Chapter Text
I’ve found kids drinking out here plenty of times, but I’ve never found a naked woman.
She’s got bones around her neck, like a bone necklace, and she’s stretching her arms up to the moon. It’s full. (Of course.) She’s howling, yipping, like a wolf. I think she’s dancing. She’s not very good.
If it wasn’t so strange it’d be kind of funny. (It’s still pretty funny.) I don’t know how to interrupt her. I play with waving my hands silently in my mind, but I think that would look like I want to join in and I really don’t.
I can’t think of how to get her attention so I’m just watching her. She’s got mud caked on her feet. She must be freezing. I make a move toward her and cough.
She stops slowly. Like she can’t be bothered with me. Did she know I was here the whole time?
“Yes?” She asks.
“Uh, Miss. I’m sorry to bother you.” Why am I sorry? “But, people aren’t allowed in the forest after dusk ... and clothing isn’t usually optional around here. So. You, you know. Could you?”
She just blinks at me like she can’t believe I’m speaking to her. She looks at my forest ranger uniform and obviously turns her nose slightly up. You’re naked, don’t sneer at me, I want to say. But I don’t.
I just knock my boot tip into the hard dirt and try to impart authority. (Does this look authoritative?)
“Baz was right on about this place. Not worth the trip. Not worth the time.”
“Baz?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. She spins around once more, looking into the dark of the forest, then at the small campfire, and finally she looks down at the bone necklace and huffs. “Sodding liars. The lot of them.”
“Who?” I’m lost. Does she mean this Baz person is a liar? Are there more people out there dancing at their own fires?
She doesn’t answer me but instead moves toward a pile of stuff and bends down. I try not to look. (I look up. Stars are nice.)
When I glance back she has put on a ratty t-shirt and some jeans. I shiver for her. It’s not snowing but there’s a wet chill to the air, like it could start.
I thank the universe she’s putting something on at least. I don’t need a hypothermic naked person to deal with. At least I just have to deal with a crazy clothed person now. Because she is crazy, right? Who comes out to the middle of nowhere to dance naked?
Fuck, she better not be a cultist. I have no time for those. I hope she doesn’t have a weapon. This is beyond my job description.
She laces up a worn pair of boots. No socks. I shiver again. She doesn’t put a coat on either but she wraps a scarf around her neck and puts a beanie over her head.
She turns around and pushes a hand at me to shake. “Mordelia Grimm,” she says.
One week earlier
Mordelia
I knock on the door three times. Loudly. I kick it for good measure and then I put my key in the lock and give it a turn. I put a hand over my eyes as I open the door.
“Pants better be on this time,” I yell with my hand firmly over my eyes.
“Morbid!” I hear from across the flat, near the kitchen, of course.
“Snow. Are you clothed?” I ask, hand still over my eyes, trying to make my way through the hall. I bump into something.
“It was one time Morbid. Once. In nearly twenty years, can’t I get a ‘good on you,’ for that and we quietly move past this?”
“Never. And it was twice. In a month. I’ll never unsee it and thus you will never forget it.”
I feel hands on my shoulders and they’re peeling away my hand-eye protector and I’m looking straight at Simon Snow’s ruddy smiling face.
He has clothes on. Praise Lilith.
“Snow.” I nod my head. “I see you are starting to understand common decency.”
“Don’t call me that,” he says dragging me into a hug and squeezing me tightly. He smells like bread. “My common decency only applies outside of my flat.”
I lean back from him and give him a once over.
“I’ll never understand what my brother sees in you.”
“It’s my brill personality.”
“Don’t say: ‘it’s my personality,’ that’s a lie.” Comes from the next room.
Simon huffs and settles me into a chair. “He just won’t admit it,” he says, placing a cuppa in front of me without my asking. “Biscuit?” I nod and he puts a few on a plate and then a few in his mouth for good measure. He leans against the island as I eat. “Just last night...”
“No,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to hear about what you and my brother get up to at night. I’ve seen enough, heard enough. The therapy I’ll require from this. Endless. I’ll bill you.”
He laughs and I can tell he’s reliving something. It’s all across his face. His eyes are shiny.
“Stop it.” I say, giving his arm a shove.
“Are you scarring more members of my family?” Baz asks as he walks into the kitchen. “We’ve talked about this Snow, you’re only allowed to scar my father, and only on holidays.”
He places a kiss to Simon’s head. He ruffles my hair and refills his teacup. He leans across the counter toward me and lifts an eyebrow.
Ever the conversationalist.
I lift my own dark brow in response. (He taught me how.) His face holds for a moment but then he smiles and I can see his incisors just a little. I look at his teacup and it’s bright red with blood. There’s little leaves floating in it too.
“Snow has been experimenting with steeping things in it. To improve the flavor or something.” He answers before I can even ask. “This is lavender and mint.”
Simon nods and puts another biscuit in his mouth. He swallows it, barely chewing and goes for a fifth.
“How is it?” I’m not exactly curious but it’s polite. I need to be polite today.
“Serviceable.” He sips from his cup again.
Simon has the biggest smile on his face at that single word. His eyes have gone so crinkly.
Baz looks at him and doesn’t exactly smile back but there’s something under the surface of him that’s just as content. There’s this light that he carries around now, that shines out of his pores or something. He never used to be that way. Not before.
He changed after Simon came for Christmas nearly two decades ago. I barely remember it but I remember the following one when Simon and Baz came to the new estate together, holding hands and carrying gifts signed, From: Basil and Simon.
Father had puppies. A whole litter of them. Aunt Fiona drank a bottle of whiskey and sang a Talking Heads song.
She kept saying how if only Nat could see her boy, she’d be so proud. The third time she said that, Father finally stopped hyperventilating. By the end of dinner he had stopped trying to convince Baz to keep Simon on the side and marry someone respectable and female.
Simon’s been a constant figure ever since.
I know they had a few rough patches over the years and I know I’m about to scratch at one.
“I’ve been assigned a case in America, I was hoping you could give me some insights.” Simon’s smile fades out and gets smaller, it doesn’t fade away, but it just shrinks.
Baz drinks the rest of his cup of blood and sets it in the sink.
“What do you want to know Morbid?” Simon asks. He doesn’t let me answer, just continuous quickly: “You know you might be better off speaking to Shepard. If you can get him.”
I shake my head: “Already tried Penny’s mobile, they must be out of range.”
He deflates, but perks up noticeably when Baz puts a hand around him and rubs at his back.
“Where are you going?” Baz asks.
”Some place in North Carolina.”
“We didn’t go there. Not sure how much help we’ll be.”
“I just need the basics. I don’t want to… open up anything but, I could use some insider information about what to expect. ... about the dead zones. ... You know?”
They both look at each other and then at me.
“You aren’t opening anything up.” Simon answers finally. “America wasn’t an altogether bad time.”
Baz snorts delicately, if that’s at all possible. I don’t understand his grace or where he got it from. I’m a monster, I tear through a room. He floats. It must be the vampirism. (Ironic that.)
“It wasn't an altogether good time either,” Simon finishes. “What do you want to know?”