After the disastrous expedition to the Mortis House, Adam and friends had parted ways, Roger heading up his driveway and the trio returning to their subdivision for the evening, and it was finally late at night when he laid in bed, listening to Brendon playing a game above. He was relieved to find out that his mother didn't miss him when he had left, only been a tad displeased that he hadn't kept in contact while at the Mill Pond, and his day had progressed with little to note after until he laid down to rest.
The next day, Adam was woken up at eleven thirty, an unreasonably early hour for an obligation free Saturday morning in summer, but was thankfully spared from chastisement when Angie, his younger sister, asked if she could accompany their mother while shopping, and he dismissed himself with a few words before she noticed him. He hadn't even touched his knapsack from the previous day, save to refill his water bottle and toss some pretzels in for his inevitable snacking, ensuring minimal preparations, and was up the stairs and out the door with such magnificent slyness and careful tread, he went ignored. Wheeling his bike out of the shed, he peeked over the fence to see Jake sitting on a bucket in the Komorowski's garden, yanking weeds while Gregory shoveled dog droppings, and down the street, Buford was likely asleep after another unfruitful night of watching the stars for extraterrestrial life. Part of him wanted to acknowledge his friends, even with just a wave, but memories of the ghoul emerged in his mind to arrest this impulse, and soon he had disappeared westward down Brighton Road.
-----
At the Morris House, the rest of the afternoon and the following day was spent exploring the first story and cataloging every room. The ground floor was occupied by a kitchen, larder, pantry, and buttery, and a grand hall long and tall, as well as a smaller dining room, the servant's quarters, and a solar on the southern side. Water closets and storage rooms were interspersed throughout, though the lead pipes would have to be replaced lest they corrode and spill their poison. Among more curious rooms included a private art gallery with the ambiance of a mausoleum in spite of its splendor- pure white, cold walls of sepulchral marble with just the slightest taint of nitre encrusting in the corners, arched ceilings painted with murals trimmed with gold, though the sinister handed centaurs and undulating basilisks with fangs bared seemed incongruous with the feathery winged seraphim radiating Holy light and other Christian imagery. Octavia smiled wistfully as she was reminded of the flourishing Rennaisance of Europe and the magnificent art born of an enlightened culture. She touched her soft fingers to a statue of the Blessed Virgin and Child and crossed herself, having still retained enough of her Catholic faith to revere such icons. In spite of the magnificent, if not eerie works worthy of viewing, she was soon desperate to leave the chill of the somber room, for she was a warm-blooded Italian whose admiration of beauty couldn't transcend her intolerance for less than balmy temperatures.
She seemed indifferent towards the grand armory while Falkenberg dwelled the longest here, a nostalgic expression on his face. There were at least a hundred suits of armor from all of Europe, it seemed, and weapons of every kind. Great battle axes whose sickle shaped heads had yet to blunt, piked flails and morning stars, a simple quarterstaff whose sole ornamentation was a ferrule and point, and war hammers with tapered heads were the first visible items, with the glints of hilted blades and ranged weaponry behind it, though the polearms at the other end of the room caught his eye.As a mortal, he had learned rudimentary metalsmithing, straightening nails, and forging hammers, among other activities, and as a warlock, he had supplemented his knowledge of blacksmithing with the Magick art of alchemy and the Mundane arts of chemistry and metallurgy to whet his talents.The proudest achievement from all this was a six and a half foot long halberd forged from jet black Plutonian bismuth that could be transformed into a humble broomstick at his command or shrunken to the size of a pencil.
After an hour or so of wandering, Octavia had grown weary of the cold, dark, dusty house especially when the sun was out, and she had called for one of the few taxis running around the city to fetch her and drop Falkenberg back at the modest hotel they stayed in. The warlock, a creature of the shadowy night, hadn't slept or changed out of his clothes from the previous evening and had likely planned to wash at the hotel and slumber until late afternoon, when the sun was tempered by it's westward travels, and Octavia gave him a disapproving look that was returned with a shrug and Falkenberg crowing something about needing a vehicle. She had always been well to do, with a respectable sum under her name in various banks, and the fare was negligible to her seemingly endless funds. To her surprise, Falkenberg had actually agreed to go into town with her to explore the Magick community hidden within Brighton and possibly replenish his stock of potion ingredients, though he balked at the idea of taking a cab again and repeated his line about needing a real car to travel among mortals, preferably with a manual transmission.
The two had been dropped off at the northwest corner of Grand River and Main Street, and Falkenberg had put his headphones in and went briskly westward towards the Mill Pond, only acknowledging the presence of other pedestrians by stepping aside, whereas Octavia strolled leisurely, admiring the almost saccharinely quaint charm of a bedroom community, head swiveling from side to side to survey everything she could. She had always favored the endless tumult of a city with countless people, the turmoil of the crowds exciting her, but the homey, sparser streets of Brighton were beguiling in a different manner. Most others seemed to be families with children playing around the Mill Pond or on the hunt for sustenance( it was noon or so, after all) and some of the local youths, and she greeted everybody she came across. Clement June was still young, brisk September so distant, and she longed to lounge around the downtown area for a day, but sadly, she had other duties to fulfill first: Finding the entrance to the supernatural side of the city, called Ore Creek Crossing and investigating any abnormalities.
While the thief's Magick wasn't as impressive as others, spellcasters aside, she could still detect the presence of the preternatural, and she closed her eyes to concentrate, inhaling the scent of flowers and fresh mist, eventually sensing something. Her warlock companion had too, and was walking towards the Old Town Hall, a small brick building with a belfry on top and red,white and blue bunting depending from the second storey balcony,a jolt of Magick going through him as he touched the sign. By now Octavia had found him, Falkenberg leaning inconspicuously against the wall and running his fingers over the ruddy,earthen blocks to find where the entrance was before his eyes fell on a tall,black lamppost, and he reached for it.
It was as if the Mundane world around them had expanded to admit an entire village oceans and centuries away, the Mundanes looking on without registering the two youths who had disappeared into the lamp as if devoured by a greedy maw as a portal enlarged in midair and closed behind them. The other side was just like the Main Street they had been traversing, but these thin roads were paved with grey, pebbled cobblestones, the buildings either half-timbered, earthen, or wooden in build, the naturally uneven grain of brick and wood and walls made of boulders a pleasant contrast against the dull,dreary contemporary architecture plaguing modernized Mundane cities. In the center of the street, perhaps to declare the intersection the heart of Ore Creek Crossing,was a magnificent three-tiered, bubbling font of white trimmed with gold, it's pools inlaid with squares of turquoise and lapis lazuli and shimmering with gold from the coins tossed in. Instead of rancid smog, the air was suffused with pure Magick, emanating from every asymmetrical crevice in the stones below and contained within the walls of the city, and Octavia felt particularly blithe just from looking around.
" Ore Creek Crossing," Octavia marveled, Edgar nodding his sentiments as they stared up at a golden phoenix glided on the thermals and blurred into a majestic hawk as it flew into Mundane airspace.
Directly in front of them, the main street was occupied by a tavern, smithy, an instrument shop for bards, and more while Club Sasquatch looked to be a promising spot of activity after dark and Ashmole's Menagerie's posters boasted of all sorts of creatures as familiars, including flaming salamanders, ferocious cactus cats, and lustrous, bejeweled carbunclos for the right fee.
Edgar gravitated with a glazed stare towards the apothecary, where spellcasters of all sorts were shrinking down brooms to pocket size for crossing over into the mundane realm, and a short, blonde wizard with hints of elvish blood in him was examining bundles of lavender, while a young witch hefting a lantern on a chain meandered through the shop, lifting the chains every now and then before rejoining with a mature witch who was paying for some rarely sought manchineel seeds.
Rather than herbs, cauldrons, and a book entitled "1,000 or so non-lethal Potions to Humiliate, Inconvenience, and Cause Discomfort- Octavia was more inclined towards a boutique she saw that carried not only armor forged in shop, but affordable variations of whatever was in vogue, and she was eyeing a blouse printed with fronds and flowers. Eventually, an empty-handed Edgar returned right when she reached for some orange jeans, and he directed the indignant thier towards the tavern, for her scattergood demeanor meant that her funds, meant to finance their work, would be depleted, and because in his words, it was common knowledge any decent adventure began in a tavern, there were few other places suitable.
The tavern, Ore Creek Tavern, as proclaimed by the sign dangling from black links above the door, was a cozy establishment of well-scrubbed bricks and a roof of red shingles, and the interior was of similar antiquated manner, though with contemporary details. The floor was made of dark, heavy planks dotted with knots, the scratched black nail heads protruding slightly, and the nine tables, each encircled by about five chairs, were fashioned from a similar wood with a furled grain and jagged texture. Above, the rafters were open, and suspended from them were a pair of slowly gyrating ceiling fans to supplement the cooling glamours, and simple glass bulbs caged in metal that suffused the room with a gentle yellow glow. On one end was a bar with a dozen enormous oak barrels wrapped in iron, though it was empty given that it was noon, and on the other end of the tavern was a stage occupied by a group of bards in leather jackets and shredded black jeans, as well as a drumkit, racks of keyboards, a bass, and three electric guitars for their concert that night.
The two took a table next to said stage, or rather, Edgar went towards it while Octavia tried to point insistently to a table in the middle of the tavern, but he had seated himself, a fair wench approaching him with a smile. Octavia reluctantly sat down, distanced from the other customers, and was soon sipping ginger ale as she caught the eye of a stagehand. "Oh, hello! I thought Club Sasquatch was the only venue with live music! I've only been here for a few days, so I'm just getting to know the city!"
"Ore Creek Tavern beats out Club Sasquatch any day," he frowned polishing a cymbal until it was a lustrous bronze while the percussionist assembled his kit."The bards there do all this electronic, fake garbage-none of them even play instruments. The bards that play here are real musicians with talent and instruments, not eunuchs whose caterwauling is covered up with a hundred audio glamours! These guys-Knights of Jericho- are touring the States and they've been playing all over the region-Detroit, Grand Rapids, Chicago, Cleveland, Toledo, Milwaukee..."
Octavia was a fan of such described eunuchs and pretty girls whose voices were modified electronically ( an adequate substitute for glamour) and she winced in insult whereas Edgar seemed to agree with the stagehand, a grimace-like smile on his face at their statement. However, she was of noble blood and though the gentry had ended at least a century prior, the titles having almost no essence, it was improper of her to boorish and argue over a meaningless opinion. Instead, she laughed girlishly and brushed her hand casually before speaking.
"So you gentlemen have been playing in the area recently? You must put on a fun show and meet so many people,"Octavia beamed, resting her cheek on her hand in an attractive fashion, and internally, she was aglow as a young man across the room turned to gaze. " Have you seen anything particularly crazy?"
The blushing stagehand thought, a rictus forming between the bushy blond brows before he lifted a finger." I haven't, but Joakim( our guitarist and singer) probably has! Oi! Jocke! Someone wants to talk to you!"
The bard called Joakim was a tall young man with artfully mussed ginger hair that fell in choppy waves past his shoulders and brushed one of his hazel eyes, and his attention was to the electric guitar in one hand, the other occupied with a pasty drizzled in ketchup, though he looked up with an off-center smile, which Octavia reciprocated. In greeting and perhaps to display his talents, he played a few lively chords that seemed to perk the entire tavern up, Edgar looking the most animated at the sound of guitar. One of the defining characteristics of bards was that their music could alter the ambiance around them, usually by arousing emotions in others in answer to their melodies, though with the genesis of many a musical style (some genres only music in title) in the last hundred years or so as well as the greater reception to some classifications, the reactions from a crowd were rarely homogenous.
"You've been in the area since the start of June,right?" Octavia asked without her usual gesticulations, the music emboldening her,and he nodded." I just so happen to be a Supernatural thief( oh don't worry, I don't want your money!) and my partner and I are investigating strange happenings in the area. Seeing as you're active during the hours where most incidents happen, and that your shows are popular enough to attract crowds, you're bound to have seen something, correct?"
" There's been some anti-Mundane activity," Joakim agreed, a slight European accent in his raspy tenor." Though not so much against the Mundanes themselves as Supernatural Mundanes being caught up in attacks against other Supernaturals and even some Mundanes. I think they explained it to the police as public intoxication and modified the memory of anyone who saw Magick- there's been some assaults outside the tavern. Most of it is monsters (and weird ones!) showing up out of nowhere-the local beast slayers are barely keeping up!"
" That's strange, though.There's very little anti-Mundane sentiment- if anything there's fear and Supernaturals that feel that way about Mundanes will go out of their way to avoid them. And as for monsters, it's illegal to transport or own quite a few beasts unless you're qualified, so maybe there's a beast tamer involved somewhere."
"Yeah, well these Supernaturals usually have no recollection once they're caught by the knights, save for seeing a strong light," Joakim continued."They're confused and have no idea what they're doing- it's like they're coming out of a trance or coming back to life. The psychics even said that the Supernaturals they caught are telling the truth, or they think they are, and last I heard, they think it might be someone brainwashing them and using them as pawns."
" That part sounds like the work of a psychic spellcaster" Edgar finally spoke, finishing his coffee, Both Octavia and the bard startled a bit at this, as he still had headphones in and had likely silenced their conversation with his preferred genre of deafening heavy metal, but he had only put in his earbuds as a deterrent against unwanted and unnecessary speech, and as such, their voices were only dampened. " Mind control and whatnot. It's the hallmark of a witch or wizard with psychic magic-us warlocks are immune due to specializing in generally darker, resistant branches of Magick."
" A psychic?" Octavia echoed, tapping her chin and trying to think before coming up with an acerbic response better suited for Edgar."That makes it easier-spellcasters are only the second largest group of Supernaturals, so we'll have no problem narrowing it down!"
"Perhaps there's a pattern with all the cases," the warlock responded." Such as the attacks occuring within certain hours, or an age group targeted for brainwashing. Why don't we review each case and see if they have anything in common when we get back and proceed?"
Octavia acquiesced, though she dreaded returning home and the task of classifying and analyzing figures, something only Edgar seemed to enjoy. She despised the notion of being kept alone in the dim, noiseless manor thumbing through papers that seemed indistinct after a quarter of an hour, and would rather tour Ore Creek Crossing until sundown. "Well I don't have any plans, so it's probably the best way for now."
Joakim brightened and patted both on the shoulder encouragingly, though Edgar was more receptive, holding his head up dignified and superior.
"That's the spirit! And if you get some time in between solving crimes, we're going to be in the area until August-why don't you come to one of our shows? We put on a banger of a concert!"
----------------------
Adam rested his bike against the fence and strode up the path, his entrails uneasy with each step, but he would have no peace until he knew the truth. The door was open once more, though he had to push aside a layer of spider silk, the diaphanous threads surprisingly durable and clinging to his hand until he wiped them on a floorboard. With reluctance, he gave a wide berth to the trapdoor's depression, enticing as it was for him to yank it open and descend into the mysterious catacombs of the house, in favor of exploring the ground floor. Flicking on his flashlight, he stalked through the house with what he prayed was a lighter tread than his typical thunderous 15 stone girth, feeling uneasy at the idea of something lurking in wait for him, and his unease was justified five paces through the hall beyond.
When his weight fell on one of the dusty boards below, the floor beneath him unhinged itself, and he scrambled to grasp the ledge before he tumbled to the depths of the smooth-walled pit. Hauling himself upwards, he continued on, turning left into another hall with two doors on one side and three on another, though he somehow knew they were merely particularly insolent pieces of the wall impersonating doors, and ignored them, lest he be slammed into the wall upon opening.
Another few turns and up( or down) a short flight of stairs and he stopped, looking back down the hall and wondering if he should return down his path lest he get lost, or at least leave an indication that he had traversed said route. Glancing at his watch, he decided on the former, given that his mother was apt to call and call his phone until he came home or responded, and faced the way he had come from. He would never admit to it, even when documenting his endeavor in his journal, but he screamed when he set off another trap, the walls bursting asunder and ejecting long, thin spikes that pierced the opposite side, and he somehow fumbled through all of them, staggering and spinning in midair as he careened through without a single pole jabbing through his generous flesh. He collapsed and panted on the floor incapacitated with panic as he heard footsteps…
------
The duo had returned home after about three hours, Edgar vanishing to the attic for the rest of the day to brood. While the excursion to Ore Creek Crossing had distracted him from the question of how to remodel the house, he was melancholic and disheartened as he remembered his task at hand, cursing himself for taking interest in such a diversion. Octavia meanwhile, transformed into her spider form and scuttling around for some well-aged flies when she heard a cacophony from the ground floor armory, peering around the door and chittering in excitement, turning tail to see Edgar materializing from the shadows, disturbed by the noise as well.
Adam had prayed frantically to whichever deity he hadn't angered sufficiently that he would be passed over by whoever was coming to investigate the armory, and believing himself spared as there were no more footsteps, he sighed in relief. Naturally, his assertion that he had been spared and could escape in due time ensured that he was jinxed, and he screamed when he turned his head to see two people staring right at him.
"Oh! Will you look at this? We have a naughty little intruder, the woman, or rather a voluptuous,dusky girl about four years older than him crooned, and she fluttered his lashes at him. Her companion was cadaverous and eerily wan, jade trimmed spectacles on his nose, and he kept a listless vigil over the rest of armory.
"What's the matter, little boy? Are you lost?"Octavia cooed, stroking at a lock of his hair, and Adam staggered back, babbling stupidly. Though she was a beauty, she was so forceful that even someone like Adam blenched. " Don't worry, I'll take good care of you! You're nice and robust, just how I like it! I'll have a feast for days!"
Adam was about to contest her remarks, but he could only babble as she advanced, and out of the corner of the eye, the lanky blonde was clutching a pointed black halberd almost as large as he, with deep violet swirls of something he inherently understood to be Magick streaked around his clenched fingers. His expression was grim and foreboding as if he were to pass some very pointy judgment on the brunet for his transgressions, and Adam could feel his thick legs weaken as he shuffled back, unsure of who frightened him more.
"No, really,I-" s
His feet only stopped when his palms touched against silvery-blue armor so hot to the touch it was raw and numbing, and he gasped when sizzling electricity jolted through his entire body, for his surplus fat was no insulator against such voltage. In response, he flailed backward, knocking a sparabara a few feet backwards, and instantly knew he had done something horribly wrong.
As before when in the presence of the supernatural, the undisturbed air turned brisk, though the murky atmosphere was no glamour, and from beneath the wicker shield it came, it's presence declared by it's reeking odor. A green-gilled Adam struggled to subdue the bile surging upwards through his esophagus from the stench, which bore the stink of moldering flesh left to spoil in water, and he felt tears drip down his cheeks as the ghoul lurched out from under the shield.Appearancewise it bore a great resemblance to a man, though its limbs were spindly with prominent joints as they swung aimlessly at it's side, it's face round with a maw of yellow teeth, drooping jowls and wobbling black,bulging eyes, it's paunch jiggling as it lurched towards Adam.
" Oh, so that's what was stinking in here," Octavia remarked." A ghoul! Well then darling, you don't want to be devoured alive, do you? Pick something and fight back before it gets you!"
Adam nodded and glanced back at the arms behind him, which seemed to consist of tall glaives with a flared blade, halberds perfect for skewering and slicing, lances for both show and war, and other polearms similar in construction. Less impressive, though greater in function than a sword, any of the poles would be sufficient for Adam, as their reach could keep the ghoul from advancing, though this was unknown to him and he looked for something more substantial than a bladed shaft until his eyes fell on something glistening in the back.
It was a Zweihänder, about five foot long and shining like gold, a ruby set in its hilt, and Adam felt his hand gravitate on its own accord to the opulently carved hilt, and he curled his fingers around it. Somehow he knew by sheer instinct that he was meant to wield this blade, his body steeped in a pleasurable warmth when he touched the brightly burnished hilt, and he felt as if he could and would triumph over any adversary, that he was invincible with an indomitable spirit, and he withdrew his new, weighty blade with none of the effort that had beget it's moniker, slinging it across his back. In retrospect, he would have realized his face had ruddied and that the gurgling sound of fluid in his ears was his own blood as his peripheral vision
Sword in his right hand, Adam charged towards the spook, and though he was an ungainly, untrained swordsman of thirty second's expertise, he swung his zweihander forwards and cleaved the spook in two. It gave a forlorn bellow as it recoiled back from the impact, arching forwards and writhing in its final throes before disintegrating into crumbling, mealy grey powder with a similar structure to ash. Adam whooped in victory, raising his hand triumphantly as the dank, still, ambiance seemed to be dispelled, the room warming and brightening, though it was likely his imagination. "Wooo!!!"
"Not bad,*polpetto, not bad at all," the girl simpered, approaching him with a sensual tilt to her generous hips, one manicured hand perched upon her waist as the other clasped at a thick, coiled up whip sword whose lustrous copper handle was inlaid with milky green opals. "I think you're the one!"
"Wha??"Adam asked as she smiled coquettishly up at him from under her thick lashes, and he felt discomfort by her abruptness." I don't know what you're talking about! I was just exploring the house because someone bought it and I wanted to tick it off my bucket list of places to see before they moved in!"
"Yes, well we're the owners. My name is Octavia Tessitore," the girl said. "I'm a shapeshifting thief-" Adam stuck his hands in his pockets to make sure everything in them was still there" - who can take on the form of a spider to lure people into my trap, and this is Edgar Falkenberg, a warlock with shadow and illusion based Magick. "
Falkenberg glanced at Adam before returning his attention to grasping a lock of his own hair and examining it for the longest strand, then tugging at it, and Adam looked to Octavia, who processed his unspoken questions quickly.
"Well, cutie, you've probably heard your fair share of myths and legends about the paranormal, and have some interest in it, given that you've been exploring our humble home," Octavia said, Adam affirming her statement with a nod, shuddering back when she pinched his cheek affectionately." All that mythos is real, even if it's a tad inaccurate- the Mundane generally can't detect the paranormal for what it is, whether good or bad. That's why the duty to keep the bad side of the paranormal world at bay falls on the shoulders of those who can detect it, including yours truly and yourself!"
"We're actually immortal, Falkenberg and me," Octavia said, slinking around Adam in a circle, and he turned his head to align on her,blinking sluggishly in his entrancement." Those of the paranormal world-everyone in it is called a Supernatual- who are particularly strong can choose so in order to offer their services for centuries to come. It's quite fun-I've been alive for about six hundred years so far and seen so much! Falkenberg's even older!"
"Then what brought you here? Why not go somewhere with more history?"
" We're here because your beloved city is a beacon for supernatural beings, even if it doesn't seem like it-we do a decent job of blending in, and the ones who can't stay out of the Mundane world, and we've had reports that there's going to be an increase in activity as well as a particularly powerful Supernatural who'll be presenting around this time, so we were sent to investigate."
"Huh...do you think-"
"So how about it, little boy? Will you be good and help us out?"Octavia cooed,tilting her head to side to side with a smile resembling that of his mother when she delegated a mandatory task for him, and Adam was aware of the only proper answer, acknowledging her with a nod. Octavia made a pleased sound, her bubbly,girlish voice gone and her posture stately, with no flounces or jutting of her hips, an insouciant Edgar standing without even the slightest quirk of his angular facial features to signify acknowledgement.
" Oh-one thing, if we're going to be working together.My name's Adam, Adam Van de Groot."
"Good! Oh, this makes things so much easier!!" she giggled, arching her shoulders up and bringing her hands together, fingertips touching in a clap, though Adam realized something and lifted his hand. "Er, Octavia? This sword's gonna be hard to explain though!"
"Oh you silly boy, didn't you listen?"Octavia asked, with another alluring gesticulation, pursing her plump lips, and Adam wondered how a self-proclaimed thief active for centuries could still be prone to such teasing theatrics." I'm a spider shapeshifter! Just leave it to me! "
Adam opened his mouth, seeing Octavia morph from beauty to a furry spider with little time in between, then spin a thread long enough to loop around his neck. The delicate gossamer fibres were thin and glossy, and he prodded them gingerly with his fingers. "It's kinda flimsy..."
"Oh it's' strong, don't worry! That's special spider's silk," Octavia chittered as she returned to her human state, rising from the ground up Adam realized that his hand was no longer burdened with the zweihander's bulk, which had condensed to the size of a sewing needle and was strung like an unremarkable trinket from the silk, likely another one of her deeds. " You just need to grasp it and visualize yourself wielding it for it to return to it's full size, and when you no longer need it, it morphs back to that size!"
" Really?"Adam asked, and to substantiate her claims, he clutched the tiny sword and envisioned himself, or a romanticized, glorious, thinner version of himself slicing through innumerable ghouls, then standing victoriously over a mount of dismembered spooks,and indeed his right hand was wrapped around the hilt of his Zweihander. " Whoa! Nice!!!"
Octavia winked at him over her arched shoulder fetchingly, then turning smartly on her heel as Adam's zweihander now hanging around his neck." Well then, Adam, I expect good things from you! Now run along, Edgar and I have to discuss renovating this house before he gives himself an aneurism from the stress!"
The warlock flinched, displeased at her uncannily correct insult, and Adam wondered if that was the reason for his silence, that he had been deliberating on something the entire day, and he opened his mouth to refute her claim, but could only crow shakily as a consequence of his taciturnity. In response, Octavia snorted in amusement, and Adam bit his tongue to halt the laughter bubbling in his throat from the faltering warlock whose inherent bashfulness and ineptness in communication were in defiance of the aloof, haughty persona he projected Tucking his hands into the cavernous pockets of his worn jeans, he thumbed over the many curios he could be found carrying absentmindedly, among these a dulled pencil and sharpener he had nicked from an art class unintentionally, his lamentably empty wallet, scrunched up, aged tissues hardened with slime he had yet to discard, a music player and earbuds, then his phone. An expression of alarm adorned his broad face as he realized it was pulsating with activity, and he pulled it out to see messages from his mother inquiring about his three hour absence, and Adam gulped at the notion of being reprimanded. Perhaps it was because he was neither as steadfast and reliable as his older brother Brendan or as studious and delicate as his younger sister Angie, but Adam was seldom offered as much privilege as his siblings while concurrently being scolded for conduct that would be dismissed indifferently in the other two. As such, he was vigilant in behaving properly around his mother as to not provide her a reason to be angry at him and therefore concentrated on his activity, which would keep him from vanishing to the Mortis House or Mill Pond and instead of mowing the lawn or worse, accompanying her on her shopping excursions.
Seeing himself out without a word, Adam tucked the sword under his t-shirt and buttoned the tawdry, colorful tropical shirt, one of many that he had favored since the fifth grade, over it, sucking in his paunch and walking sideways out the door as Octavia continued to tease a distraught, stuttering Edgar about the house, though as he reached for his bicycle, she addressed him, voice seemingly just outside his ear.
" Oh, you'll be back, Adam, I just know it!"
Adam startled, one meaty leg hiked over the seat, and his jostling culminating in him landing on his backside( thank Providence that the adipose cheeks were broad enough in diameter to serve as a sufficient uffer against the stone slabs) with one hand on his upturned bicycle, and he gazed towards the dismal manor, but Octavia was out of sight. He shook his head, messy hair swishing in the torpid summer wind as he righted his bicycle and mounted it on a course for home.
It seemed that summer would be more interesting than he thought