I don't fully remember what the ride to the hospital. It was as if I'd woken up several times, seeing images of panicked EMT's, and Ba-Pef standing beside them, basking in their fear with a look of satisfaction on his bull head.
I don't think they could see him?
I passed out again after that, right before an EMT injected me with a weird syringe.
Darkness swallowed me again, thick and suffocating, but I wasn't alone.
Ba-Pef's presence coiled around me like smoke, cold fingers trailing across my thoughts. I felt weightless, adrift in something too vast and too deep, like I was sinking through layers of my own mind—down into the places I never dared to look.
Faint voices flickered in the distance. The EMTs, maybe? Their words bled together, muffled and distorted. My body jolted, pain sparking behind my eyes as they worked on me, but it felt... distant. Like it was happening to someone else.
Ba-Pef's voice curled through my skull like a winter breeze, rattling in my bones. "They don't realize it yet, but I do. Your fragile little body should have given out. Your soul should have slipped free, screaming and shivering into the Duat."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to shut up. But my tongue felt too heavy, my body sinking further into the cold void between waking and unconsciousness.
Ba-Pef hummed, amused. "But I won't let you die."
The words should have comforted me. They didn't.
I tried to move, to claw my way back up to the surface, but something held me down—something deeper than just the pain.
The memory of my reflection burned behind my eyes. The pastel pink hair. The glowing, shifting pupils. The eye dangling loose, pulsing faintly as if it were still trying to blink.
That wasn't me. That couldn't be me.
"Shhh," Ba-Pef whispered. "You're still thinking so small. You're clinging to an old version of yourself that can't exist anymore."
The darkness around me shifted. The cold deepened, laced with something sharper. A pressure I couldn't see.
"You will change," Ba-Pef murmured, almost soothing. "Or you will break."
My chest tightened. I tried to fight it—tried to push back against the numbness creeping through my limbs. I wasn't ready to change. I wasn't ready to break.
I wanted to wake up.
A loud beep cut through the haze, sharp and sudden.
I gasped, my lungs seizing like they'd forgotten how to breathe. The cold receded just enough for me to feel something solid beneath me. The harsh sting of fluorescent lights pressed against my closed eyelids.
"Vitals are stabilizing," someone said. A woman, maybe? Her voice was close, urgent.
A mask pressed over my face. Air flooded my lungs, too sharp, too sudden. My pulse pounded in my ears.
I forced my eye open.
Blurry shapes moved above me. Hospital lights. People in scrubs.
The world tilted, still swimming in and out of focus.
But past the nurses, past the sterile walls, past the beeping monitors—
Ba-Pef stood in the corner of the hospital room, watching.
His form warped like a heat mirage. He looked similar to a shadow in the room, a trick of the light. But I could see him.
His bull's head tilted slightly. His too-wide grin stretched, smug and knowing.
"You'll understand soon enough," he whispered.
Then, just like that, he was gone.
But the cold he left behind remained, curling deep in my chest.
And somehow, I knew—
I wasn't waking up from this nightmare. I was already in it.
I was in the hospital all night. Some officers visited to see if I was awake, but every time I spoke all I could rasp was the word "Halloween."
I don't know how many times they tried. The officers, the doctors, even the nurses who looked at me with something almost like pity. Every time they asked me a question—What happened? Can you tell us your name?—the only thing I could choke out was:
"Halloween."
I didn't mean to say it. I didn't want to say it. But the word sat there, heavy and festering, pushing its way past my teeth like something alive.
I heard them whisper about me when they thought I was asleep.
"Poor kid, must be in shock."
"Trauma response. Could be neurological damage."
"Should we call a psych consult?"
"Not yet. Let's stabilize them first."
I was aware of all of it, but it felt distant—like I was listening from the bottom of a deep well. My body wasn't entirely my own anymore. I could feel it—Ba-Pef's presence, lingering in the spaces between my heart, curled around my bones like smoke. I tried to ignore it, but every so often, I'd catch a flicker of movement in the corner of my vision. A shadow stretching where it shouldn't. A shape standing over my bed when nobody else was in the room.
I never looked directly at him. I was afraid if I did, he'd still be smiling.
The machines beeped steadily beside me. My fingers twitched against the blanket, the only movement I could manage. I felt heavy, my limbs sluggish and cold. Like I wasn't entirely here.
Ba-Pef had said I should be dead.
That my soul should have slipped free.
But I was still here.
And I wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
At some point, the voices around me faded. The officers left. The nurses came and went, adjusting my IV, checking my bandages. I caught glimpses of my reflection in the polished metal of the equipment, but I refused to look too closely. I didn't want to see my hair. Or my eyes.
Eventually, I drifted. Not asleep, exactly, but elsewhere.
The darkness behind my eyelids stretched deeper than it should have. It felt thick, like ink spreading in water.
Then—
"You still fear it."
The voice coiled through the void, smooth and cool.
I flinched, my pulse spiking. My breathing hitched in my throat.
I wasn't in the hospital anymore. I wasn't anywhere.
The darkness rippled.
Ba-Pef's form took shape in front of me, his face shifting in and out of focus. Not quite human. Not quite bull. His features never stayed still, flickering like a candle about to go out.
I clenched my hands, trying to ground myself, but my fingers met nothing. There was no floor beneath me. No walls. No bed.
"You fight it," Ba-Pef murmured, tilting his head. "But you already belong to me."
I tried to move. To step back. But there was nowhere to go.
"You cling to your fear like a lifeline," he continued, his voice almost amused. "But fear does not coddle you. It is meant to protect, push you."
My throat was too tight to speak.
Ba-Pef stepped closer, shadows curling around his form. The flickering light cast shifting patterns across his face—eyes that were empty one moment, too full the next —like a corpse constantly regenerating and being mummified in a second.
"Do you think he let his fear hold him back?" Ba-Pef whispered.
I froze.
"Your brother."
The cold that had settled in my bones sharpened.
Ba-Pef smiled.
"Do you think he fell to it?"
The darkness closed in. I tried to block it out. I tried to shove the thought away.
I couldn't.
Images surged forward, unbidden—things I had never seen but had always wondered.
Luke.
Standing before a dark sarcophagus, his expression torn between defiance and something darker.
I gasped, choking on the weight of it. The taste of metal filled my mouth. The pressure in my skull built, sharp and unbearable.
Ba-Pef loomed closer, his voice curling like frost against my ear.
"Fear was meant to help mortal's, child. It is to keep them in line; yet they abuse it and let it bring them to ruin." He whispered. "You are my vessel, you must mold fear into your servant."
But the word kept spilling from my lips, like an echo I couldn't silence. Like something lodged in my throat, forcing its way out whether I wanted it to or not.
Ba-Pef had done something to me.
I could still feel him, even when I couldn't see him. His presence lingered in the room like a cold draft, threading through the sterile air. The more I tried to think—tried to piece together what was happening—the heavier my thoughts became, like they were sinking in wet sand.
The doctors exchanged uneasy glances. A nurse muttered something about possible brain trauma. One of the officers grunted in frustration, rubbing his forehead like he was developing a migraine.
"Kid's in shock," he muttered in a french accent. "Or worse."
He didn't sound sympathetic. More... impatient. Suspicious.
I wasn't sure how long I lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the beeping machines and the low hum of voices around me. Time blurred in and out. Sleep came in short, fitful bursts, dragging me under just long enough to pull me back into that cold, whispering void before yanking me out again.
At some point, a nurse tried to adjust my IV. I flinched without meaning to. She gave me a sad, knowing look before leaving.
Another few hours passed—maybe longer. Then, just when I was starting to think I'd be trapped in that hospital bed forever, the door creaked open.
Footsteps.
Soft, but in a hurry.
Whoever it was, they weren't a doctor. Not a nurse. Not a police officer.
I forced my head to turn.
Standing just inside the doorway, watching me. It was that guy who had talked with Mr. Kane.
He was tall and barrel-shaped, with hair braided in gemstones. He was still wearing that fedora.
Amos? Think his name was.
His gaze was steady, but not unkind. He studied me in a way that felt different from the doctors and officers—not clinical, not suspicious. Like he was trying to see something beneath the surface. Something no one else could.
I tried to speak. My throat burned. My lips moved, but only one word rasped out.
"Halloween."
Amos's expression didn't change. If he was startled, he didn't show it.
He stepped closer, his coat billowing slightly as if moved by a breeze that wasn't there. The faint scent of papyrus and incense trailed behind him.
"You've been touched by something ancient," he murmured. His voice was deep, calm. Not patronizing, not pitying—just... knowing. "You can feel it, can't you?"
I swallowed hard. The words curled under my tongue, heavy and impossible to force out. Halloween. Halloween. Halloween.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to scream. But my throat refused to cooperate.
Amos sighed, rubbing his temple like he had a headache. "This is going to make things... complicated."
He glanced toward the hallway, as if checking for eavesdroppers. Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"They're watching you. The Per Ankh." His tone sharpened. "And not out of your concern."
I stiffened.
I had no idea what the Per Ankh was, but the way he said it—the weight in his voice—sent a chill down my spine.
"They think you're dangerous," Amos continued. "Or worse, that you've already been chosen as a host."
The word host slithered down my spine, curling uncomfortably in my stomach.
Ba-Pef's laughter echoed faintly in the back of my skull.
Amos's expression darkened, like he could sense it. "You need to leave this hospital. Now."
That snapped me out of it.
Leave? Now? I could barely sit up. My brain was leaking out of my skull. And even if I did leave, where was I supposed to go?
Amos must have seen the doubt in my face, because he straightened, adjusting his coat. "You don't have a choice. If you stay, they'll take you into custody. And I promise you, the Per Ankh does not have gentle methods for handling... cases like yours."
My pulse spiked.
"You'll be safer with me," he added in a kinder tone. "I can explain things. I can help."
I hesitated.
I didn't trust him. I didn't trust anyone.
But I also knew that staying here—letting those officers, those doctors, those strangers decide what happened to me—wasn't an option.
And Amos was offering me a way out.
My fingers twitched against the blanket.
I exhaled shakily.
Then, slowly, I nodded.
Amos's eyes flickered with something like relief. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and extended a hand.
"Come on," he said. "We don't have much time."
I didn't have the strength to argue. My body felt like it was wrapped in lead, every movement sluggish and stiff. But somewhere, deep beneath the exhaustion and the cold, something sharper stirred. Something instinctive.
Ba-Pef's presence coiled in my chest like a second heartbeat. They will fear you.
I clenched my jaw. I didn't want to be feared. I just wanted to... I don't even know anymore.
Amos moved quickly. He pulled the IV from my arm in one smooth motion before helping me sit up. The room swayed violently. My stomach churned. I barely registered the soft rustle of fabric as Amos draped something over my shoulders—a long, dark coat, heavy, warm, and strong with the scent of old spices.
"The hospital is being watched," Amos said under his breath. "We have to make this look normal."
Normal. Right. Because everything about me was so normal right now.
I tried to stand, but my knees buckled immediately. Amos caught me with ease, his grip firm but careful. "Slow breaths," he murmured. "Don't fight it."
Don't fight what? The dizziness? The way my vision flickered in and out like a broken signal? The fact that every shadow in the room felt like it was shifting, watching?
"Halloween," I groaned weakly.
Amos didn't react. He just adjusted his grip and guided me toward the door.
The hallway outside was dim, quiet in that eerie, middle-of-the-night way. Most of the staff had retreated to their stations. A security guard stood near the entrance, glancing at a clipboard. A few nurses passed by, too busy to pay attention.
No one looked at us.
And yet, I felt them. Eyes pressing against the back of my skull. A presence curling just beyond my sight.
Amos led me forward, his pace steady, unhurried. Like we belonged here. Like there was no reason to stop us.
I tried to breathe normally, like how a living person would. I tried not to look at my reflection in the glass doors we passed.
Then, just as we neared the exit—
A voice.
"You there."
Amos froze. I forced myself to lift my head.
A woman stood near the nurse's station, half-hidden in the shadows. She had hair so dark it was almost blue. Her suit was crisp and dark. She wore an eyepatch with one eye that stared off into the distance. It was too sharp, too knowing. She wasn't a doctor. She wasn't police.
She was watching me.
A cold pulse shot through my chest. The room felt smaller, the air thinner.
Amos turned slightly, his posture still calm. "Is there a problem?"
The woman's one eyed gaze flickered over me—calculating, assessing. "That patient is supposed to be under observation."
Amos exhaled sharply. "And I'm their guardian."
Lies. Smooth, practiced lies.
The woman's expression didn't change. The silence between them stretched.
Then—
Something shifted.
The air warped.
The woman's shadow twisted unnaturally, stretching long and thin against the wall. Her pupil darkened, too deep, too empty. She was like a ghost.
The feeling was familiar.
Not a mortal.
Not entirely.
Ba-Pef stirred inside me. This one reeks of the Greeks.
I didn't know what that meant, but I didn't have time to ask.
Amos tightened his grip on my shoulder, just slightly. A warning.
The woman tilted her head. Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Safe travels," she murmured.
Then she turned and walked away.
I didn't breathe until we were outside.
Amos didn't slow his pace. He guided me down the sidewalk, past the hospital gates, toward taxi parked under a streetlight. The second we were inside, he locked the doors and exhaled.
"That," he said, rubbing his temple, "was close."
I swallowed hard, staring at him. "Who was that?"
Amos gave the driver directions. "A problem for another time."
The cab ride across was quiet.
I leaned against the window, watching the Thames pass by us, the water dark and rippling under the city lights. My body ached with every bump in the road, but it was my mind that felt heavier—like something had crawled inside my skull and made a nest.
Ba-Pef.
Even when he wasn't speaking, he was still there. Pressed against my bones. Lurking in the spaces between my thoughts.
Amos sat beside me, arms crossed, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. He hadn't said much since we left the hospital, just the occasional glance to make sure I was still upright.
I didn't know what to think of him. I didn't trust him, but I had followed him anyway. I didn't know where we were going, but somehow, I knew I couldn't stay behind.
The cab driver hummed along to the radio, tapping his fingers against the wheel. He didn't seem to notice—or care—that I looked like I'd barely crawled out of a morgue. Maybe Amos had done something to make him ignore it. The thought made my skin crawl.
You are my vessel. Ba-Pef's words curled in my mind. You must mold fear into your servant.
I clenched my jaw. I didn't want to think about that. About what it meant.
The cab turned onto a quiet street lined with white stone houses. Amos paid the driver and helped me out of the car. My legs were still unsteady, but I forced myself to move.
Ahead, a house loomed at the end of the street —an old English house with a couple cop cars outside in front of it.
The Taxi parked, letting us out as we walked towards the unknown house, voices carrying from inside.
"We did tell you the truth," a boy's voice said. "Dad isn't dead. He sank through the floor."
I stopped breathing. Or at least I think I stopped, I don't think I've breathed since I woke up in the hospital.
The voice—it was Carter. The kid from the museum.
An older man's voice followed , sharp and irritated. "Young man, your father has committed a criminal act. He's left you behind to deal with the consequences—"
"That's not true!" another voice snapped. A girl's.
Sadie.
I remembered her—sharp, confident, loud. But now, her voice trembled with something almost like desperation.
"Dear, please," an older woman murmured. "The inspector is only doing his job."
"Badly!" Sadie shot back.
There was a pause. Then—
"Let's all have some tea," the older woman suggested.
"No!" Carter and Sadie yelled in unison.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Amos frowned beside me. He pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for me to stay quiet. I wasn't planning on interrupting—not yet.
Inside, the conversation continued.
"We can charge you," the older voice —the inspector— threatened. "We can and we will—"
The inspector's voice went quiet, the air filling with an awkward silence.
A newer, gruffer voice spoke up. "Er, Inspector?"
"Yes..." the Inspector murmured dreamily.
I noticed a strange glow coming from my left and saw the Amos had drawn a strange symbol in the air. I think it was magic? I wasn't sure since the only magic that I'd seen up to now was murderous.
I liked this one better.
"You're being deported," the inspector announced. "You're to leave the country within twenty-four hours. If we need to question you further, you'll be contacted through the FBI."
What the heck? He was just about to arrest them and now one of them —probably Carter because Sadie lives here— is being deported?
"Sir?" An adult woman's voice asked. "Are you sure—"
"Quiet, Kobeni. The three of you may go."
There was a pause of hesitation before the door in front of us opened, revealing four officers, Sadie, Carter, and two elderly citizens. Three of the officers left, closing the door behind them.
The cold night air curled around me, seeping through the too-heavy coat Amos had draped over my shoulders. The street was eerily quiet, save for the voices drifting from inside the house. The police officers barely spared me a glance at first—just another kid standing in the shadows. Then one of them, a woman with tired eyes and black hair, did a double take.
Her breath hitched.
"Bloody hell," she muttered, her hand instinctively hovering near her belt.
That got the attention of the others.
The tallest officer, a broad-shouldered man with a stiff posture, turned fully toward me. His gaze swept over my face—lingering on my eye, dangling from its socket, then trailing up to the jagged edges of my exposed skull. His mouth opened and closed, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
The third officer, younger and paler, took an immediate step back, nearly tripping over the curb. "What—what the hell—"
Their reactions weren't new. I'd seen this kind of horror before. The doctors at the hospital had been better at hiding it, but these officers? They weren't prepared for me.
The woman swallowed hard. "Kid... are you—"
I tilted my head slightly.
Her face blanched.
"—are you real?" she finished weakly.
That was a new one.
Amos sighed beside me, rubbing his temple. "They don't have time for this." His voice was smooth, calm, like he was easing an animal out of danger.
The tall officer snapped out of his daze, straightening his spine. "This—this child needs medical attention," he said, though his voice wavered at the end. He was looking at Amos now, like he was trying to piece something together. "Who are you? What's going on here?"
I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a whisper of breath. My throat still felt raw.
The younger officer had gone rigid, his eyes darting between me and Amos. "I—I don't like this. We should call it in."
"No," Amos said, sharper this time.
The woman hesitated. Her gaze flicked toward the house, then back to me. I could see the struggle in her expression—some part of her recognized that something was deeply wrong here, but another part didn't want to acknowledge it.
"I think—" she started.
Then the tall officer shook his head. "I don't know what's going on here, but this kid isn't our problem." His voice was too firm, too forced. He wasn't convincing himself. He was covering his fear.
He turned abruptly and marched toward their squad car, not even glancing back. The younger officer hesitated for half a second, then hurried after him, still looking over his shoulder like he expected me to sprout wings and attack.
The woman lingered.
For a long moment, she just looked at me. Not with fear. Not even disgust. Just... wariness.
"You should be dead," she said finally.
My lips parted.
She shook her head, exhaling sharply, then turned on her heel and walked away.
I watched as she climbed into the squad car. The engine started. A few seconds later, the car rolled down the street and disappeared around the corner.
The moment they were gone, Amos let out a slow breath. "Well," he murmured, "that could've gone worse."
I didn't respond.
I was still standing there, watching the empty space where the car had been, wondering if maybe—just maybe—they were right.
I didn't have time to ponder anything aw the door behind me opened up, and who I could only guess to be the inspector, walked out in a similar daze as the other cops.
"Come along," Amos said, taking me inside the house.
Carter, Sadie, and two older individuals sat in the living room. They all looked as though they were panicked beyond recognition. The only one to break out of their thoughts was the old woman when she caught sight of me and shrieked in horror.
I thought the inspector would say something, or express surprise, but he didn't even acknowledge Amos. He walked right past him and into the night.
The old woman clutched her chest, her face draining of all color. "Good lord!" she gasped, stumbling back against the armrest of the couch. "What in heaven's name—?"
The old man beside her stiffened, his eyes widening behind his glasses. His jaw worked silently, like he was trying to form words but had forgotten how.
Carter shot up so fast the couch scraped against the hardwood floor. His eyes were huge, locked on me with something bordering on panic. I could see the exact moment his mind started racing, trying to piece together what he was seeing, trying to find the logical explanation—except there wasn't one.
Sadie, to her credit, didn't scream. But she did inhale sharply and scramble backward over the couch, knocking over a teacup in the process. Hot liquid splattered across the rug, but no one paid attention to it. Her face paled as she stared at me like I was some kind of specter.
I didn't move. I barely blinked. I was used to this reaction.
"You," the old man growled at Amos but when he looked back at me he squirmed in discomfort. "Bloody Hell, what is that?"
That.
Not who.
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Faust," Amos said, glancing at Carter and Sadie as if they were problems to be solved.
The room felt tight, suffocating under the weight of too many emotions colliding at once—fear, disbelief, barely-contained hysteria. The teacup dripped onto the rug in uneven plops. No one moved to clean it.
Mrs. Faust clutched at the pearls around her neck, her wrinkled fingers trembling. "Amos... what have you brought into my house?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried enough force to crack glass.
Amos sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like this was all terribly inconvenient. "This is Basil Castellan. They were at the museum."
"They—" Carter swallowed. His eyes flickered toward me, then darted away just as quickly. "But they weren't—like this before."
Sadie hadn't moved from her spot half-crouched on the couch. Her fingers curled into the upholstery, knuckles white. She was staring at me the way someone might stare at a particularly grotesque corpse—fascinated and horrified all at once.
"Hal—" My voice scraped out, raw and unfamiliar. I hadn't realized I was going to speak until I did.
It was a mistake.
Mr. Faust made a strangled sound and turned sharply toward Amos. "Get it out."
I flinched.
Not them. Not even him.
It.
Carter's gaze snapped to me again. There was something in his eyes—uncertainty, hesitation. Maybe even sympathy. But he didn't speak.
Sadie, on the other hand, found her voice fast. "Gramps—" She forced a laugh, though it was high and thin. "Come on, they're still a person—"
"It is not a person!" Mr. Faust snapped. "It's—unnatural! Look at it, Sadie!"
Sadie did.
I didn't know what I expected her to say, but it didn't come. Her expression tightened, but she didn't argue.
Mr. Faust, exhaled through his nose. His sharp gaze landed on Amos. "You always bring nothing but trouble," he said coldly. "First Julius, now—this. I will not have it in my home."
Amos's jaw tensed. "This isn't up for debate. We have business to discuss."
Amos made himself right at home. He flopped onto the sofa and poured himself tea. He munched on a biscuit. Mr. Faust looked as though he might explode His face went bright red. He came up behind Amos and raised his hand as if he were about to smack him, but Amos kept munching his biscuit.
"Please sit down,"Amos asked.
And I did.
Not because I wanted to, but because something in his voice made my legs give out before I could think. I dropped onto the couch beside Carter.
The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating. I could feel every pair of eyes on me—Carter's wary, Sadie's unsure, Mr. Faust's outright hostile.
The couch felt stiff beneath me. I pressed my hands into my lap, suddenly hyperaware of the way my fingers trembled. I clenched them into fists.
Carter shifted beside me, as though debating whether to slide further away. His grip on his workbag tightened.
The room was thick with tension. The only sounds were the faint ticking of a nearby clock and the soft clinking of Amos stirring his tea. No one spoke. No one even breathed too loudly.
Sadie was still half-perched on the couch like a startled cat, her knuckles white as she gripped the upholstery. Carter's fingers flexed over the worn leather of his father's bag. Mrs. Faust had gone rigid, her expression twisted between revulsion and fury. Mr. Faust—well, he just looked like he was contemplating throwing Amos out the window.
And me? I just sat there, staring at my hands.
This wasn't new. The looks. The whispers. The way people recoiled like I was something diseased. But now, now that it was from someone other than my mother while she had another one of her visions.
It stung
"Halloween," I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper. It was the only word I had left—the only one I could still say without feeling like my throat would tear open.
Mrs. Faust inhaled sharply, like the sound of my voice physically repulsed her.
Carter, however, blinked. His eyes flicked to me, sharp with confusion. "Sorry, what?"
"Halloween," I repeated, a little louder this time. The word felt foreign in my mouth, clunky and wrong, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong space. I could feel my tongue struggle around it.
Carter hesitated, then tilted his head. "Are you—asking for something?"
I wanted to tell him forget it, but all that came out was:
"Halloween..."
Amos sipped his tea, glancing at Sadie with something akin to displeasure. That wasn't fair, I thought. She didn't look that bad. Then he looked at Carter and grunted.
"Terrible timing," he muttered. "But there's no other way. They'll have to come with me."
"Excuse me?" Sadie said. "I'm not going anywhere with some strange man with biscuit on his face! Especially when he brings a kid who looks as though they'd been mauled by a bear!"
Amos did in fact have biscuit crumbs on his face, but he apparently didn't care, as he didn't bother to check. He did glance at me though before looking back at Sadie.
"I'm no stranger, Sadie," he said. "Don't you remember?"
"No, Amos," Mrs. Faust said, trembling. "You can't take Sadie. We had an agreement."
"Julius broke that agreement tonight," Amos said. "You know you can't care for Sadie anymore—not after what's happened. Their only chance is to come with me and Basil."
"Why should we go anywhere with you?" Carter asked. "You almost got in a fight with Dad! On top of that you bring Basil —who was completely fine before— leaking brain matter."
"I know things may seem bad, but you must trust me. I will be able to help you." Amos said calmly.
He looked down at Carter's work bag. "I see you kept your father's bag. That's good. You'll need it. As for getting into fights, Julius and I did that quite a lot. If you didn't notice, Carter, I was trying to stop him from doing something rash. If he'd listened to me, we wouldn't be in this situation."
I wasn't sure what he was talking about, but Mr. Faust seemed to understand.
"You and your superstitions!" he said. "I told you we want none of it. Especially if it has our grand daughter and her brother ending up like that kid."
Amos pointed to the back patio. Through the glass doors, you could see the lights shining on the Thames. It was quite a nice view at night, when you couldn't notice how run-down some of the buildings were.
"Superstition, is it?" Amos asked. "And yet you found a place to live on the east bank of the river."
Mr. Faust turned as red as a tomato. "That was Ruby's idea. Thought it would protect us. But she was wrong about many things, wasn't she? She trusted Julius and you, for one!"
Amos looked unfazed. Instead he turned to me, handing me a cup of tea.
Thank you, I thought as I told him, "Halloween."
He nodded and finished his own cup, looking straight at Mrs. Faust.
"Mrs. Faust, you know what's begun. The police are the least of your worries."
Mrs. Faust took her eyes off me and swallowed. "You...you changed that inspector's mind. You made him deport Sadie."
"It was that or see the children arrested," Amos said.
"Hang on," Sadie said. "You changed Inspector Williams's mind? How?"
"Hallo, Halloween," I said, thinking the words Magic symbols.
"Ah yes, magic symbols." Sadie grumbled, although I think I was the only one who heard.
Amos shrugged. "It's not permanent. In fact we should get to New York in the next hour or so before Inspector Williams begins to wonder why he let you go. For Officer Higashiyama and her partner, it may be the next forty minutes."
I would say you can't get to New York in an hour, but I can't speak and I have a god in my head... I'll believe anything.
Carter didn't seem to have the same philosophy as laughed incredulously. "You can't get to New York from London in a hour. Not even the fastest plane—"
"No," Amos agreed. "Not a plane." He turned back to Mrs. Faust as if everything had been settled. "Mrs. Faust, Carter, Sadie, and Basil have only one safe option. You know that. They'll come to the mansion in Brooklyn. I can protect them there."
"You've got a mansion," Carter said. "In Brooklyn."
Wait what about my mom? I tried to say.
"Hallo Hall ween Halloween?"
Damn. Can't say shit.
Amos gave Carter an amused smile. "The family mansion. You'll be safe there."
"But our dad—"
"Is beyond your help for now," Amos said sadly. "I'm sorry, Carter. I'll explain later, but Julius would want you to be safe. For that, we must move quickly. I'm afraid I'm all you've got."
Carter glanced at the Fausts. Then he nodded glumly. They looked like they didn't want him around. Who the heck thinks like that about their Grandson?
"Well, Carter can do what he wants," Sadie said. "But I live here. And I'm not going off with some strangers, am I?"
Sadie looked at Mrs. Faust for support, but she was staring at the lace doilies on the table as if they were suddenly quite interesting.
"Gramps, surely..."
But he wouldn't meet her eyes either. He turned to Amos. "You can get them out of the country? Without them turning into tha— them?"
Props for correcting yourself.
"Hang on!" Sadie protested.
Amos stood and wiped the crumbs off his shirt. He walked to the patio doors and stared out at the river. "The police will be back soon. Tell them anything you like. They won't find us."
"You're going to kidnap us?" Sadie asked, astonishment on her face. "Do you believe this?" She asked Carter.
Carter shouldered the workbag. Then he stood like he was ready to go. Possibly he just wanted to be out of Mr. and Mrs. Fausts flat. "How do you plan to get to New York in an hour?" he asked Amos. "You said, not a plane."
"No," Amos agreed. He put his finger to the window and traced something in the condensation—another hieroglyph.
If he can draw that on anything ... what happens if you draw it on a person?
"A boat," Sadie said, a little louder than she meant too.
Amos peered at Sadie over the top of his round glasses. "How did you—"
It's a boat. I thought.
"Halloween ween."
"Yeah what Basil said," Sadie blurted out. "I mean it looks like a boat. But that can't be what you mean. That's ridiculous."
"Look!" Carter cried.
I pressed in next to him at the patio doors. Down at the quayside, a boat was docked. But not a regular boat— why the heck does that boat have Judge Holden steering it? It was an Egyptian reed boat, with two torches burning in the front, and a big rudder in the back. A figure in a black trench coat and hat—Judge Holden—stood at the tiller.
"We're going in that," Carter said. "To Brooklyn."
"We'd better get started," Amos said.
Sadie swung around to look at her grandmother. "Gran, please!"
She brushed a tear from her cheek. "It's for the best, my dear. You should take Muffin."
"Ah, yes," Amos said. "We can't forget the cat."
He turned towards the stairs. As if on cue, a cat —Muffin— raced down in a leopard-spotted streak and leaped into Sadie's arms. Muffin hissed at me.
"Who are you?" Sadie asked Amos, desperate for answers. "We can't just go off with some stranger."
"I'm not a stranger." Amos smiled at her. "I'm family."
"Uncle Amos?" Sadie asked hazily.
... what?
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DGW: Thank you all for reading, I truly hope you enjoyed the story and have any suggestions for what should go on.
Tools Used: FANDOM WIKI app, Grammarly, Theoi.com, Wattpad, Wikipedia, google pdf, some manga sites.
Word Count: 6343