undergrounds | Fires at Midnight

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Fires at Midnight

June 1st, night:

Abigail had never seen the Reds and Night Council in action before. She'd stayed tucked away in Geap Manor, learning about the Night Council and Institute and all those things she'd face in the real world, but she'd only heard of them. They existed only as an abstract concept. Being in Barnet was an entirely different situation.

On the surface, it seemed peaceful. Emissaries came from the Institute to the factions -- the vampies and the covens being the central focus, but there were others who looked for people who were different. The meta-humans. From what she could tell, they were simply being convinced to join the Institute.

But there were darker things at work, too.

Her attention was primarily on the covens. Most of them seemed to welcome the influence of Redbright, as it meant they were closer to the heart of Circle Daybreak. For a light witch, that was everything. But she saw what some of the others tried to hide because she was looking for it. One skittish girl had particularly caught her attention, so Abigail followed her, meaning to pull her aside when it was safe.

Someone else had been waiting to get her alone, too, though.

From where she'd stood, Abigail watched as the man -- a large one, all brawn but very quiet too -- grabbed the girl. None of her magic could protect either her or the victim, so Abigail had ducked down, hiding behind the large bin. She'd tried not to even breathe as she listened. The girl screamed, and the man threatened her. If she didn't give him the names of her fellow dark witches, he'd kill her.

Over and over, she'd said there weren't any others. She didn't know who they were. She didn't know where they were. He hadn't been satisfied. So, he stabbed her twice. As the girl slumped down against the brick wall, the man took her purse and ran. Anyone who found her would see a mugging gone bad.

She waited for some time, trying to make herself stop shaking, before she pulled herself to her feet and staggered away from the bin and scene, almost completely without thinking that the noise and smell of blood might easily have drawn others who weren't part of the engagement.

June 3rd, day:

Abigail kept to herself on the second. She'd always been taught to mind the phases of the moon, so she'd stayed in Geap Manor all that night, safely tucked away from anything that might want to hurt her. After that, though, she went back to Barnet.

The girl's face hadn't ever left her. She could still hear her screaming.

But it told Abigail what she had to do. There was still the official order that every dark witch who wouldn't renounce the magic she practiced had to leave Barnet. Those were the ones Abigail was trying to help now.

The cards she distributed (passed off to people she could recognize as witches who didn't seem to be violently opposed to dark witches) were simple:

Need to leave Barnet? Have nowhere to go?

Help is available.

020 7946 0660

Call or text. Any time day or night.

Dangerous? Possibly. But that was why she had a cheap burner phone for the calls and texts.

She had no solid plan as she went around the borough that day, handing a card or two where it seemed appropriate and leaving them tucked inside the right books in the right stores, places she knew they'd be found by the people who needed them.

June 6th, night:

The job was nearly done, and Abigail knew it. She had done almost everything she could, and she felt she'd helped at least some people. Others were dead, yes, and there were a few fools who thought they could continue to pass as Daybreak under the close scrutiny of the Redbright Institute and their people. Them, Abigail couldn't help, and she was afraid of them. After all, they knew her name, knew about her activity here. But she couldn't let fear stop her.

Still, she waited in a pub she'd been using as a waypoint. She'd made it clear she was leaving Barnet and not coming back at 22:00, period. Any last minute stragglers were welcome to come up until that point, which meant she still had an hour to wait. Just in case.

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Cooper sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. It catches on the goggles still in them and he pulls them off, looking down and toying with them as he answers her simple, honest statement.

"You've picked your path." He looks back up, doing his best to sound old and wise. For all he knows, he's coming off as sounding over-dramatic and ridiculous. "Keep that loyalty for better or for worse. It'll serve you well."

He doesn't sound any more melodramatic than she does to herself, but it's kind of welcome. After all, she knows she doesn't have an objective view on all this. But there's too much to say, and she's uneasy enough here. There are too many things going on.

"Could I-- This is going to sound totally weird, but. Could I call you later? Do you have a mobile?"

Cooper gives a grin, one of the genuine ones instead of the one he often uses to charm people into liking him. "Of course you can. A fair warning though. I'm never up before eight o'clock at night." He was an early riser for a vampire. "Gimme your phone and I'll put the number in."

"I'm gonna be up late tonight," Abby murmurs, smiling a bit. "I think I'm going to need someone to talk to."

Because she has to tell someone. She has to admit to the things she's seen, the madness this has become. But not until she makes sure she's done for the night.

"I've got two ears and they both work wonderfully." He stands back up, twirling the goggles around one finger. "I'll leave you to go back to waitin' then. Good luck in what you're trying to do."

He walks off, a short figure whistling through the crowd of people.

By day, Derek raises few eyebrows in Barnet, and that suits him fine. At a glance, the place is the same as ever. People go about their business. The schools are full. There's a queue at the Waitrose. It's both a relief and a concern, that things can be so normal when the Night Council and Redbright are flushing out opposition. Derek lingers in the area through the morning. Very little of note seems to happens, but he catches the whispers. And, at one point, he finds the card.

Abigail Widdowson seems quite capable of going under the radar as well, but when Derek catches sight of her it's impossible not to remember their recent conversation. She's here for a purpose - there's no doubt in his mind of that much, but when her purpose could so easily swing either way, Derek's curiosity is piqued.

Naturally, he follows her once he sees her, always at a distance and always with the utmost care. It doesn't last long, because it doesn't have to. Soon, he sees what he expected to: Abigail, sliding the card into the hand of a passer-by.

After that, it's simply a case of waiting until they're somewhere quiet.

"Abigail."

He comes to a stop a few feet from her, and his expression is flat as a tile and nigh impossible to read. A few moments pass in heavy silence, and then he raises the card between two fingers, glancing at it as though this is the first time he's read it. Briefly, he considers how different this is to their previous meeting. It is not simply the lack of fancy clothes. Abigail looks pale and drawn, tired.

He passes the card back to her.

"Must be popular."

For a moment, when he stops her and holds up the card, there is simple panic in Abigail's eyes. Confronted by the Night Council or Redbright herself, she might have been able to mask it a bit. But in the middle of the day, out and about what she's disguised as errands, it catches her off-guard. Especially knowing what Derek is.

Because there's no lying to a werewolf. If their senses are half as keen as she's been led to believe, her scent is all over the card. From printing them to carrying them to distributing them. Which means a denial is stupid.

So, she takes the card and slips it into her pocket.

"No one else seems to be doing anything." Like that explains everything. Or anything. It's insane, she knows that, but it's all she has. She can't be public about it. All that would do is shove her out of Barnet or worse.

Her reaction appeases him in a hollow, distant way, purely because it's good that she should be on edge, that she should be worried. She needs to be, right now. It'll keep her from running directly into danger, and it might help her keep others from that, too. Still, although Derek's stance is all hard lines and steady footing, there's nothing aggressive in his movement, or how he looks at her.

He nods, because she appears to be right. She may not be the only one, but there definitely aren't many, and there probably aren't enough.

"You didn't expect different." It isn't a question. "But you came here anyway."

"I didn't come to help," she admits. She'd told him as much at the party. That she wanted to observe in Barnet and make her decisions from there. Now, she's seen, and she knows what she has to do. These witches are her own kind, and if no one helps them with Redbright coming for them, no one will help her if she ends up in the same spot.

But seeing what had happened to Jennifer -- Jennifer Carter, she'd learned from the news, which had presented it just as a local tragedy -- made her certain. There is nothing else she can do.

"But I have to."

He's not sure what changed her mind, but he believes her. There's a simple, earnest kind of promise in Abigail's tone, and Derek, perhaps unwisely, finds himself disregarding the knowledge that the Widdowsons had been considered untrustworthy.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he comes closer to her.

"Hard to come back from a decision like that." She knows, he thinks, but the warning comes anyway.

His words make her laugh. A sharp, somewhat bitter laugh. Because, well, she's been thinking that this entire time, and she's realised something far more important.

"I think the word 'impossible' is more appropriate." If anyone from Redbright or the Night Council finds out what she's doing, she will be permanently marked. Any hope of studying at the Institute will be gone forever. Probably always has been for being a Widdowson, regardless of what Sylvia had said. "But... yeah. I know."

It still has to be done. She has to do it.

Well, she's not wrong. And maybe that laugh should be a concern - maybe the whole dark witch thing should be a concern. But experience has made Derek less disparaging than he was. Derek steps aside, out of her direct path, and the message is clear: he's not going to stop her. What she's doing may or may not be for the best, Derek isn't sure. He's not sure of Redbright either.

"Need a ride anywhere?"

The question causes an internal debate. She doesn't know how much she can trust him, but a werewolf should understand being on guard about the Night Council, right? And if she's going to do what's spinning around in her head, she needs someone to talk to. Someone to help her focus her thoughts. Hopefully without too much judgement.

"Yeah. Dunno where though. But I could use a ride. And to talk a bit."

It sounds weird, and she knows it. She probably sounds like a psycho. Or just a dumb little girl meddling in things she shouldn't.

"I just... I've got a few questions."

It's not difficult to tell that she's wondering whether or not she can trust him - he can't blame her for it, either, waits out that internal debate in patient silence. When her answer finally comes, he nods, even if his first thought is balking over the mention of talk. He's not sure what he can possibly offer on that front.

And yet, he'd offered all the same. Jerking his head down the street for her to follow, he starts walking. "We can figure out the where."

"Thanks."

It's easy to fall into step with him. To take a couple steps to walk almost right beside him. It's like at the party. The closer they walk together, the less suspicious any of it seems. A young man and a young woman? Only look odd walking to the same car if there's distance between them instead of, at least, a friendly closeness.

"I must seem totally mental right now. It's just... been a long day."

And it would be an even longer week, she knew.

At that, it's Derek's turn to laugh, albeit a smaller thing than hers had been. He gives a soft snort, shaking his head dismissively. Something in particular has prompted her change of heart, he's sure. He's not about to ask what, but it lowers his guard a little, encourages him to handle her more gently than he might, otherwise. Understanding is a potent thing.

"I'm a werewolf. We're pretty used to mental."

There, she gives a bit of a chuckle. Not the harsh sound before. There's no half-sob mixed into it. No fear. Just someone appreciating a bit of gentle honesty. Because, well, she forgets. She's been quietly shut away in her own little world, protected and only taught. It's easy to not remember that all the groups have their problems.

"What does it mean to you?" she asks quietly. "To be an alpha. I... think I kind of understand what it is, technically. But... personally. What is it?"

He regards her with widened eyes, surprised if only because it's a question he's been asking himself a lot lately. Returning his gaze to the street, he shrugs. The quiet that follows might imply that's all the answer she's going to get from him, but then he speaks. There's a rare hesitance dragging out his words - usually, when Derek is unsure of what to say, he says nothing at all.

"It still feels too early to say," he admits, watching the ground beneath their feet intently. "I don't know when that's gonna change."

Realizing he's being a little too open, he squares his shoulders, makes an effort to sound less uncertain. "But my pack needs someone. Right now, that's me."

Abigail nods a little. She can understand that uncertainty. But he deserves some context, an understanding of why she's asking what she is. So, as he looks down, she looks ahead, her hands sliding into her pockets to keep them steady.

"Circle Midnight has never had a coven. At least not in recent memory. Members hide in Daybreak covens or are trained apart. Like I was. But they're all separate."

Which made them easy to quiet and easy to remove without anyone raising a fuss. It wouldn't help Jennifer, but it might prevent others' from suffering her fate. If they could be knit together.

Derek hadn't been expecting the explanation, but when it comes, he finds that he appreciates it. He doesn't look at her when she talks - this conversation is already veering too close to prying for his tastes, even if she's volunteering the information relatively freely - but he does listen carefully to what she has to say.

It's not what he expected, either. The idea of witches being so splintered seems wrong to him. He thinks of when it had just been Laura and himself, and a shudder winds its way down his spine. It's not fair has to be the stupidest response there is, but the words stick in his mind.

"That just sounds like it'd make things more dangerous." He sighs. Maybe that doesn't make sense. "A werewolf without a pack is weaker. But it also doesn't have the guidance. The control."

"When I asked about applying for the Institute, Redbright told me they would only accept someone of my... background... if my coven vouched for me." That was, ultimately, what had started her thinking. Because before then, she'd just accepted that dark witches had to be separate. That it wasn't safe. But after seeing what she had? Maybe that needed to change.

"Most just study on their own in secret, which is where a lot of the horror stories about dark magic come from." Possession, death, all sorts of things that came from young, unexperienced witches teaching themselves to summon and contract fae. "I was taught it by my parents, then my uncle. But even then, one witch alone? Can't do even half of what three can. Seven or nine? Even better."

"Stupid," Derek comments, under his breath, because even without Abigail's further explanation, that's how the decision strikes him. Where's the benefit in the exclusion? As she continues, his reaction only settles deeper into his belief. It leaves Derek with a sour taste in his mouth.

It doesn't take long to get to his car, because he's spent much of the day pacing the same area. "Here." Opening it with a click of his keys, he nods towards the passenger side before climbing in himself. The interior of the camaro is clean and tidy and pine-scented. Derek inhales it as he turns over, once again, what she's said. He has to fight off thoughts of his own family. A coven has never seemed more like a pack to him.

"These witches chased out of Barnet might not even get that kind of offer."

If they wanted it, that is. Limited though his empathy may be, Derek cannot imagine that he would.

"They probably won't," she murmurs as she gets in the car and leans back against the seat with a sigh. It's complicated and dangerous, and she knows it's crazy. But she knows she has to do it. Or, at least, she thinks she has to. Which is good enough. "And even if they did take it, they'd be watched. Constantly."

Which might drive more of them off, guarantee there was no place for them in Daybreak.

She's supposed to be seeing the world, making a contract with a fae, and securing the future of the Widdowson line. Not... this.

"That's why they--" No. That was wrong. She was them; they were her. "We need a coven."

Once she's comfortable, he pulls the car out and into the street. With no direction in mind right now, he's just taking turns as they come, keeping an eye out for anything that looks worthy of note. He suspects that she's entirely right. Things are only going to get harder and harder for dark witches, especially if Redbright refuses to be a buffer helping them find any kind of balance.

He looks at her, sidelong, considering.

"Not many are being proactive right now," he says, in a way that might imply but you are.

"Because no one else is." It's the terrifying truth. Someone has to be first, has to draw the fire. Which is why she wishes she could ignore all of it.

But the Widdowson name is an old one. Five hundred years ago, they were a force to be reckoned with. Then, the curse had taken hold, and their prominence decreased. There was still a legacy to the name, though. It couldn't just be brushed aside or shouted down.

Besides, it was just as safe to do this as it was to do anything else for her. At least this, she could believe in.

"It's insane. I know it is. But I'm doing it. I need to."

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Fires at Midnight

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June 3rd

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