He had no idea of much of anything, really, but that was beside the point. Laying flat on his back in a sparsely decorated room in front of a standing mirror, he'd taken a moment to try and sort out just what he did know.
I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost and I'm... somewhere.
Less than helpful. Patting down his jacket he didn't find much- some odds and ends, trinkets and baubles he wasn't sure what to make of. No reflection so he couldn't get a better look at himself. A thing he didn't know he knew until he had picked himself up and tried to look and the information just swam up out of the foggy recesses of his mind. Right. He wasn't sure what to do about it, but...looking for clues? Yes, that felt right.
He investigated the room, the hall, the bathroom, the room across the hall. All of them seemed somewhat familiar, but nothing was being jostled loose, and he didn't find any real signs of current habitation. Bits and bobs that always seemed to be left in the wake of moving, but no names or pictures or anything else that might give him names or faces to go off of.
The downstairs looked like a bomb had gone off. It had been cleaned up, clearly in the middle of repairs, but there were still bare studs and subfloor exposed. He skirted a sawhorse and stacks of supplies to slip out the door onto the main thoroughfare, brow furrowing as he looked one way then the other. It was... somewhat familiar. Like he building he'd come to awareness in, he knew he'd seen it before, but that was all the recollection he could seem to pull.]
Right- [It felt strange to turn and glance, presumably to see if anything looked familiar nearby to start with, and not find... someone standing there at his shoulder. Something about the wrongness of that settled in, and he gave himself a faint shake as if in defiance of the sensation.] Right then, nothing for it but to see what's what.
[Surely he'd find something that would jog his memories. Or find someone who could see him. Unaware that he'd already been spotted, the little feline already darting away to share their news.]
[ On a typical overcast day in Port Townsend, the last thing the Cat King expects is one of his scouts to come scurrying into the Cannery to tell him of a ghost bouncing back through a mirror and landing on the floor of the apartment above the Tongue and Tail butcher shop both alone and seemingly with no real drive to get back.
The Cat was fiddling with something shiny he'd traded with the crow for in exchange for a temporary transformation spell that would make him human again, but he fast lost interest in it in the wake of the news. It's all pretty confusing, if he's honest. Why would Charles be here without Edwin, why is Edwin not storming through the mirror to come and collect him, why come here in the first place, and why was he reportedly looking around like he'd never seen here before?
He'd have to be a much stronger Cat than he is to resist this particular little mystery and, unafraid of getting his own paws dirty, he disappears in a burst of purple magic to rematerialize in a familiar alleyway — the one in which he'd last seen one of the ghost boys, actually, funny how that happens — and steps out of it to see the very tangible evidence of this strange story; Edwin's loyal little attack-dog, standing with his hands on his backpack straps, looking like he's trying to decide in which direction to go. ]
Lost?
[ He calls as he comes into the street at large, head tilting and a smile on his face that he certainly means to look warm, but probably looks a little mean, too. He's wearing a similar leather ensemble to what he was wearing when he last saw Edwin, only a little less rigid, a little more dressed down. He was trying to look good, then, after all; this has caught him off guard. But in the best kind of way. He's weirdly excited to talk to Charles without the buffer of Edwin inevitably taking over. ]
Don't tell me you can't remember your way around this place - it's like four main streets and a beachfront. Don't you live in a city?
[He hadn't gone far yet. Knew from the way it almost itched to be still too long that he was more the sort to like action, to be moving. But he needed to be thorough here. Which meant he had to try and slow down even a bit. But while the street and it's storefronts, the people walking it all seemed to register as familiar, there wasn't much more than that drifting to the surface yet.
The voice speaking up is familiar too- and he's not sure how he knows they're talking to him, how he knows that they can see him, but turning to see strange eyes focused on him, and that smile that's just a little too sharp to be entirely genial cinches it.
He's not sure what to make of them. Or of the sudden rush of jealousy that writhes to life inside his ribcage like a thicket of thorns. Jealous? Why was he jealous of the stranger? He blinked, once, then twice as he takes in what they're saying- confirming that he should know where he was. As well as another detail that he leapt on.]
I live in a city? [It feels right as he says it, even if his stubborn memory refuses to shake out anything more than that sense of correctness. No name, no skyline, no familiar landmarks. What a pain. One thumb working over the canvas of the strap in his grasp, an unconscious little gesture of uncertain thought.] We know each other then, I take it?
[ Ah, and there it is; that thumb worrying the fabric and the general feeling of held back energy so similar to how Charles had been shifting his weight from foot to foot in the Cannery when he'd first come into audience with the King, before Edwin had ordered him around and brought him to heel. He looks like he's longing for that now, the firm direction of someone who always knows what the next action to take is... So this whole not knowing where he is thing wasn't fake, then. Charles is smart, he's sure, (though not smart enough to accept Edwin's confession, but that's a whole other thing) but he's certainly not smart enough to pull off a prank like this. What would be the point, anyway? What purpose does this serve for a boy who's very reason for lingering in the afterlife was being at the side of someone very specific who is also very much not here? ]
We do. You solved a few cases here some months ago. I helped.
[ It's not entirely a lie, but it does settle strangely on his tongue nonetheless. He's not sure Edwin — or Charles, for that matter — would agree that what he did was help, even if it did assist their psychic in banishing the town witch. ]
So. You've lost your memory, huh? No point asking how, since I guess that falls into the realms of the problem itself, but... [ He takes an easy, lazy step forward, wondering if Charles is still on the back foot about him despite apparently not remembering who he is. Will he meet with Charles eager to find a face that knows him, or will he meet the business end of a cricket bat? ] That's pretty impressive. Casting a curse on a ghost is no joke.
[ A little up and down with his eyes. Because he can't resist. ]
I'm the Cat King of Port Townsend. Which is where you are. A loooong long way from London, little ghost.
Cases? [Like a dog with a bone, he almost visibly perks for the information being offered.] Like a detective?
[Despite his uncertainty, the idea feels so right that it earns a bright, crooked grin in response.]
That's brills. And you helped, you said? So like a consultant or s'mmat? [Didn't detectives always have people like that? Contacts and consultants?
There was still that confusing tangle in him, that jealousy, but without a proper source, as off-kilter as knowing nothing was making him, relief at someone being able to see him let alone know him was winning over the uncertain feeling. Though the Cat would likely see the faint signs of it like a quiet question in the edges of his smile. But, it also didn't seem that he was feeling aggressive either in the moment.]
'Bout sums it up. [He's not repeating every little detail that the Cat is giving him, but he's definitely listening, gathering up the names and information to ponder later. Port Townsend. London. Some sort of curse.]
Cats have kings? [He tilted his head at that, considering the idea. It sounded familiar again, but vaguely so.] Always seemed a bit too independent for that sorta thing, cats. But then you'd know better than me.
I'd introduce myself but- [A tilt of his head and a tap of a finger against a temple with a wry cast to his grin.] Well. Suppose you don't need it if you know me anyways!
[He wasn't going to think on how nervous it was making him as the surprise of waking without memories was starting to ease off. It was so easy though to smother that unease under a smile and a bright tone. Like muscle memory.]
[ God, that smile is charming. And the way he perks up like that, the way he clearly still has some reservations (smart) but is eager to cling to something, anything that feels even remotely familiar... It's mesmerising. It's addictive. The Cat wonders when was the last time someone looked at him like they needed him, like he could help, like he was anything other than a nuisance. But he doesn't think about it too long. There's other more pressing issues at hand, such as:
Laughing, softly, at Charles' almost endearing little run around. It's silly how caught out by that handsome face he is, though he should be accustomed to letting his enchanted senses get the better of him since he absolutely fumbled the bag with Edwin after being entranced by nothing but his eyes in the first place... He vows that, given this second chance to at least make Charles see his merit as a consultant — as he said — and not simply to write him off as a trouble-maker and let threats be the only currency traded between them... He'll do better this time. If he keeps Charles safe, even helps him to get his memory back, perhaps even Edwin will have reason enough to thank him, in whatever archaic Edwardian way debts are repaid. Though, he has some ideas for worthy payment of his own. ]
Yeah, no need to tell me who you are, Charles. I know all about you.
[ Not entirely true, but his Cats had been keeping an eye on Charles too, technically, since he was almost always with Edwin when they were running around his Kingdom. ]
And it seems I have a lot to re-teach you about me, if you've forgotten that Cat Kings even exist. You're lucky I don't offend easily when it's a pretty face doing the mis-step, or I'd have to punish you for that. Rudeness to a King in their own Kingdom is a pretty big faux-pas. [ Thoughts of bracelets and little neon pocket dimensions flash in his mind, and what was that he just decided about fucking up a good thing by getting carried away? He reels it back in: ] But I guess you've got a good excuse.
Do you want to ask me something? I can tell you what I know. I'm here to help. [ He throws his arms wide, magnanimously. ] Like you said, a consultant.
[This feels... safe enough. There's that strange jealousy still, but no sense of actual malice. Alone as he was, he only had instinct and gut feeling to go on. Which was... something he got a sense he'd done before. A lot. But whatever the case, the Cat King, while clearly an odd sort, didn't ping him as someone that meant him harm. But at the same time there was something in his mannerisms that twigged the idea that sometimes? He might just be trouble.
But then, he felt that the same could probably be said of him.
Charles.
Something eased in his posture, some thread of tension unraveling subtly as the name was offered. Familiar again. His, he didn't need any confirmation of that. It was a bit grounding to at least have that.]
I'd think total amnesia's a fair excuse yeah, [A lift of brows, unable to help but preen a bit at the compliment offered.] Good to know I've got a good face. Thought as much, but hard to double-check on account of the whole reflection thing.
[He did make a quiet mental note to tread carefully. The Cat might have been joking with him, but he wasn't sure how real the potential for offense here was if he accidentally tread on his proverbial tail, let alone what the other might do about said offenses.]
Mate, I know I'm a ghost, and what you told me so far. That's a lot of questions, [It didn't sound nearly as harrowing as it actually felt to admit that, or realize the depths of just how much he'd forgotten. He just chuckled with a sheepish sort of shrug, hands finally leaving the straps of his bag to hook thumbs in belt loops, a bit less of an uneasy sort of posture.] But to start, you said you're the Cat King, but what do I call you? Like s'there a name, or do you just get called 'Your Majesty' by everyone?
[ It's a very good thing that Charles moves on quickly from the comment about not being able to see his own reflection, because the Cat's instincts have him stringing together a lavish little description of what, exactly, he looks like to form on the tip of his tongue before the conversation moves on. And, he reasons, once the comment has slunk back down his throat, that it's probably for the best. Glazing someone in Charles' vulnerable state on their attractive qualities won't do either of them any favours — and the Cat doesn't need further reasons to remind himself how objectively attractive this little ghost is.
And then he says that and the Cat actually has to close his eyes and wonder if the universe is testing him. ]
Cat, is usually what you call me. [ Well, he's heard some other choice phrases from Charles' mouth when he thinks no Cats are watching — whiskers, prick — but he doesn't feel the need to remind him of those just yet. ] But I wouldn't be opposed to you showing a little more respect more regularly. Your highness, your majesty... I'm not fussy on the title, just the honesty behind it. If you're saying it to be sarcastic, don't bother.
[ That sounds fair, right? And it puts Charles in the clear standing that this cat, though flirty and relatively easy-going and very obviously willing to help this poor lost ghost, is not a King to be taken lightly. But he also isn't worth beating away with a cricket bat. Not for no reason, at least.
And that makes him think. If Charles isn't immediately mistrusting of him, then that means that he must not remember why. He remembers he's a ghost, but not why he chose to linger. He's forgotten Edwin. Immediately he feels like he should tell him, but he also feels a strange disconnect with that better judgement; because if he tells him, Charles will want to find him, will want to return to where Edwin is and find out all these things from him instead. Which would be better, in the long run, but would put the Cat in the same position he always finds himself in: left behind to lick his wounds in the cannery alone.
Well, that particular reveal can wait a little, right? It's not lying if he merely doesn't say anything. Right? ]
Cat? [Without distrust or jealousy behind it, the moniker doesn't carry nearly the same sort of disrespect out of his mouth.] Sounds pretty casual for a monarch. Must've got on well enough, if you were lettin' me call you that and all, yeah?
[Oh if only he knew.
But at the same time, he noted the clear preference inherent in what the Cat was telling him about the options too. And that made him wonder. Did the Cat just not correct him before? It was hard to say right now with so little to go off of though, so he merely kept that as something to consider later.
And with how much he was missing? That he had no memories of Edwin didn't stand out overmuch yet. He had no idea how much of that sense of void was from missing one particular person in particular rather than everything else. It would become all the more apparent as memories filtered back in, but... that was surely a problem for future Cat King. It wouldn't cause any trouble later on to avoid talking about that particular subject with this particular ghost, right?]
But yeah, like I was saying... problem here is there's so much I don't know that I'm not even sure where to start. So whatever you can tell me'd be aces, Your Majesty.
[The newest case had seemed straightforward at first. A librarian noting the vanishing of one of her patrons, reaching out to the Dead Boy Detective Agency for assistance in tracking them down. Even she admitted that it was possible that he might have moved on, but something about it didn't seem right to her. So they agreed to look into things.
And they found this was not the only ghost to vanish. One or two was an unfortunate coincidence, but close to a dozen now, that only the ones that they'd found word of, those who had others who noticed their disappearance? That spoke to something larger.
The one thread that bound all the myriad vanished spirits was mention of the Night Market. Not entirely strange- they accepted all sorts there, dead, alive, in-between so long as they obeyed the rules of the place. It was an excellent source of all manner of things, from the mundane to the supernatural. One had to be careful bartering though. It was no Fae thing where consumption bound a person, but anything was up for trade. Most tended towards magical artifacts or trinkets, knowledge and secrets, but some vendors would accept payment in memories. Emotions. Traits or luck, years from a person's life, the color of their hair. Anything had value to someone, and while the rule was the transaction must be willing, that didn't stop someone from having buyer's remorse because they didn't think about what they were trading away.
Normally, Charles wouldn't come here without Edwin. The other was always so much better than him at sussing out the sort of trouble that came from this place, knew more magic, knew more about the supernatural. But he was in the middle of a ritual that couldn't be left unattended, that couldn't be put off, so it was with no small amount of unease that he'd agreed.
Worried or no, Charles couldn't help but be a bit excited. As dangerous as the place could be, the Market was always interesting. So he just made sure his coat was snugged tight around him, that his pack was secure on his shoulder as he cut into the crowd. He tried not to just run into or through people- keeping corporeal for the moment helped with that, but he still had to dodge out of the way of the rare sort who, for some reason despite being able to get to the Night Market, were unable to perceive him. He had his little bundle of things to trade for information, his warnings thanks to Edwin, and knowledge of several ways in and out if things got too dangerous. He was absolutely ready for whatever was to come in this little solo adventure.]
[Courtney used to be a regular at the Goblin Market, when it was something she had access to. She learned early on not to eat or drink anything, not to say 'thank you', not to accept gifts. Knowing that her uncle would ground her for lifetimes to come, for foolishness, kept her from bartering things she couldn't afford to lose, for the most part. She did trade the A+ she got on a book report once. It wasn't worth a lot, but the hobgoblin who bought it said there was a niche market for things like that.
She never cared much about her grades, anyway.
The Night Market isn't quite the same, but it's similar enough that she's at home there. If there is some nefarious trafficking of spirits about, she's not (yet) aware of it. Rather, she's been buying ingredients for a particular spell, and having obtained most of what she needs, she's standing by a pen of vampire pumpkins, which are rolling back and forth in the low light, burbling faintly.
She wants ten. What happens if you carve a face into a vampire pumpkin? Will it bite?
She senses a chill, rather than hearing or seeing him coming, and she looks up in time to see him dodge another patron, one who seems oblivious to his existence. Her nose wrinkles in mild disdain: it just seems rude to trip on a ghost. Failing to perceive them is no excuse.] Eesh. You'd think you'd be hard to miss here.
Some folk sure, just completely ghosted by the lot of ’em… except you!
[His tone is cheerful as he replies, taking refuge near where the stranger was for the moment. Charles enjoyed a crowd, but if he was going to investigate, he also needed to chat people up, right?] Careful now, that sort of attention comes with a bit of responsibility, yeah?
[He'd been about to start in on conversation that would lead that way- easy enough as they were already talking about people's lack of consideration for a ghost and all. But the movement in the little pen they were standing near just drew his attention, and turning to look. Unable to help the way his expression brightened seeing the little gourds rumbling around in little packs.]
Aw! Aw look at these lil lads! [Should he stick his hand down in the pen for one of the closer ones to investigate? No, but then they were so cute he really wanted to see if they were amenable to pets. Which, given his entire lack of blood, was about the only reason that one was bumping his hand, which just had him beaming in delight.] They yours, or are you just a pumpkin aficionado?
Well, I'm not a fan of the idea people are gonna think I'm talking to myself, but whatever. If they're not here for weird, they're gonna be disappointed.
[Folding her arms, she rests her elbows on the edge of the pen.] Yeah, yeah, with great power comes even greater pains in the ass. If you've got a message or something, I'm game. [He looks about Will's age, and that's a little upsetting, imagining what could kill a teenager...
Then again, Will's already lived an entire lifetime in the Twilight Kingdom so he's not a model of normalcy, either.
She chuckles softly at his interest in the pumpkins, shaking her head.] No, I'm shit at growing things. Kind of tempted to buy a couple, though. There's something cute about the way they growl. Like a spicy feral kitten.
Message? Nah, nothin' like that, [He gently gives the pumpkin a nudge to set it rocking back- the thing seems to like that, burbling before rolling back at his hand again to let him catch it and rock it back again like a little game.] Been a lot of ghosts vanishing lately outta London, and this place is the only thing they've all got in common. Came to see what I could find out.
[As if he wasn't just as at risk, what with being a ghost and all.
Another pair of pumpkins came rolling closer, one bumping at the one by Charles' hand, the other doing little hopeful circles within Courtney's reach as if hoping for some attention all it's own.]
I think I'd get that huge one over in the corner- the one that's all bumpy and green? Name 'm Gourdzilla.
[She seems a little relieved by that. She'd do the job if he asked, but she doesn't really want to be Haley Joel Osment to his Bruce Willis, as it were. So yeah, it's also good that he knows he's a ghost. Simplifies things.]
Ghosts vanishing? [Then again, maybe it's not simple, after all.] In a way that suggests they didn't just...go into the light or whatever, I take it?
[Not at the Night Market. Not where memories and souls are up for trade all the time. Courtney leans a little lower and scratches the pumpkin next to her obligingly, fingernails making little tapping noises on its rind.] That could be problematic.
[She chuckles at Gourdzilla, though.] I think this group takes cash, for whatever that's worth. You could go for it. I like the little smooth white ones.
Yup. Not a trace, and the ones with friends we talked to all said the same thing- nothing was different, and none of 'em seemed to be sortin' their unfinished business to move on, [A tilt of his head as he pondered the problem, brows furrowing.] No signs of Death havin' shown, no blue light or even red. Like they just waltzed in here and-
[A lift of a hand to imitate a puff of smoke along with a soft sound effect.]
Hmm... I could... [He considered the big pumpkin, humming thoughtfully.] It not having a mouth does mean it can't chew on the first editions, so Edwin won't have any reason to kill me over it...
I mean...there are a dozen different types of summoning spells you can use to command a spirit to do your dirty work, but people don't usually use human spirits for that. [Most of them aren't as, um, versatile as a demon. It's a possibility, but not a super likely one, she judges.
And it wouldn't explain why they disappeared here, of all places.] Not sure I like the sound of that.
[A snort of amusement.] I'm told they don't bite. It might roll across your feet and try to trip you up, that's about it.
Getting yanked from the middle of reading peacefully in his chamber and into the middle of a summoning circle is not entirely unprecedented for Loki, but it's not your average Tuesday, either. The first thing he notices is it's clumsy. Someone with more power than sense is pulling on him. He has just enough time to grab an extra book before the world drops out from under him and spills him onto the floor in some kind of basement, and the next thing he notices is it's dark, which is annoying because he was really enjoying his reading.
"Damn it! You couldn't have let me bring a lamp? I was working on something!" He blinks owlishly, and his eyes are definitely going to adjust faster than any human's, but he's still put out.
And then the third thing he notices is that he's not alone in the circle. Well, that's sloppy work, surely? You can only pack so many entities into one spell...
Charles had heard the wizard's chanting of course. Edwin had been carefully peeling away at his warding, with the other pacing behind him keeping watch because there was no way they were letting this prat get the slip on them.
Until there was some sort of flash from one of the upper windows, and Charles felt a strange sort of tug as he too? Was suddenly elsewhere, deposited with no particular ceremony in some sort of circle.
"Oi! Honestly, wanker move innit?" His first assumption was that Edwin had been pulled with him- some sort of ghost trap? But the voice speaking up was unfamiliar even if the complaint was, Charles blinking as he realized he was stuck with a stranger. At least they looked as put out as he did, so this wasn't likely their plan.
And the wizard himself seemed just as bewildered, looking from Charles to Loki as if he's not sure what to make of this before he seemed to recognize the teen, pointing accusingly at him with an outraged look. "You're from the shop! That kid!"
Charles just scoffed, making a rude gesture as he offered a reassuring smile to the other in the circle with him. "Don't worry about him, he's a twat. Me and Edwin'll have you back to your fun in two shakes!"
Several things are happening at once, and they're all unusual enough that Loki is taking a few seconds to process them all. First, it's exceedingly weird for a summoning circle to pull two people in. Second, the entity sharing his space appears to be a teenager--though, perhaps not one who is currently alive.
"More than a little inconsiderate," he agrees with the ghostly youth, looking at him as if he's never seen anything like him before.
Third: their summoner not only recognizes the boy but seems annoyed to see him. From the shop? "I see you two have a history. I would hate to interfere with whatever discussion you're about to have. I could just see myself out?"
He knows better. Seems like Loki himself was the real target here, and while he's no hero, he's disinclined to just leave some kid in the lurch, even if said kid seems remarkably calm about all this.
"Although, actually, I'm curious to hear you out, now," he says to the wizard. "I'm not sure whether you're exceptionally powerful or exceptionally incompetent, having dragged two people into one spell."
It's alright Loki, it's a lot to deal with at once. And honestly, this isn't the first time Charles has been caught in some sort of trap or magic circle before!
"It was only supposed to summon you!" The wizard protested, looking from Loki to Charles as if the secret to why could be gleaned there before his gaze snapped to his book again, skimming over the ritual. "So I could bargain for a boon!"
"My vote's for incompetent," Charles replied easily, brows lifting at that complaint from the wizard, his gaze on Loki now curiously assessing. "A right git too- did you know he's been snatching homeless kids for his shitty immortality spells? S'what's got me and Edwin on him."
"Honestly, if you wanted a boon, trapping someone in a circle isn't usually the best way to make nice. Points for audacity, though."
And actually? He'd be willing to have the chat just on that basis. It takes some balls to summon a notoriously unreliable god to do your bidding. Unfortunately for the sorcerer, Loki's interest in being pleasant stops where harming random homeless children starts.
"Snatching as in catching and killing?" His gaze refocuses on Charles, and any mirth that was there before is gone.
Oh, did the other not like that? Charles wasn't sure what the man had been trying to summon, whether some Fae creature, spirit, or even demon, (that he had been trying to and succeeded in hooking a god hadn't yet occurred to him) it seemed that his fellow captive in the circle was as displeased with the idea of the wizard's extracurriculars as he was.
A sharp nod offered at the question, brows furrowing as he pointed out the amulet held tight in the man's off hand, pulsing with a sickly-feeling sort of energy and the strain of many spirits trying to find a way free. "Been killin' 'em and trappin' their spirits in that nasty bit of kit before Death could show up to help the poor mites move on."
Loki doesn't consider himself particularly ethical, but there are a few lines he doesn't care to cross. Dead children are one of them. Trapping the spirits of murdered children is even worse.
His gaze flicks across the room to where the amulet rests in the sorcerer's hand, then up to the man's face. "That's not how it works," he says quietly. "You can't sacrifice something that isn't yours to give. You may get someone who'll take it, but whatever they offer you back won't last."
"You might make it out of this with your soul intact if you back down now, and let those spirits go. Otherwise, there are entities with a greater sense of justice than me, and they will find you."
The temperature in the room around them is dropping, which is about the only magic Loki can pull off without finding a breach in the summoning circle. It could still be enough to rattle the man or make him drop the amulet, though.
Charles at least felt slightly better that whatever the man had been planning to try and convince his fellow captive in the circle to do? It seemed he wasn't likely to play along with the plot here if that response was any hint. And while he might be a ghost and thus can't typically feel things like temperature, the method of his own death, and the magic source of the chill here had it nipping at him too, even as the sorcerer's breath fogged the air. Which was only partly because of Loki, and partly because of the ghostly teen who prowled along the edges of the circle, dark eyes flicking intently over the runes etched into the floorboards.
"I'd listen to him, he's definitely got the right idea," Charles mused, glancing towards the wizard who was flipping pages with a more irritated air, masking whatever fright had him paling, had his pulse jumping along with a muscle along his jaw as the dropping temperature had hands shaking over vellum. "Whatever's willin' to trade for what you've got? Never ends well."
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For catting
He had no idea of much of anything, really, but that was beside the point. Laying flat on his back in a sparsely decorated room in front of a standing mirror, he'd taken a moment to try and sort out just what he did know.
I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost and I'm... somewhere.
Less than helpful. Patting down his jacket he didn't find much- some odds and ends, trinkets and baubles he wasn't sure what to make of. No reflection so he couldn't get a better look at himself. A thing he didn't know he knew until he had picked himself up and tried to look and the information just swam up out of the foggy recesses of his mind. Right. He wasn't sure what to do about it, but...looking for clues? Yes, that felt right.
He investigated the room, the hall, the bathroom, the room across the hall. All of them seemed somewhat familiar, but nothing was being jostled loose, and he didn't find any real signs of current habitation. Bits and bobs that always seemed to be left in the wake of moving, but no names or pictures or anything else that might give him names or faces to go off of.
The downstairs looked like a bomb had gone off. It had been cleaned up, clearly in the middle of repairs, but there were still bare studs and subfloor exposed. He skirted a sawhorse and stacks of supplies to slip out the door onto the main thoroughfare, brow furrowing as he looked one way then the other. It was... somewhat familiar. Like he building he'd come to awareness in, he knew he'd seen it before, but that was all the recollection he could seem to pull.]
Right- [It felt strange to turn and glance, presumably to see if anything looked familiar nearby to start with, and not find... someone standing there at his shoulder. Something about the wrongness of that settled in, and he gave himself a faint shake as if in defiance of the sensation.] Right then, nothing for it but to see what's what.
[Surely he'd find something that would jog his memories. Or find someone who could see him. Unaware that he'd already been spotted, the little feline already darting away to share their news.]
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The Cat was fiddling with something shiny he'd traded with the crow for in exchange for a temporary transformation spell that would make him human again, but he fast lost interest in it in the wake of the news. It's all pretty confusing, if he's honest. Why would Charles be here without Edwin, why is Edwin not storming through the mirror to come and collect him, why come here in the first place, and why was he reportedly looking around like he'd never seen here before?
He'd have to be a much stronger Cat than he is to resist this particular little mystery and, unafraid of getting his own paws dirty, he disappears in a burst of purple magic to rematerialize in a familiar alleyway — the one in which he'd last seen one of the ghost boys, actually, funny how that happens — and steps out of it to see the very tangible evidence of this strange story; Edwin's loyal little attack-dog, standing with his hands on his backpack straps, looking like he's trying to decide in which direction to go. ]
Lost?
[ He calls as he comes into the street at large, head tilting and a smile on his face that he certainly means to look warm, but probably looks a little mean, too. He's wearing a similar leather ensemble to what he was wearing when he last saw Edwin, only a little less rigid, a little more dressed down. He was trying to look good, then, after all; this has caught him off guard. But in the best kind of way. He's weirdly excited to talk to Charles without the buffer of Edwin inevitably taking over. ]
Don't tell me you can't remember your way around this place - it's like four main streets and a beachfront. Don't you live in a city?
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The voice speaking up is familiar too- and he's not sure how he knows they're talking to him, how he knows that they can see him, but turning to see strange eyes focused on him, and that smile that's just a little too sharp to be entirely genial cinches it.
He's not sure what to make of them. Or of the sudden rush of jealousy that writhes to life inside his ribcage like a thicket of thorns. Jealous? Why was he jealous of the stranger? He blinked, once, then twice as he takes in what they're saying- confirming that he should know where he was. As well as another detail that he leapt on.]
I live in a city? [It feels right as he says it, even if his stubborn memory refuses to shake out anything more than that sense of correctness. No name, no skyline, no familiar landmarks. What a pain. One thumb working over the canvas of the strap in his grasp, an unconscious little gesture of uncertain thought.] We know each other then, I take it?
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We do. You solved a few cases here some months ago. I helped.
[ It's not entirely a lie, but it does settle strangely on his tongue nonetheless. He's not sure Edwin — or Charles, for that matter — would agree that what he did was help, even if it did assist their psychic in banishing the town witch. ]
So. You've lost your memory, huh? No point asking how, since I guess that falls into the realms of the problem itself, but... [ He takes an easy, lazy step forward, wondering if Charles is still on the back foot about him despite apparently not remembering who he is. Will he meet with Charles eager to find a face that knows him, or will he meet the business end of a cricket bat? ] That's pretty impressive. Casting a curse on a ghost is no joke.
[ A little up and down with his eyes. Because he can't resist. ]
I'm the Cat King of Port Townsend. Which is where you are. A loooong long way from London, little ghost.
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[Despite his uncertainty, the idea feels so right that it earns a bright, crooked grin in response.]
That's brills. And you helped, you said? So like a consultant or s'mmat? [Didn't detectives always have people like that? Contacts and consultants?
There was still that confusing tangle in him, that jealousy, but without a proper source, as off-kilter as knowing nothing was making him, relief at someone being able to see him let alone know him was winning over the uncertain feeling. Though the Cat would likely see the faint signs of it like a quiet question in the edges of his smile. But, it also didn't seem that he was feeling aggressive either in the moment.]
'Bout sums it up. [He's not repeating every little detail that the Cat is giving him, but he's definitely listening, gathering up the names and information to ponder later. Port Townsend. London. Some sort of curse.]
Cats have kings? [He tilted his head at that, considering the idea. It sounded familiar again, but vaguely so.] Always seemed a bit too independent for that sorta thing, cats. But then you'd know better than me.
I'd introduce myself but- [A tilt of his head and a tap of a finger against a temple with a wry cast to his grin.] Well. Suppose you don't need it if you know me anyways!
[He wasn't going to think on how nervous it was making him as the surprise of waking without memories was starting to ease off. It was so easy though to smother that unease under a smile and a bright tone. Like muscle memory.]
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Laughing, softly, at Charles' almost endearing little run around. It's silly how caught out by that handsome face he is, though he should be accustomed to letting his enchanted senses get the better of him since he absolutely fumbled the bag with Edwin after being entranced by nothing but his eyes in the first place... He vows that, given this second chance to at least make Charles see his merit as a consultant — as he said — and not simply to write him off as a trouble-maker and let threats be the only currency traded between them... He'll do better this time. If he keeps Charles safe, even helps him to get his memory back, perhaps even Edwin will have reason enough to thank him, in whatever archaic Edwardian way debts are repaid. Though, he has some ideas for worthy payment of his own. ]
Yeah, no need to tell me who you are, Charles. I know all about you.
[ Not entirely true, but his Cats had been keeping an eye on Charles too, technically, since he was almost always with Edwin when they were running around his Kingdom. ]
And it seems I have a lot to re-teach you about me, if you've forgotten that Cat Kings even exist. You're lucky I don't offend easily when it's a pretty face doing the mis-step, or I'd have to punish you for that. Rudeness to a King in their own Kingdom is a pretty big faux-pas. [ Thoughts of bracelets and little neon pocket dimensions flash in his mind, and what was that he just decided about fucking up a good thing by getting carried away? He reels it back in: ] But I guess you've got a good excuse.
Do you want to ask me something? I can tell you what I know. I'm here to help. [ He throws his arms wide, magnanimously. ] Like you said, a consultant.
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But then, he felt that the same could probably be said of him.
Charles.
Something eased in his posture, some thread of tension unraveling subtly as the name was offered. Familiar again. His, he didn't need any confirmation of that. It was a bit grounding to at least have that.]
I'd think total amnesia's a fair excuse yeah, [A lift of brows, unable to help but preen a bit at the compliment offered.] Good to know I've got a good face. Thought as much, but hard to double-check on account of the whole reflection thing.
[He did make a quiet mental note to tread carefully. The Cat might have been joking with him, but he wasn't sure how real the potential for offense here was if he accidentally tread on his proverbial tail, let alone what the other might do about said offenses.]
Mate, I know I'm a ghost, and what you told me so far. That's a lot of questions, [It didn't sound nearly as harrowing as it actually felt to admit that, or realize the depths of just how much he'd forgotten. He just chuckled with a sheepish sort of shrug, hands finally leaving the straps of his bag to hook thumbs in belt loops, a bit less of an uneasy sort of posture.] But to start, you said you're the Cat King, but what do I call you? Like s'there a name, or do you just get called 'Your Majesty' by everyone?
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And then he says that and the Cat actually has to close his eyes and wonder if the universe is testing him. ]
Cat, is usually what you call me. [ Well, he's heard some other choice phrases from Charles' mouth when he thinks no Cats are watching — whiskers, prick — but he doesn't feel the need to remind him of those just yet. ] But I wouldn't be opposed to you showing a little more respect more regularly. Your highness, your majesty... I'm not fussy on the title, just the honesty behind it. If you're saying it to be sarcastic, don't bother.
[ That sounds fair, right? And it puts Charles in the clear standing that this cat, though flirty and relatively easy-going and very obviously willing to help this poor lost ghost, is not a King to be taken lightly. But he also isn't worth beating away with a cricket bat. Not for no reason, at least.
And that makes him think. If Charles isn't immediately mistrusting of him, then that means that he must not remember why. He remembers he's a ghost, but not why he chose to linger. He's forgotten Edwin. Immediately he feels like he should tell him, but he also feels a strange disconnect with that better judgement; because if he tells him, Charles will want to find him, will want to return to where Edwin is and find out all these things from him instead. Which would be better, in the long run, but would put the Cat in the same position he always finds himself in: left behind to lick his wounds in the cannery alone.
Well, that particular reveal can wait a little, right? It's not lying if he merely doesn't say anything. Right? ]
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[Oh if only he knew.
But at the same time, he noted the clear preference inherent in what the Cat was telling him about the options too. And that made him wonder. Did the Cat just not correct him before? It was hard to say right now with so little to go off of though, so he merely kept that as something to consider later.
And with how much he was missing? That he had no memories of Edwin didn't stand out overmuch yet. He had no idea how much of that sense of void was from missing one particular person in particular rather than everything else. It would become all the more apparent as memories filtered back in, but... that was surely a problem for future Cat King. It wouldn't cause any trouble later on to avoid talking about that particular subject with this particular ghost, right?]
But yeah, like I was saying... problem here is there's so much I don't know that I'm not even sure where to start. So whatever you can tell me'd be aces, Your Majesty.
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time to tl;dr everywhere!
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For sidhean
And they found this was not the only ghost to vanish. One or two was an unfortunate coincidence, but close to a dozen now, that only the ones that they'd found word of, those who had others who noticed their disappearance? That spoke to something larger.
The one thread that bound all the myriad vanished spirits was mention of the Night Market. Not entirely strange- they accepted all sorts there, dead, alive, in-between so long as they obeyed the rules of the place. It was an excellent source of all manner of things, from the mundane to the supernatural. One had to be careful bartering though. It was no Fae thing where consumption bound a person, but anything was up for trade. Most tended towards magical artifacts or trinkets, knowledge and secrets, but some vendors would accept payment in memories. Emotions. Traits or luck, years from a person's life, the color of their hair. Anything had value to someone, and while the rule was the transaction must be willing, that didn't stop someone from having buyer's remorse because they didn't think about what they were trading away.
Normally, Charles wouldn't come here without Edwin. The other was always so much better than him at sussing out the sort of trouble that came from this place, knew more magic, knew more about the supernatural. But he was in the middle of a ritual that couldn't be left unattended, that couldn't be put off, so it was with no small amount of unease that he'd agreed.
Worried or no, Charles couldn't help but be a bit excited. As dangerous as the place could be, the Market was always interesting. So he just made sure his coat was snugged tight around him, that his pack was secure on his shoulder as he cut into the crowd. He tried not to just run into or through people- keeping corporeal for the moment helped with that, but he still had to dodge out of the way of the rare sort who, for some reason despite being able to get to the Night Market, were unable to perceive him. He had his little bundle of things to trade for information, his warnings thanks to Edwin, and knowledge of several ways in and out if things got too dangerous. He was absolutely ready for whatever was to come in this little solo adventure.]
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She never cared much about her grades, anyway.
The Night Market isn't quite the same, but it's similar enough that she's at home there. If there is some nefarious trafficking of spirits about, she's not (yet) aware of it. Rather, she's been buying ingredients for a particular spell, and having obtained most of what she needs, she's standing by a pen of vampire pumpkins, which are rolling back and forth in the low light, burbling faintly.
She wants ten. What happens if you carve a face into a vampire pumpkin? Will it bite?
She senses a chill, rather than hearing or seeing him coming, and she looks up in time to see him dodge another patron, one who seems oblivious to his existence. Her nose wrinkles in mild disdain: it just seems rude to trip on a ghost. Failing to perceive them is no excuse.] Eesh. You'd think you'd be hard to miss here.
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[His tone is cheerful as he replies, taking refuge near where the stranger was for the moment. Charles enjoyed a crowd, but if he was going to investigate, he also needed to chat people up, right?] Careful now, that sort of attention comes with a bit of responsibility, yeah?
[He'd been about to start in on conversation that would lead that way- easy enough as they were already talking about people's lack of consideration for a ghost and all. But the movement in the little pen they were standing near just drew his attention, and turning to look. Unable to help the way his expression brightened seeing the little gourds rumbling around in little packs.]
Aw! Aw look at these lil lads! [Should he stick his hand down in the pen for one of the closer ones to investigate? No, but then they were so cute he really wanted to see if they were amenable to pets. Which, given his entire lack of blood, was about the only reason that one was bumping his hand, which just had him beaming in delight.] They yours, or are you just a pumpkin aficionado?
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[Folding her arms, she rests her elbows on the edge of the pen.] Yeah, yeah, with great power comes even greater pains in the ass. If you've got a message or something, I'm game. [He looks about Will's age, and that's a little upsetting, imagining what could kill a teenager...
Then again, Will's already lived an entire lifetime in the Twilight Kingdom so he's not a model of normalcy, either.
She chuckles softly at his interest in the pumpkins, shaking her head.] No, I'm shit at growing things. Kind of tempted to buy a couple, though. There's something cute about the way they growl. Like a spicy feral kitten.
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[As if he wasn't just as at risk, what with being a ghost and all.
Another pair of pumpkins came rolling closer, one bumping at the one by Charles' hand, the other doing little hopeful circles within Courtney's reach as if hoping for some attention all it's own.]
I think I'd get that huge one over in the corner- the one that's all bumpy and green? Name 'm Gourdzilla.
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Ghosts vanishing? [Then again, maybe it's not simple, after all.] In a way that suggests they didn't just...go into the light or whatever, I take it?
[Not at the Night Market. Not where memories and souls are up for trade all the time. Courtney leans a little lower and scratches the pumpkin next to her obligingly, fingernails making little tapping noises on its rind.] That could be problematic.
[She chuckles at Gourdzilla, though.] I think this group takes cash, for whatever that's worth. You could go for it. I like the little smooth white ones.
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[A lift of a hand to imitate a puff of smoke along with a soft sound effect.]
Hmm... I could... [He considered the big pumpkin, humming thoughtfully.] It not having a mouth does mean it can't chew on the first editions, so Edwin won't have any reason to kill me over it...
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And it wouldn't explain why they disappeared here, of all places.] Not sure I like the sound of that.
[A snort of amusement.] I'm told they don't bite. It might roll across your feet and try to trip you up, that's about it.
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#1 Grandad reporting for duty
"Damn it! You couldn't have let me bring a lamp? I was working on something!" He blinks owlishly, and his eyes are definitely going to adjust faster than any human's, but he's still put out.
And then the third thing he notices is that he's not alone in the circle. Well, that's sloppy work, surely? You can only pack so many entities into one spell...
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Until there was some sort of flash from one of the upper windows, and Charles felt a strange sort of tug as he too? Was suddenly elsewhere, deposited with no particular ceremony in some sort of circle.
"Oi! Honestly, wanker move innit?" His first assumption was that Edwin had been pulled with him- some sort of ghost trap? But the voice speaking up was unfamiliar even if the complaint was, Charles blinking as he realized he was stuck with a stranger. At least they looked as put out as he did, so this wasn't likely their plan.
And the wizard himself seemed just as bewildered, looking from Charles to Loki as if he's not sure what to make of this before he seemed to recognize the teen, pointing accusingly at him with an outraged look. "You're from the shop! That kid!"
Charles just scoffed, making a rude gesture as he offered a reassuring smile to the other in the circle with him. "Don't worry about him, he's a twat. Me and Edwin'll have you back to your fun in two shakes!"
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"More than a little inconsiderate," he agrees with the ghostly youth, looking at him as if he's never seen anything like him before.
Third: their summoner not only recognizes the boy but seems annoyed to see him. From the shop? "I see you two have a history. I would hate to interfere with whatever discussion you're about to have. I could just see myself out?"
He knows better. Seems like Loki himself was the real target here, and while he's no hero, he's disinclined to just leave some kid in the lurch, even if said kid seems remarkably calm about all this.
"Although, actually, I'm curious to hear you out, now," he says to the wizard. "I'm not sure whether you're exceptionally powerful or exceptionally incompetent, having dragged two people into one spell."
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"It was only supposed to summon you!" The wizard protested, looking from Loki to Charles as if the secret to why could be gleaned there before his gaze snapped to his book again, skimming over the ritual. "So I could bargain for a boon!"
"My vote's for incompetent," Charles replied easily, brows lifting at that complaint from the wizard, his gaze on Loki now curiously assessing. "A right git too- did you know he's been snatching homeless kids for his shitty immortality spells? S'what's got me and Edwin on him."
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And actually? He'd be willing to have the chat just on that basis. It takes some balls to summon a notoriously unreliable god to do your bidding. Unfortunately for the sorcerer, Loki's interest in being pleasant stops where harming random homeless children starts.
"Snatching as in catching and killing?" His gaze refocuses on Charles, and any mirth that was there before is gone.
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A sharp nod offered at the question, brows furrowing as he pointed out the amulet held tight in the man's off hand, pulsing with a sickly-feeling sort of energy and the strain of many spirits trying to find a way free. "Been killin' 'em and trappin' their spirits in that nasty bit of kit before Death could show up to help the poor mites move on."
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His gaze flicks across the room to where the amulet rests in the sorcerer's hand, then up to the man's face. "That's not how it works," he says quietly. "You can't sacrifice something that isn't yours to give. You may get someone who'll take it, but whatever they offer you back won't last."
"You might make it out of this with your soul intact if you back down now, and let those spirits go. Otherwise, there are entities with a greater sense of justice than me, and they will find you."
The temperature in the room around them is dropping, which is about the only magic Loki can pull off without finding a breach in the summoning circle. It could still be enough to rattle the man or make him drop the amulet, though.
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"I'd listen to him, he's definitely got the right idea," Charles mused, glancing towards the wizard who was flipping pages with a more irritated air, masking whatever fright had him paling, had his pulse jumping along with a muscle along his jaw as the dropping temperature had hands shaking over vellum. "Whatever's willin' to trade for what you've got? Never ends well."