well, yes, you know how Pointe Bordeaux is," Galloway replied dismissively, "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Morgan? I'd offer you a beverage, but I'm afraid I'm straight out of 'O Negative'."

Carmilla flashed a sly smile, her notably pointed canines peeking out over painted, plump lips.

"You know as well as I do that it's bad news for all of us, not just you or the 'Gentleman's Club', if he regains his memory. Let alone if he claims that." She pointed towards the counter, the irises of her eyes faintly glowing violet as she did. Her finger was directly in line with the Grimoire hidden behind the counter, where it sat in front of Galloway's legs.

"I could destroy it." She offered.

"If that were possible, I would have done so already. Sadly, Auber made sure his work would live on and through it, Emyrs too. In some ways, it's the greatest record we have, tying us back to the one who managed to organize mag'ik. In other ways, it's the weapon of our own destruction. Auber knew too much, and the damned arrogant fool put it all in that cursed book."

"Then why not claim the book for yourself?" The raven-haired woman asked, brushing her long locks behind an ear. The lighting of Galloway's shop made her skin appear nearly as pale as fresh snow, her veins almost silvery and luminescent beneath polished marble-like skin.

"Don't you think I haven't thought of that, child of darkness? But the book rejects me, or at least it would if there was truly any of it left. I believed its pages to be inert, but now, the blood of another stains its cover. Were I to even try again, I would have to take the life of those whose blood it is to claim Auber's Grimoire as my own."

"Another?" Carmilla replied, an eyebrow raised in surprise, before she took a deep inhale. A familiar scent caused her pupils to dilate, a small smile crossing her face before she hid it from Galloway.

"So Auber's Grimoire no longer belongs to you?"

"That is how these things work," Galloway stated matter-of-factly. "You should know that, even as poor a bruxa as you are."

"Are all men in their five-hundreds so hostile?" Carmilla teased.

"You'll have to forgive me," Galloway replied wryly, "I get testy when questioned by a Striga, while a Warlock may have ransacked my shop."

"Perhaps the book no longer being yours is the only thing keeping you alive? Then again..." Carmilla retorted, taking a step towards Galloway, who retaliated with a tap of his cane. A wave pulsed through the air, pushing Carmilla back to where she had been standing. Wren let out a loud hoot from his perch while Carmilla's own familiar made itself known, the large bat unfurrowing its wings before merging with its host.

"I warn you, child, even with your dark gifts, you are outmatched."

"Can't blame me for trying," Carmilla smiled, "A girl's gotta eat."

"Get out." Galloway's voice left no room for argument as Carmilla blew him a kiss and spun around on her heels.

"Ta ta for now!" She called, walking back out on the street. The heat of the morning sun felt like it would make her burst into flames at any second. She nervously adjusted the Anulus del Sol mounted on her middle finger; the fiery set stone glowed briefly before Carmilla snapped her fingers, producing a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on her eyes. She took one last look at Galloway's, smiling before moving down the street.

This match might have gone to old man, but Carmilla knew who the mystery warlock was.

And getting the grimoire from him would be a piece of cake.

From a perch above the street, amidst the rows of baroque and Queen Anne-style buildings sat a black bird. It let out a long, mournful croak before the raven flapped its wings and was carried into the sky by the billowing seabreeze. Soaring over Pointe Bordeaux, it banked to the East and allowed the winds to carry it out to sea. Swooping low over the chain of islands that led from the Pointe to Ravenna's Roost, the raven glided towards the tall white walls that bordered the asylum, taking a lap around the building before landing on a third-floor windowsill.

The catatonic occupant slowly turned his head, his clouded, murky eyes opening sluggishly before a slow smile crept over his face. He sat in the middle of the padded room, his arms restrained tightly in the straitjacket, before he simply acknowledged the bird with a single nod.

Grip let out a loud cry before his powerful wings launched the raven back into the air, towards Pointe Bordeaux.

The precinct was busy as Archie was marched through booking. The handcuffs continued to chafe at his wrists while the officers marched him towards the desk. He tried his best not to make eye contact with anyone; this was not where Archie wanted to be spending the first morning of his probationary period as a Junior Partner. He needed this all cleared up, and he needed to get to work.

"No, Ma'am, I need your real I.D. I cannot put you in the system as 'Molly Splittongue'."

The deadpan tone of the sergeant behind the desk caught Archie's attention as his wandering eyes were drawn towards the leggy woman in front of the booking counter. Glossy leather knee-high boots revealed tattered fishnet leggings beneath an animal print miniskirt that Archie could swear he had seen belts thicker than. High-rise satin straps rode over shapely, toned hips, anchoring a bubblegum-pink whale tail beneath a cropped corset top that exposed a leopard-spot lower-back tattoo and threatened to spill the woman's generous bust onto the counter in front of her. The tattoo easily identified the woman as a member of the Molls, had the alias given to the officer behind the desk not already been a dead giveaway.

The Molls were Pointe Bordeaux's own gang of sex workers. They ran the sex trade in the Pointe, and everyone knew it. Most officers even turned a blind eye to it in exchange for some stress relief on the clock. Given the loopholes around sex work and the loose laws that governed it, they were a nightmare to try and prosecute, convincing more than at least one judge to simply throw the cases out when they came across their desk.

Well, that, and the fact that men in power also tended to enjoy submitting to a dominant woman, which in turn led to compromising photos and backroom, not to mention back-end, deals. Archie had never had the misfortune of handling a Moll case, but he knew more than one lawyer who found themselves in that black widow's web.

His attention wandered back to the Moll in front of him, now finding himself wondering what on earth she could have been brought in for. If Archie were to guess, he'd actually assume it was the Moll reporting a crime rather than being reported. The Molls were known for their zero-tolerance policy regarding abusive clients or any client who simply didn't respect the rules of boundaries of their hired girls. You didn't cross the Molls if you ever wanted to make use of your dick again.

The woman in question turned to look over her shoulder, seemingly feeling Archie's roaming gaze. She gave him a quick wink before opening her mouth as a snake-like fork tongue waved towards him, each half moving independently as if to salute Archie twice before he, in turn, felt his body returning the salute.

The sensation that followed was difficult for Archie to describe, but his inner monologue had a concise thought.

Scarny, this feeling is scarny. Scared and horny.

"What do you mean there's no record?" One of Archie's arresting officers suddenly roared, breaking Archie out of his awkward arousal. He was roughly dragged towards the desk, the woman leaving as another Moll arrived to pick her up. Despite wanting to keep watching, Archie's attention was sharply pulled back to his own matters as the pair of officers argued with the sergeant across the counter from him.

"The officer on the scene says it was a false alarm. Store is completely fine. Owner dismissed them, no property damage, no intention of pressing charges."

"We put bodies in the back of an ambulance." The arresting officer snapped in disbelief.

"And we found pretty boy here at the scene of the crime." The second officer argued, roughly manhandling Archie as if to show him off like a freshly caught fish.

"I don't know what to tell you, except there's nothing I can book him under." The sergeant replied with a shrug.

"Then make something up, we're not letting him go." The first officer argued again.

"Hey, it's your badge." The sergeant replied, "It'll help with quota, though, so drunk and disorderly?"

"The guy's accused of murder."

"Murder that we don't have a record of-"

"But the bodies in the back of the ambulance-" The second officer was in absolute disbelief.

"Didn't arrive at the hospital, there's no evidence of anything you're saying. So either we can book pretty boy here with a drunk and disorderly, or you have to let him go."

Ladies and gentlemen, our legal system at work.

Archie monologued to himself internally before finally finding the boldness to speak up.

"I get a phone call, right?"

The first officer turned to Archie, already seething from the mix-up with the paperwork, he looked as though he was about to unload every ounce of his angry on the young man before simply growling yes.

"Oh," Archie replied, "Good." He nodded before looking directly ahead at the sergeant. A wry smile slowly crept over his mouth before he spoke again.

"Do you have the number for the District Attorney's office?"

The Grim tormenting a prisoner

Molly Samedi offering to read Archie's fate.

Juvenile petty theft.

Bosley bailing Archie our, friend from D.A.'s office.

"You're learning to use your familiar. Whether you realize it or not, your sense are synchronizing to its own. It's why you can hear me now."

"Archie, Archie, Archie," A familiar voice repeated his name over and over again. Approaching the bars of the holding cell, the man cracked a smile, flashing perfectly straight white teeth, while his hands hung loosely tucked into the pockets of the perfectly pressed navy suit.

"What bargain bin did you pull that tie out of?"

"A bar if you can believe it."

"Hardly the hardest truth I've had to swallow tonight. How did Archie Hardwick find himself in the drunk tank? Last I checked, you don't drink."

"A girl introduced me to Amaretto and Coke."

"A girl?" The man raised his eyebrow. "Oh, Archie, you should know by now, women will always bring you trouble."