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Monty was created from pain and suffering. Ripped apart, piece by piece. Destroyed. Forced to be conscious through it all. He screamed- as much as a crow can scream. It was more like… Screeching, if he had to find a word for it.
He had never had to find words for things before. They were just thoughts. Concepts. Ideas. Words were… Harder. It takes a while to figure out what words match which concepts.
Pain and suffering were easy words. Easy concepts. They’re what made Esther happy. Doesn’t matter who she causes pain and suffering to, so long as it’s benefitting her.
The process of becoming human was… Difficult. Not mentally, so much. All he had to do was lie still and be good. But physically… She ripped feathers out by the handful, blood dripping from each feather plucked. She ripped his talons out with pliers, ignoring the scream-screeching it elicited from Monty. His beak was smashed, his bones were crushed. A regular crow would’ve died long before that, but not Monty. He lived and stayed awake for every second of it.
Esther did her spell, a light flashed, and then…
He sat up. Taller, heavier.
Everything still hurt. It was dulled now, just a buzz throughout his entire body. It didn’t matter- Esther was so happy. She said words that his ears didn’t understand, but his mind did. He smiled back at her.
And then… Everything else. Meeting Edwin. Meeting the rest of the detectives. Reading horoscopes and astrology charts. Swing sets in the dark. The forest. Esther, again. Watching a ghost be vaporized. Giving Charles his bag.
Esther was dead now. He’s sure of it. He could feel it. Like a hole in his chest, remarkably close to where she had ripped him apart, destroying his human body and turning him back into a crow.
About that…
Monty wakes up on the floor, the stench of bleach filling his nose. Esther would use it occasionally in a spell, or more often, to clean blood from the floor. He sits up and takes a deep breath.
It gets caught halfway in his throat. He coughs, he retches, he gasps for air as his chest seizes.
It’s not like he hasn’t struggled to breathe before. Going from bird lungs to human lungs was not an easy change. This, however… This was different. Sure, his body hurts already, but his chest hurts ten times worse. He feels like his lungs are stuck still instead of moving.
His vision darkens, and if he wasn’t already on the floor, he certainly would be by now.
Shit- shit . He is going to die. He is going to die right here, right now, mere feet away from where Esther was dragged away to her death.
He brings a hand- hand?- to his chest and thumps the heel of his hand hard into his sternum once, twice, three times, in quick succession.
Oh thank God. He manages a shaky gasp, air finally filling his lungs again. It takes thirty seconds for the darkness around his vision to fade. Thirty more before he no longer feels like he’ll pass out.
“That’s… not good,” he murmurs to himself. He’s never had something like that happen before. He racks his brain for why.
It must have something to do with Esther’s death. That was the only reasonable explanation.
“Monty, dear,” she had told him once, when he was a small crow. “You can’t just fly off on your own.”
He squawked back at her.
“An evening stroll, really? You could’ve died, Monty. A familiar without their witch is as good as dead. Honestly,” she said, pushing her hair back behind her shoulder, “you’re lucky you didn’t go too far without my permission. You probably would’ve died on the spot.”
As a small crow, he believed he’d randomly drop dead without her. When he grew older and started going on scouting trips for Esther, he figured she just meant he’d be eaten by a stray cat.
Now… He was back again to that “drop dead” theory.
“Esther?” he croaks, looking around the kitchen the best he can.
It’sempty. No dead boys, no psychics, no Esther. Just a crow- er, boy, he guesses. The kitchen is empty. The kitchen smells like bleach. There are no dead bodies, not even blood, and he has no idea what happened to them.
He stands, grabbing onto the counter for support. The kitchen is freezing. Monty shivers, the shudder taking over his entire body. Clothes- he needs clothes. The outfit he wore when he was last human was torn to shreds, so he couldn’t wear that.
Monty stumbles up the stairs, into Esther’s bedroom, and roots through the little box of clothes she had gotten him when he turned human. He opts for a dark sweater, jeans, woolen socks, and a pair of boots. He’s still cold when he puts it on. Briefly, he wonders if this is what ghosts feel like. Cold.
No, Edwin didn’t feel cold during their kiss. He felt Amazing.
God knows where the boy is now. Probably back to wherever he came from, away from the disaster is Monty. The funny thing is, Monty can’t blame him one bit.
He would hate himself too.
After a quick look around Esther’s home (he didn’t go through her spell components, barely went into her room. He doesn’t want to invade her space; she always hates that), he determines that it is truly empty. Monty stares at the empty cage for a moment too long before heading out of the house and into the town.
He needs to apologize to Edwin. The rest of the detectives too, sure, but mostly- if not entirely- Edwin. Edwin, who he betrayed. Edwin, who he lied to. Edwin, who he led to his presumed death, whose torture he did not stop.
He deserves an apology. Monty owes him a big one.
The butcher-shop-slash-detective-agency-slash-home was pretty much cleared out. The only real thing of substance was a letter pinned to the door of the upstairs apartment.
“ The Dead Boy Detectives Agency has relocated to London. Thank you for your interest ”
And… that was it.
Was it insane to visit London to apologize to a guy who hates your guts and all of his friends? Probably, yeah. Did Monty have anything better to do? Definitely not.
The hardest part is figuring out where London is. That takes trips to the library, scouring maps, and eventually finding it on a map of an island in Europe.
The trip is probably the easiest part. Although Monty can’t fly there, he could ask for help. Later, he finds out that it’s called “hitchhiking”. All it takes is a little drooping of his eyelids, a little pout of his lips, and a little bit of begging, and he makes it to the airport.
Monty simply finds a random magic user and sneaks in with them. He doesn’t really think it would work- he’d only done that with Esther before, and that was as a crow- but it works.
London is… Different. Whether that’s in a good way or a bad way, he isn’t sure yet. If he thought Port Townsend was cold, he hadn’t experienced anything. Monty hugs his sweater close to his chest and shivers violently.
For a moment, he can’t breathe. The pain radiates from his chest and again it feels as if his lungs aren’t working correctly. He presses his palm to his chest, trying to get any air in and failing.
He feels himself fall to his knees. He sees his vision darken.
And then… it’s gone. He stays kneeling on the sidewalk for a few more minutes before standing up and continuing his journey.
Monty wanders the streets of London for two days, asking every ghost he sees if they know of the Dead Boy Detectives, until one finally does. He thanks them profusely after they told him where to go, and then he rushes off to the Dead Boy Detectives headquarters.
He stops just before the front door of the agency. God, this is stupid. Obviously they’re not going to accept an apology from a stupid crow. Why would they? He led them straight to danger. If it weren’t for their friends, they would’ve been stuck at Esther’s house the rest of eternity and it would’ve all been Monty’s fault.
Maybe that’s why he has to do this. So he can at least pretend he’s trying to do better. He wants to be better. Apologizing seems like a good first step. It’s a very human thing to do, anyway.
Monty takes a deep breath and knocks three times on the door.
There’s a split second where he thinks he’s going to have another of those chest-stabby-can’t-breathe moments, until he recognizes the emotion. Anxiety. God, this is so much worse than when he was nervous to kiss Edwin.
The door swings open.
“Dead Boy Detectives Agency. How can we help… Oh.”
It’s Charles. He looks exactly the same, not even a scar from the chain around his neck. Duh, Monty thinks, he’s a ghost. Charles is wearing his typical eyeliner. He’s not wearing a jacket, instead his red polo and suspenders in plain view as his neck and arms are exposed to the cold.
Monty doesn’t realize he’s just standing there, not saying a word (probably looking stupid) until Charles speaks again.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a crow?” Charles asks in an almost accusatory way. As if Monty chose this.
“Um- I… don’t know. I just woke up and I was human.”
Charles looks him up and down. He doesn’t believe Monty. Monty can’t blame him.
“Um… Esther is dead. She didn’t send me here. I came on my own.”
“Uh-huh.” Another look up and down. “Well what are you here for? No offense, mate, but we’re not really taking any cases from you.”
“Cases? Oh- no, no, I didn’t-“ he takes a shaky breath, trying to clear his thoughts. “I came here to apologize.”
Charles blinks. “Apologize?”
Monty nods earnestly. “It… would be easier if I can come in and apologize to you and Edwin at the same time,” he suggests.
“Yeah, I don’t think Edwin really wants to see you right now.”
That hurts far more than it should.
“If you wanna apologize to me I can pass it on?” Charles suggests. It feels like pity, which Monty hates more than he has any right to.
“Uh- yeah. I.. um… I’m sorry for leading you guys into a trap. Almost getting you killed. Not stopping Esther when she built that torture machine. That thing is horrific, no one should have to go through it.”
“Yeah, well getting chained up in the kitchen wasn’t so wonderful either, mate.”
Monty blanches. “I know- I’m sorry- I just haven’t personally experienced that, so I didn’t… Um…”
“She never chained you up? Really?”
“Well, I had a cage, so…”
Charles stares at him, clearly confused.
“Like a… Like a bird cage. If she wanted to lock me up she’d just shove me in there.”
A beat passes. “I guess that makes sense, considering the whole crow thing.”
“Yeah…” Monty bites his lip. This is so uncomfortable. He wants to go home.
“Well, I better get back to my detective-ing, so unless you need anything else..?”
“No, thank you. Uh- please just pass the message along to Edwin.” Not that Monty has any right to be demanding anything from Charles.
“Yeah, no worries. Good luck with your whole… Whatever it is that you’re doing.”
Monty doesn’t even get the chance to turn around before the pain strikes him again. Somehow, it’s even worse than last time. It feels as if his chest is being ripped apart, as if Esther’s stabbing through his lungs with her cane again.
He’s sure, this time, that he’s dying.
Charles grabs him by the arms, catching him before he collapses to the ground. That’s… unexpected. Monty assumed Charles of all people would’ve let him fall.
Monty is almost able to breathe this time around, but somehow it’s worse than not being able to breathe at all. He’s having a coughing fit, though it’s somewhere between coughs and retches. It’s like his body is trying to eject his ribcage from his chest.
His vision starts to darken just as droplets of blood emerge from his mouth. He covers his mouth to avoid getting any on Charles. He’s not sure how long it takes for the coughing to stop. It feels like hours.
After a while, Monty is able to catch his breath again. It scratches it in his throat, rattling his chest on the way out. His entire body aches, radiating from the spot he was skewered by Esther’s cane.
“Sorry, sorry,” Monty says. He hits his chest with the heel of his hand a few times, trying to get the rattle to cease.
“What the hell was that?” Charles’ hands are still on him.
“Um… it’s fine, really,” Monty pulls away, taking two steps back. “No big deal.” The pain is still there, just less now. He swears he can feel more coughs trying to claw their way back up his throat. He swallows.
Charles raises an eyebrow.
“Well, I’m Esther’s familiar and we’re linked- I’m sure you know about familiars- but now that she’s dead, I might be dying.” He says it with a forced smile, punctuating the sentence with jazz hands to lighten the mood.
Charles looks unimpressed.
“Yeah.” He takes a pained breath. “Please pass my message on to Edwin.” He turns on his heel and walks away.
And with that sorted… It was all good. He’d apologized to the one person he really needed to, and now he could just…
Um…
Die on a park bench in the middle of London?
He could at least go home, though the thought of it made his stomach churn. The park bench was beginning to sound a lot more appealing…
“He’s dying,” Charles says. “We can’t just let him die, now can we?”
“We could,” Edwin says through gritted teeth. “It’s not like he didn’t try to get us tortured forever less than a month ago.”
“We’d be good as gone if it wasn’t for him. I told you, remember? He gave me my bag when I couldn’t reach it.”
“So he did. That doesn’t mean this isn’t another trap Esther has put him up to.”
Charles puts a hand on Edwin’s shoulder. “I really don’t think he’s working for Esther. He coughed up blood. Seems a little much for a trap, don’t you think?”
Edwin is quiet for a moment, doing just that. “I suppose I can do some research into familiars. See if there’s anything that can help him.”
“I knew you’d come around.” He pats Edwin on the back.
Edwin rolls his eyes. “Well, I will do what I can. We still have other cases to work on in the meantime.”
It’s late at night, when Crystal is asleep and Charles is off doing his own thing, that Edwin searches through their library in search of books that could help with this case.
Books on witches are fairly common, books on familiars are less so. They’re not really viewed as people, just sort of… Extensions of their witches. Honestly, Edwin would’ve viewed Monty the same way if he hadn’t become a human.
But he had become human, and now things were more complicated.
A mindless animal is one thing. A boy with feelings is entirely separate.
He flips through the books about familiars first, looking for information on when their witches die. To his surprise, none of them say anything about the familiar dying with them.
Most of them just say that the creature is free. They can either live the rest of their short lives as an animal, or they can attach to a new witch.
None of them say anything about the familiar dying. Now that is peculiar.
“Tell me exactly what happened with Monty, Charles. Every detail you can.”
“I told you already. He apologized, then he almost fell over and started coughing up a lung.”
“Details, Charles.”
Charles rolls his eyes. “I dunno, mate. I was more worried about the guy in front of me dying than about remembering every detail for my friend.”
Friend.
Edwin must be making a face, because Charles elaborates.
“I asked if he wanted anything else after the apology, and he said no and to just tell you- which I did- and then his eyes got all glazed over, like he wasn’t really seeing anything.”
“Interesting…”
“He kind of went limp. Would’ve hit the ground if I hadn’t caught him. He was shaking and started coughing really, really hard. Kind of like a cat coughing up a hairball crossed with a smoker dying. After a couple seconds, he started coughing up blood.”
“What color was the blood?”
“Red. Weird, right? I mean, I guess crows do have red blood, but-”
“Focus, Charles. What else?”
“After a couple minutes, he got himself together. He wiped the blood off his mouth, apologized, and left.”
“That’s… it?”
“That’s it. You recognize it from one of your books?”
“I don’t. That’s the problem,” Edwin murmurs.
Charles frowns. “I thought you said you found information about what happens when a familiar’s witch dies?” he questions.
“I did. None of the books mention the familiar falling over and coughing up blood.”
“So you… Think it’s something else?”
“Unless all the books are wrong.”
Charles is making a face now. “So what’s wrong with him?”
“I… Don’t know yet. We need to talk to him.”
They check the places Monty is most likely to be first. The library, the coffee shop, the park. They even ask Crystal to keep an eye out, but none of them can find so much of a glimpse of the guy. It’s like he’s completely vanished off the earth.
Vaguely, Edwin wonders if he died from whatever ailment had afflicted him. He had said he was dying, after all.
Would Monty come back as a ghost? He most certainly has some unfinished business, but he’s not a person by most standards. Humans have souls. Animals have souls. Familiars-turned-humans? Edwin is sure that it’s complicated, whatever the answer to the question is.
He mostly puts Monty to the back of his mind. If they can’t find him, there’s no way to help him.
Three days later, Edwin runs into him at the park.
Monty is sitting on a park bench. He’s got half of a sandwich in his hands, but he’s not eating it. He’s just holding it, staring at…
Oh.
He’s staring at Edwin.
Edwin walks over and sits down to the left of him.
“Hello,” Edwin says softly.
Monty smiles, but does not turn his head. “Hi.”
“I hope you don’t mind me sitting here.”
“Go ahead. Um… I don’t know if Charles told you-”
“That you’re dying?” Edwin interrupts. “Yes, he made me quite aware.
Monty looks over at him. There’s no trace of the smile now. “That I apologized.”
“Oh. Why, yes, he did that, too.”
“Good. I… I really am sorry. It’s just Esther kind of made me to work for her, and I didn’t know she was going to make me do that , and-”
“Monty.” Edwin puts a hand on Monty’s shoulder. He’s almost surprised when Monty doesn’t pull away. “I am not upset at you.”
Monty’s smile is much more forced now.
“I would like to help you on your case, but I’m afraid that we are missing some vital information. Is there anything that you withheld from Charles?”
Monty has always worn his emotions on his face. That hasn’t changed now that he’s in London. Right now he looks… Perplexed.
“Case?” Monty asks, tilting his head to the side a little.
“Yes, your case. The case of why you’re dying. We’ll have to work on the title more, of course, but it’s an alright placeholder.”
“I… Didn’t ask you to do that,” Monty says.
“I know. We’ll be doing it pro-bono, to Charles’ insistence.”
Monty’s mouth is slightly agape now.
“Of course, I would also like to prevent you from dying, if possible.”
“Unless you find me a witch to attach to, or bring Esther back from the dead, I don’t think it is.”
Edwin grimaces at the mention of Esther. “Perhaps we should talk back at the agency.”
He waits until Monty is sitting on the couch to deliver the news.
“That’s impossible. What else could be killing me?”
Monty has a steaming cup of tea in his hands. Edwin stands a few feet away, directly across from Monty. Charles sits in a chair to the left of him.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Edwin remarks. “That’s why I brought you here, to ask for any more information.”
“It’s just… A pain in my chest. And then it’s almost like my throat closes up, and- this probably doesn’t mean anything to you guys. You’re not alive.”
“Oh, we know what pain is. Especially after what your witch did to us,” Edwin says.
Monty winces. “I’m sorry.”
“What he means is that we get it,” Charles says. “Go on.”
“I just can’t breathe. Or, it was that at first. Now it’s more of a coughing fit kind of thing, which I guess still keeps me from breathing.”
“And the blood,” Charles adds.
“Right, um… It’s never a lot of blood.”
Edwin raises an eyebrow. “This has happened multiple times now?”
“There was no blood the first few times. In front of Charles was the first, and then… Well, pretty much every single time after that.”
“And by every single time you mean how many, exactly?”
“Once, maybe twice a day. No more than three times.”
“That doesn’t sound good, Monty,” Charles murmurs.
“It’s fine, really.” Monty gives him a tight-lipped smile. He looks nervous, Edwin notes. “I really do think it’s just a familiar thing. No big deal.”
“It’s not,” Edwin says firmly.
Monty looks up at him. His brown eyes are wide and doe-like, eyebrows scrunched, pleading. He looks like he’s begging.
“Not a single one of my books says anything about familiars dying when their witch dies. They say quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Then what else could it be?” Monty leans forward, expecting an answer.
“That is where I’m stuck. I do think your list of symptoms will help me in my research, but for now it remains a mystery.”
“You’re doing more research?”
“Yes.” He says it like it’s obvious.
It is obvious, isn’t it? This is Monty’s case. Charles’ case, really, since Charles was the one who insisted they take it. He feels bad for Monty in a way Edwin just doesn’t understand. But he trusts Charles. He cares about him. If Charles says Monty is somebody to help, then Edwin will do it.
Charles followed him into Hell. Rescued him from Hell. He deserves Edwin’s trust.
“In the meantime, you will stay here.”
“Here?” Monty tilts his head again.
“In the apartment,” Charles says.
Edwin nods. “It will be good for us to monitor you. Perhaps we will see symptoms that you yourself aren’t noticing. Plus, it seems unsafe for you to be wandering on your own in such a state.”
“It’s not a-”
“Monty. Stay.”
Monty doesn’t argue.
It isn’t unfamiliar having a living in their agency. Crystal lives with them, and she’s living. Niko did for a while, too, and that was fine. Now, however, Crystal is away for the next month trying to meet with her parents, and Niko is…
Anyhow.
Monty is different.
Edwin suspects it’s because he isn’t quite human. He looks human, of course. He acts human, too, for the most part.
There are little tells, of course. Like Monty’s diet- which mostly consists of trail mix Crystal bought on a health-kick. Monty claims that as a magical being, he doesn’t need to eat much anyway, but Edwin hasn’t read much into that.
He tends to perch on furniture instead of sitting. It looks uncomfortable, but it must not be, considering how often Monty does it.
He squawks when he’s caught off-guard, like when Charles walked in on him when he was showering. It wasn’t Charles’ fault. Walking through the bathroom walls was just the closest way through the house. Charles said he hadn’t even thought about it.
Charles apologized once Monty was out of the shower. Monty wouldn’t look him in the eyes the rest of the day. He did seem a little more red whenever Charles was in the room.. Edwin added that to his list of symptoms.
They still hadn’t figured out what was wrong with Monty.
“No more than three times” of his not-breathing spells, as Monty said, has climbed its way up to half a dozen times daily. They’ve had to send Monty out to buy tissues twice now to cough his blood into to avoid getting it onto the furniture. Crystal would not be happy if she found bloodstains upon her return.
Edwin and Charles sit in their study, flipping through books. Monty perches on the desk, looking over Edwin’s shoulder to read the book in Edwin’s hands.
“I just don’t get what we’re looking for,” Charles says. He’s paging through his own book, much more flippantly than Edwin.
“Anything that might help us on this case.”
“That’s not very specific. Mind giving a guy a little help?”
“Information on familiars. On witches. On diseases that can make someone cough up blood.”
“I don’t think it’s a disease,” Monty murmurs. He shrinks in on himself just slightly.
Edwin glances back at him. “We have to take all possibilities into account. Perhaps now that you’re human, you’re susceptible to human diseases.”
Charles looks up from his book. “You think it’s because he’s human now?”
““It’s” being what, exactly?” Edwin asks.
“His sickness.”
Another glance at Monty. He can only shrink in on himself so much.
“That’s… an interesting idea, Charles. I hadn’t thought about that before. Here- hand me that green book.”
“Which one?”
“The green- the one your hand is touching. Yes, that one.”
It’s forty minutes of all three of them pouring over the book before Edwin finds it.
“Does this spell look familiar, Monty? It turns familiars into other forms through a… reshaping process.”
“Um…” Monty gently grabs the book from him, turning it in his hands a little to get a better view. “It doesn’t have as many steps as Esther’s spellbook… Or pictures…”
“You can read, can’t you?” Charles asks.
“I can. Just… Um…” He squints at the spell. “Yeah, I think that’s the one she did.”
Edwin takes the book back, allowing the others to read over his shoulders again. “It’s quite gruesome, isn’t it?”
“Graphic,” Charles agrees.
Monty shudders. Edwin can feel it against his shoulder.
“Are you alright, Monty? Do you need a break?” Edwin suggests.
“I’m fine… Yes, that’s the spell. It is.”
The spell describes something akin to torture. Ripping off pieces of the familiar, breaking bones, tearing limbs… Edwin is glad this book doesn’t have the illustrations that Esther’s spellbook apparently had.
There’s a small warning on the bottom of the page. Edwin gets to it before anyone else reads. It talks about how important it is to do each step in the correct order and with the correct ingredients. How if it’s done incorrectly, it will kill the familiar. Slowly. Painfully.
Edwin shuts the book. “Well, that’s enough of that.”
Charles scrunches up his face. “What do you mean? Isn’t that the spell we need to review?”
“I think we can review it at another time. Besides, Monty needs some lunch.”
“I’m really not hungry,” Monty says.
Edwin wonders if Monty had managed to read it faster than he thought. “Still. I think a break is in order.” He tucks the book under his arm, so no one else can get it, and ushers Charles and Monty out.
Pacing isn’t a very bird-like thing to do. Monty can’t think of a single time he paced as a bird. Granted, he spent the majority of that time in a cage, but still. Since he’d become human, however, he found pacing had become a habit. Pacing outside the library, waiting for Edwin to come out. Pacing in front of the apartment before leading the boys to torture.
And now, pacing across Edwin’s living room floor. Back and forth and back and forth.
“I’m sure it’s nothing bad,” Charles says. “He probably just wants some quiet so he can focus on whatever he found.”
Monty gives him a look.
“I talk a lot and he gets distracted.”
“Of course he gets distracted by you,” Monty mumbles, just loud enough for Charles to hear. He doesn’t mean for it to sound quite as bitter as it comes out.
Charles scrunches up his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just him and you and… Come on, I’m sure he’s told you by now.”
“What do you..? Oh. Oh .”
“Yeah. It’s…” He trails off. He knows he’s angry at Charles for being the one Edwin is in love with. He knows he’s frustrated with the entire situation. However, being petty and rude to the people who are actively trying to save his life doesn’t seem like the best idea.
Luckily, Monty doesn’t have to finish his sentence.
Unluckily, it’s because Edwin pokes his head out of the door.
“Charles, would you mind assisting me for a moment?”
“Of course, mate.” Charles walks into the room.
Monty is alone.
They’re in that room for what feels like hours. Enough for Monty to have two more moments where he’s choking on nothing and coughing on blood. They were back to back, though, so who’s to really say how long it took.
Monty was never good at telling time. It was daytime when the sun was up, and nighttime when it was down. Why would he need anything more specific?
The boys do eventually come out. Charles first, then Edwin.
Monty lifts his head to look up at them. He’s hoping for good news. He’s expecting the worst.
“Well,” Edwin says. He clasps his hands together. “We have a lead.”
“And?” Monty stands from the couch, admittedly shakier than he thought he’d be. The coughing fits were more recent than he thought. He grabs into the side of the couch for support.
“We’re going to need a powerful witch.”
“Or a magic user in general,” Charles adds.
“Okay, great.” Monty looks at them expectantly.
“Do you know any of those?”
Monty shakes his head. “Just Esther.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Edwin says with a grimace. “In that case, I’m afraid we’ll have to go back to Port Townsend. That’s the only place I know of with a magical person strong enough to do what we need.”
What do they need? It’d be great if someone would tell Monty.
“You have someone in mind?” Charles raises his eyebrows at Monty. “I don’t remember you telling me this part of the plan.”
Edwin gives him a grim smile. “Come on, Charles. The sooner we get there, the better.”
Port Townsend hasn’t changed in the month or so that Monty’s been gone. Same sky, same smells, same people. Same…
Abandoned warehouse filled with stray cats.
Is this some sort of joke?
Monty is sandwiched between Charles and Edwin. He’s fallen back just slightly, letting them take the lead. He has no clue what they’re leading him here for. Charles seems to have a better idea of what’s going on, though.
“ Him? Really?” Charles asks Edwin incredulously.
“Yes, Charles. Unless you know any other magic users strong enough to do what we need him to do, then he’s our only option.”
“He gives me the creeps.”
“Who?” Monty asks. He’s stopped walking now, a few feet behind Edwin and Charles.
Before either ghost can answer, a hand clamps over Monty’s shoulder.
He shrieks, stumbles forward to try to get away, and falls over in a coughing fit.
It’s worse this time. He can feel it. The pain digs into his chest and won’t leave. Even after the coughing subsides and he wipes the blood from his lips, the pain doesn’t leave. He’s not sure how whoever this is is going to help, but he hopes to God that they can.
Charles and Edwin are on either side of him now. Charles helps him to his feet, holds him up. Monty’s throat feels like he poured fire down it. He’s not sure he can talk at the moment if he tried.
And then the other person talks. He recognizes that voice.
“Now what have you got here?” The Cat King asks. His voice is dripping with something Monty can’t quite put his finger on. Annoyance? Sarcasm?
“He needs help,” Charles says.
“Really? Because last I remember, he was betraying you. Tell me you didn’t forget about his secret already, Edwin.”
Edwin rolls his eyes. “I did not forget. He… Has a case. We’re helping him solve that case.”
“A case? And that changes the fact that he’s a bird working for Esther?” He sounds angry. Angrier than a person who isn’t involved in this has any real right to be.
“I never said that. I simply said he has a case. One we need your help solving.”
The Cat King raises his eyebrows in doubt. Monty can study him a little closer now. His hair is blonde…ish. It looks like it had been slicked back at some point, but was now more of a half-gelled-back mess. He wears trousers, a white shirt, combat boots, and a slightly garish cardigan. He doesn’t look evil, but Monty still doesn’t trust him.
Why would a crow trust a cat?
Charles speaks up. “Come on, Cat King. We deserve it after you trapped us in this town for months.”
“Last I checked, I only trapped Edwin here. You were free to leave at any time.” The Cat King is practically smirking.
Edwin steps forward. He puts a hand on The Cat King’s arm. Monty’s chest is burning from more than just pain now.
“Please. It’s just a small favor from me,” Edwin says. He looks straight into The Cat King’s golden eyes. Monty wishes he could be in The Cat King’s position right now.
The Cat King raises his eyebrows. “And what exactly do you need?”
“We need you to save Monty,” Charles says.
It’s silent for a minute. The demand hangs in the air. No one seems to know exactly what to do with it.
And then, The Cat King laughs.
“Save Monty? Him ?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Did you miss the whole ‘he betrayed you’ thing? I can repeat it again, if you want.”
“He’s changed, mate. He’s different. He helped us.”
“Has he, now?” The Cat King stares directly at Monty. Monty wants to run, but instead he stays still.
“He has,” Edwin agrees. “Which is why we need your help.”
The Cat King folds his arms.
“When he was made human again, something went awry. It’s slowly killing him. We need a powerful magic user- you- to put him back together the correct way.”
“Put him together… Do I look like a witch?”
“I mean…” Charles glances around the room. “Kinda.”
The Cat King huffs. “Even if I could do that, why would I help him? His witch literally killed me.”
Monty coughs and clears his throat. He steps forward. “You can make me your familiar.”
Everyone turns to look at him now.
“I know there’s a whole… Cats and birds thing, but I’m a very good familiar. I can get you supplies, information, um… As your familiar, I kind of have to do whatever you want.”
Dead silence.
Shit- what did he do wrong? Was that not the plan? Even the detectives were looking at him like he was crazy.
“A moment, if you will,” Edwin lets go of The Cat King’s arm. Instead, he grabs Monty’s and turns him around so their backs are towards the others.
Monty was right to be jealous. His touch is nice.
“What in the world are you doing?” Edwin hisses in a whisper.
“Was that not the plan?” Monty whispers back.
“Of course it was not- why would we hand you over to him?” he asks incredulously.
“Because… he wants something and I have nothing else to give?”
“That doesn’t mean- just let us do the talking, alright? We have a lot more experience in this than you do.”
“But-”
“No ‘buts’. Just stand next to me and let me handle it.”
Edwin turns them back around.
The Cat King stands where he was before, arms still folded.
“You can give me another task,” Edwin says. “No bracelet this time. I’ve proven myself once before, you can trust that I’ll complete it in a timely manner.”
There is no way The Cat King is going to even consider this. Esther literally killed him once, and-
“Alright, deal,” The Cat King says with a smile.
What the hell?
“The cat population has grown since the last time you were here. I want a new count and the names of the new cats in the colony.”
Edwin holds out his hand.
They shake on it.
They step back. The Cat King snaps his fingers, and suddenly, Monty is laying on an operating table. The Cat King’s hair is slicked back and he’s dressed in the tightest hospital scrubs Monty has ever seen.
“Is all that necessary?” Charles whispers to Edwin.
“Definitely not. He likes to have a flair.”
“This is going to hurt a lot, by the way,” The Cat King warns. “I’d try and numb it, but I don’t like you very much.”
It does hurt.
It hurts like wings and talons being ripped off his body. Like feathers plucked out by the handful. Pieces of him being smashed and glued back together.
He knows he’s screaming. He doesn’t know how to get himself to stop. The pain is too overwhelming.
He doesn’t realize he passed out until he wakes up again. The pain lingers like a hole in his chest.
Monty sits up. He looks around. He’s on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. There is a kitten sitting in his lap.
There is Charles standing above him. “Did it work?” He asks.
Monty struggles for the words. “I… Don’t know.”
“Of course it worked,” Another voice says. The Cat King. “I fixed him. You're welcome.”
“Thank you,” Monty murmurs automatically.
“Well,” another voice, Edwin, cuts in. “Thank you for your help. I think it’s time we take our leave. We have a lot of cats to count.” Edwin steps in front of him, extending a hand.
The kitten jumps off of Monty’s lap and he takes it. The touch still feels like fire. Edwin pulls Monty to his feet with an expression that Monty can’t quite read.
“Do you feel any better?”
Monty thinks about it, then nods. “I do… Thank you. You’re… Thank you. I guess I’d better go back to Esther’s house now.”
Edwin looks surprised. “Why would you do that?”
“You solved my case, didn’t you? That means this is all over, right?”
“Not necessarily-” Edwin begins.
Charles cuts him off. “He wants you to join the agency, mate. Still not exactly sure why , but whatever makes him happy.”
“I told you, he has more experience with witches and magic than both of us combined,” Edwin replies.
Charles chuckles. “‘Sides, it’s the Dead Boy Detectives, and now that we have three girls working there, the name doesn’t quite make sense. You can at least help balance it out.”
Edwin rolls his eyes at that. “We would like to have your help with some cases. Since Niko has passed, we have a position open. If you’re interested, the offer stands.”
Monty’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Yes, I- thank you, Edwin. And Charles. I would like that. A lot.”
“Oh my God- good, you’re all happy and friends. Now if you don’t mind going elsewhere, I’d appreciate it if you started on your task,” The Cat King says. There’s no real anger behind his voice. If anything, he’s amused.
Thank God. Monty doesn’t know what he’d do if that cat was mad at him.
“Good. Come on then, Monty. We have work to do.”
“Crystal’s going to be angry when she finds out we did all this without her,” Charles chuckles.
Monty gives him a worried look.
“Relax, mate. She’ll be fine. We’ll just explain everything and I’m sure it’ll smooth right over.”
“Right…” Monty murmurs.
They all walk out of the building.
There’s less of a weight over Monty this time. The pain in his chest is already subsiding. The hole from Esther is still there. He’s not sure it’ll ever go away, in all honesty. Now, however, he has people to help him deal with it. Oh, and he’s not actively dying. That’s a big plus, too.
He’s not sure where this ‘helping the Dead Boy Detectives’ thing is going to lead, but after all they’ve done to help him, he owes them.