Children of the Moon 2

continued ....
== Hunt ==
xx October 2003; Govanhill, City of Glasgow, Scotland, UK
Ken, perched cross-legged on his bed, frowns at the psychology textbook in his lap, groans.
""What's wrong?"" pipes his mobile with Murron's voice.
"This's gonna kill me." He sighs. "I need a break."
""So, we can talk?""
"We can talk."
Murron makes a happy sound. 
Ken smiles at the phone, /fumps closed the book. "What's going on with you?"
""Well, Lessie stomped out a bit ago all in a huff.""
Ken shifts to frowning. "Any idea what's up with that?"
""She wouldn't say. Just ... left.""
"Huh. That's not very Lessie-like. Usually she wants to tell /everyone what she's up to."
""Mhm. That's why I'm worried it's something really bad.""
"If anyone we know can take care of herself, it's Lessie."
""I guess,"" Murron admits, ""but she's my friend and I worry.""
"Yeaaa ... 'course." Ken braces an elbow against his knee, rests his chin on his palm. "How's the thing with your sealskin going?"
Awkward silence.
"Murron? You still there?"
""'m here."" She hesitates. ""Mister Fairbairn's been talking to the person and they're telling him they'll only give it back if I'm there.""
The back of Ken's neck prickles.
"That sounds like a trap."
""Lessie and Mister Fairbairn think so, too. He's /trying to work out a way to get it without a chance of me being Taken, but the other person's making it /really hard.""
"I don't like the sound of this."
""Me, either.""
"Maybe it'd be best to forget about it?"
""But if my sealskin /is out there, I could be Taken anytime. I won't be safe until I have it back.""
Ken bites his lip.
""I hope Mister Fairbairn figures something out soon."" She takes a deep, shaky breath. ""I want to stop worrying.""
"Yea, me, too. I want you to be safe."
""Maybe I can come stay with you?""
That's /definitely a note of hope in her voice.
"Murron, I live in a studio flat. There's not room for two people," he sighs.
""If I help pay rent, we could afford a bigger place?""
"Pay rent how, exactly? You work for room and board."
""I can negotiate for a salary.""
"And commute from Glasgow to the School every day."
""Yes!""
Ken drags a hand down his face. "Murron ... let's talk about this tomorrow, when I'm not so brain-dead, aye?"
""O-okaaay.""
"Sleep well tonight."
""You, too. I love you~!""
"Love you, too. 'night."
""'night!""
Ken pokes the mobile to disconnect the call, leans back, rests his head against the wall, stares at the ceiling.
Outside the window, the streetlamps flicker to life.
/pop!
Ken side-eyes—
Lessie, eyes blazing, and Don, paler and with eyes darker and deeper than usual, stand in the middle of the floor.
"I /hate poofin' about," Don grumps.
"Th'fuck?!" Ken scrambles to his feet, flutters. "How did you get /in here?!"
"Apparated. You know—"
"/You /said /you /warded /this /place!"
"I left myself a back door in case of emergency."
"You /what?!"
Lessie waves him off. "Later."
"No! We're talk—"
"/Later. He needs to hide out from the cops and Aurors with you for a bit."
"What? /Why?!"
"Valerie the ex-fiancée turned up dead—"
Don flinches.
"—this afternoon—"
Ken blinks rapidly, stripping mental gears. "Wait. /Dead?" His voice jumps a full octave.
"—and it doesn't look like natural causes or an accident."
Ken's heart stutters to a near-stop.
Lessie sniffs, "He didn't do it, ye numpty."
"Then why does he need to hide?!"
"'cos wizards don't give a damn 'bout truth when there's a vampire they can blame."
Ken rounds on Don. "She was a /wizard?!"
"Yea—and he should've told me sooner. She's also /French so there'll definitely be Aurors poking their noses in."
"Are you fucking /kidding me?!"
"You know I'm not." Lessie gives him a Look. "Or do you need a refresher from Missus Hughes?"
"Why can't he stay with you?" whines Ken.
"I'm the third place they'll look and my wards and Cherish's aren't as thorough as yours."
Ken makes a /very frustrated noise, tears at his hair.
"He'll be safer here."
"/He might be safer, but what about /me?!"
"The cops'll sort it out soon enough it's not him and the Aurors have to play nice with you 'cos you're a fellow wizard."
"But—"
"I /was one, remember? I know how they work."
"What about Mad Rory? He's strong enough to actually /protect somebody from a real wizard!"
"We asked already. He's under Ministry watch."
"They think he set fire to a boat in Belfast harbour," adds Don.
"/Did he?"
Don shrugs. "Probably?"
Ken winches his mouth shut.
"So, yea, you're the best option we have."
"What about the /School? Or literally /anywhere else?"
"Nope. You're the best we've got." She crosses her arms. "You're not gonna arouse suspicion, you get all the wizardly courtesies, and the wards I set on this place are strong enough to hold off an army if you keep the door closed."
"Unless it's /you trying to get in."
"You /want me on your side of a barricade."
Ken concedes with a huff.
"Great. That's settled. Now, I have to get to work."
"Wait! What—!"
Lessie Disapparates with a /pop!
Ken slouches against the sink, gripping the edge.
Don hovers in front of the couch.
A deep breath and Ken says, "So ... did you—"
"/No." Don glares.
Ken manages to hold his eye. "How can I be su—"
"'cos they found Valerie with all her blood where it's s'posed to be," growls Don. "I go to the effort of killing someone, I'm at /least gonna get a snack outta it."
"Oh. Uh ... right."
Don sniffs, drops himself onto the sofa, lets his head fall back.
Ken shifts his feet. "Did you know she was a wizard?"
Don straightens, brows lowered. "/'course I knew. I can smell the magic in your kind's blood from a street away." He wrinkles his nose. "Stinks like ozone."
"That's ... that's how you always find us."
"Yea. I could hunt any of ye if I wanted, easy as breathing. And any vampire worth their sunglasses can track a wizard who's bleeding."
Ken swallows. "S-so why don't ye? Hunt us?"
"Because yer not worth the trouble. This /exact sorta trouble."
"What about other vam—"
"Glasgow's /my territory, so no one hunts without my permission."
Ken shudders.
"That's why your big bads've never bothered trying t'run me off. We have an 'understanding': I keep vampires and a few other types of beastie under control and they pretend they don't see me doing my thing." He grimaces. "I've been /useful, so they leave me alone."
"Until this."
"Yea, 'til this," he sighs.
"What about the police? Isn't disappearing gonna look suspicious to them?"
Don shrugs. "Probably. I'm likely already the number-one suspect." Tilts his head. "It's usually the ex."
"So, talk to them! Explain it's not you!"
"Already told 'em what I know and they'll lose interest after the sockos finish. Never darkened the door of the place they found her. Your lot, though." He gestures helplessly.
"They probably want your head on the wall."
"Near enough. So, until Lesley's digging turns up something helpful or the bastart who did it confesses I'm staying outta sight."
"If there's something to find, Lessie'll find it."
"That's what I'm counting on."
Ken shuffles to the sofa, perches next to Don. "What happens if she can't, though? What'll you do?"
"Don Douglas dies—" He grins, a hint of his usual spark in his eyes. "—and I build myself a new life."
.
== Dance Me In ==
xx October 2003; City of Glasgow, Scotland, UK
Don shifts against the sofa cushions, turns another page, rearranges his feet on the coffee table. "What'ye think of 'Darren Kelly'?"
Ken asks his textbook for patience. "I'm /still trying to study for an exam."
"Right, right, sorry."
Ken sniffs, goes back to reading.
Five pages of both their books later: "'Mark Gallacher'?"
Ken rolls his eyes, bites his tongue, tries to focus on group behaviour dynamics.
"Any opinions?"
"/Studying."
"Since I have your at—"
"It sucks."
Don grunts.
Blessed quiet settles on the flat.
"How 'bout 'Max Campbell'?"
"Would you /please shut up?"
"No? How's 'Charles McGhee' strike ye?"
Ken closes his eyes, Reaches; his thoughts slide off something dark and mirror-slick.
"I felt that."
Ken jumps, slams his book closed.
"In fact, I've felt that every time you've tried over the years. Your little Jedi mind tricks don't work on me," smugs Don. "I'm proof against about any sort of magic, 'specially at the wattage you put out."
Ken scowls at him.
"So you have t'listen to me talk talk talk."
Ken debates a fire spell; decides he likes the sofa too well for that.
"Don't ye worry, though. I'll give ye a history lesson instead." He flows to his feet, drops the phone directory on the coffee table. "Let's take a stroll."
"It's after /midnight!"
"Humour an old man, aye?"
"It's /still—"
"Tag along and I'll stay quiet the rest of the night."
Ken grumps, stands, grabs his keys, jams his feet in his shoes, his arms into his coat, follows Don down to the landing. "Is this /safe?"
Don rocks back a step, digs in his jacket, offers an object the size of a pack of cards. "Stow this somewhere."
Ken tucks it in a trouser pocket. "What is it?"
"Blows an invisibility bubble. Plays music if you plug in headphones, too." Don pats his chest. "Got one of my own."
"Lessie made 'em?"
"Isobel, actually. You know how she is with new toys." Don opens the door, bows. "Age before beauty."
Ken frowns, stomps past and out. "Where're we going?"
"You'll see."
"Wait an' see if I invite you back in."
"I bet ye will now."
"Really."
"Yea, 'cos the first person I call when you dont's Lesley."
Ken whines at a high pitch.
Don laughs a little.
They trump along nearly deserted pavements through Govanhill and the Gorbals until—
"Are we headed to the /graveyard?"
Don ignores him.
"I /said—"
"I heard ye."
"Then why—"
"Yer annoying me."
Ken huffs, trudges as Don /definitely leads them toward the fucking graveyard—
After midnight.
In /Glasgow.
—and hunches his shoulders.
They reach the gate.
Ken hesitates.
Don, five steps into the bonefield, turns. "No one in here I can't handle."
"Wha?"
"It's mostly ghosts and teenagers—most of /them drunk—at this hour. No threat."
"Ghosts?" squeaks Ken.
"You're a feckin' werewolf and yer afraid of ghosts."
"Tonight I'm just a bloke doesn't wanna deal with ghosts."
Don probably rolls his eyes.
"Seriously. I'm not coming in if there're ghosts about."
"Just get over here."
"No."
Don throws up his hands. "Oh fer—" Gets Ken by the sleeve—
"Hey! I do /not consent!"
—drags him into the cemetery. "It's like a bloody park!"
"With dead people!"
"They're not gonna bother us."
"/woof!"
A majestically fluffy sheepdog bounds up, nearly wagging itself off-balance, investigates Don thoroughly, then inspects Ken.
He crouches, scratches behind floppy ears. "'ey, there. What's a handsome boy like you doing in a place like this?"
Dog /woffles, wiggles with happiness, licks Ken's arms and chin.
"Feel better now you've made a friend?"
"Yea."
"Good. He's a ghost."
"Wha?"
"/He—" Don points to the dog. "—is a ghost."
"/What?"
"Name's Argus. He shows new arrivals around."
"Why can /I see him? /Feel him?"
"'cos me being dead and not-dead at the same time confuses him into being physical."
Ken raises an eyebrow as he straightens. "So if I ever see him again I'm either dead or there's a vampire around?"
"Or a zombie." Don considers. "Maybe. Haven't had a chance to really test that one."
Ken controls a shudder. "Uh, why's there a ghost dog?"
Argus leans against his leg, shifting his paws and looking up expectantly.
"There's a superstition that the first soul buried has to hang about 'til the place closes to show the way. Rather than chance stickin' a human with the job, they gave it to a dog."
"I guess that's good?"
"He likes being useful, happy to help. Right, Argie?" Don tousles his ears.
"/wooof!"
"That's a /good boy."
Argus pants and wags.
"C'mon, I know just the spot for a picnic." Don beckons.
Ken and Argus follow as he threads them between the rows of monuments.
"How well can you see in the dark?"
"Better'n your alter ego even. Mind yer feet."
"Wha—oof!"
Don grabs his arm, keeps him upright. "Ground's a mite uneven."
Ken pulls free, tugs his clothes right. "Th-thanks."
"Here we are." Don stops, points to a headstone.
Ken squints, reads,
- Fergus McEwan
1935 - 1951
Beloved Son -
A little mental maths and Ken says, "You?"
"At one point."
"'Fergus'? Seriously?"
Don shrugs. "The family had a thing for traditional names."
"So ... you're a McEwan?"
"I /was a McEwan. Been a few things between then and now."
Ken rubs his neck. "Yeaaa ... any relation to Beathan?"
"His grandad's youngest brother."
Ken's mouth goes a bit dry; he does some more mental maths.
Don sits on the grassy grave. "Yea, I'm /old."
"That's sixteen." 
"'scuse me?"
Ken clears his throat, still croaks, "Why's it say you died when you were sixteen?"
Don pats the ground. "Sit down for story time."
Ken shifts, flutters.
"It's empty. No one'll be offended."
"Oh. Right." Ken folds to the grass.
Argus worms between them, puts his head in Ken's lap.
Ken rubs his fluffy ears. "So ...?"
Don blows out a deep breath. "It says I stopped at sixteen 'cos I should've done. We decided it'd be best for my ma and da to think I /did wander off an' die, rather than let 'em know what I'd made myself."
"'We'?"
"My brothers an' I. Last thing we did together was buy this spot. After the service, they did their best to scrub me outta the family history."
"Why'd you do it then?" blurts Ken.
"Do what?"
"Turn."
"I wasn't ready to go and I couldn't think of another way not to."
Ken swallows. "I c-can kinda see why. That's ... /young."
Don snorts a laugh. "Yea, legally adult but still stupid enough to trade everything for a few more days."
"What's that mean?"
"Huh?"
"'Trade everything'? You're still doing alright?"
Don fixes him with a look—and it's /exhausted—sighs. "You realize you just said that to a bloke whose fiancée dumped him for being 'inhuman' right before she got murdered, yea?"
Ken cringes. "S-s-sorry."
Don grunts.
"Uh, how'd you find a vampire?"
"Met her 'fore I got sick. All I had to do was accept a standing invitation."
Ken swallows. "Before?"
"Yea. Malina was a real piece of work."
"S-she still around?"
"She's /long gone." Don scratches Argus between the shoulders. "I gave her a terminal splinter after she tried to kill Cherish."
A crow squawks somewhere in the distance; cars putter past outside the walls.
Ken braces. "How many people've you killed?"
"People, vampires, or both?"
"Uh, both?"
"Twelve."
"That's /it?"
"That not enough for ye?"
"But how've you gotten enough blood?"
"I don't need to kill t'eat."
"Oh." Ken plays with one of Argus' ears. "Why'd you do it then?"
"The first seven were because Malina Ordered me to, then Malina, and the last four were t'make it /crystal clear you can't get away with disrespecting me."
"W-what'd they do?"
"Broke an old treaty said there'd be no death magic in Glasgow and did it by murdering my blood."
"The Death Eaters who killed Beathan and Ailsa?"
"Aye."
Argus licks Ken's palm.
Don lies back.
"Did he know you were family?"
"Yea. He figured it out right after we met—recognized me from family pictures his gram wasn't s'posed to keep. Pro'ly why he latched on how he did."
"Explains why you were hanging around him /to latch onto."
"I was hanging around /Cherish, technically. They were at school together, stayed friends."
"Oh. Right."
"Then he adopted you lot and here we are."
"Yea. Here we are." Ken huddles deeper into his coat. "Is it weird to have friends young enough t'be your grandkids?"
"Who says we're friends?"
"The fact you're sleeping on my couch while you're hiding and Lessie's out trying to clear your name?"
Don sighs, "'s not weird as having /actual grandkids'll be."
"Cherish's thinking about ha—"
"/I'm not thinking about it."
Ken's face heats and he ducks his head. "R-right. 'course not."
Nighttime city sounds.
Argus /whuffles.
Don scratches along his spine.
"You ever talk to her mum?"
"Was one of the conditions of the divorce I don't. Haven't seen her or heard her voice since she left, but Cherish lets me know how she's doing."
"You miss her?"
"Not for a long time now."
"But you loved her?"
"Probably. My memory's not what it used to be."
Ken asks for patience. "What about Valerie?"
"What about her?"
"Did you love her?"
Don sits up, shrugs.
"You proposed—"
"/She asked /me."
"You accepted?"
Don nods.
"You loved her?"
He shrugs again.
Ken gazes heavenward. "Why'm I asking? Already know the answer."
"Your magic—"
"Don't need it for this. You quit smoking for her." 
Don sniffs.
Ken recrosses his legs.
Argus grumps, shuffles over to Don, gets most of his fluffy self into Don's lap.
"How'd you two meet?"
Don laughs, weakly. "Same way I met Rosie—Cherish's mum: danced my way into her life at a nightclub."
"That's pretty cool. Same place?"
"Nah. Rosie's didn't make it through the seventies."
An ambulance wails past.
Don swivels his head, following the sound until it fades.
"Hope everyone's alright," murmurs Ken.
"Obviously aren't if they're calling the cavalry like that."
Ken cringes.
"Wanna know what I think?"
"Not really."
Don gives him a Look. "If you're serious about you and Murron, don't wait. Life's shorter than ye think."
"You sound like her parents."
"Sounds like they know how things are."
Ken makes a frustrated nose, runs a hand through his hair. "If you were me, what'd you do?"
"Marry her, ask Diarmad for a job at the School, raise a pack of fluffy Highland pups—" He smirks. "—try not to get eaten by the kelpies."
Ken glowers.
Don smiles his sweetest, which's pretty disconcerting all things considered.
Ken tries to cover a shudder with an eye-roll.
"Ready to head back?" 
"Yea, I need to get up for an early class."
"Right, then. Argie, move." He nudges the dog.
Argus grumbles, but gets up, stretches, gives himself a good shake.
Don stands, offers a hand.
Ken accepts, pulls himself up. "Thanks."
Don leads them back the way they came.
Argus follows them to the gate.
"Thanks for the company, Argie. See ye again soon."
"/whuff!"
"'night, boy," says Ken, giving his head a last rub.
Argus wags, turns, trots back into the dark graveyard.
Ken and Don tromp along nearly deserted streets in silence, until—
"What about 'Declan Christie'?"
"You said you'd shut up!"
"I lied."
"But—"
"Not used to that anymore, aye?"
"/But—"
"I'm evil, remember?"
Ken whines, hunches his shoulders, shtumps faster for home.