open secrets

Eddie Teach

Edgar "Nevermore" Adcock

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this is a misc. fic!

Eddie's plans of screaming his findings to the rooftops burned with the rising sun. Though the proof of War's identity was still on Eddie at all times, he couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone but Tommy. Not while he was being stalked by a god.

Eddie saw those eyes, red eyes, everywhere. In the trees, in dark alleyways, in the windows of grocery shops and apothecaries, in the depths of his mind on sleepless nights. He started taking different routes every time he walked the streets of Salem. He avoided shopping at his usual stores, even though the small price differences hurt his tight budget. He flitted between the dense parts of town where he could easily be lost in a crowd, and the sparse outskirts where no one would bother to go. The eyes were still there. No matter what Eddie did, no matter where he went, nowhere was safe from the piercing gaze of a god. Sometimes Eddie even saw War himself, pretending not to be watching him. Tommy saw those red eyes too, on the days when he had the strength to leave the house.

The message was clear. "Tell anyone, and I will know."

It kept Eddie up- sleepless nights turned into sleepless weeks, all sense of time melting together into a gelatinous mass, barely getting an hour's worth of rest before he'd startle awake again in a cold sweat. Tommy was always there to reassure Eddie, but each time it fell on deaf ears. The best liar in the world could never fool his little cousin. Tommy couldn't protect Eddie from War, no matter how much he swore he would. It was impossible. One man stood no chance against the wrath of a god.

Eventually the boy hardly tried to sleep at all. Eddie spent all night on more and more perilous heists. He raided apothecaries and churches for any scraps of medicine he could find. He swindled police officers and bodyguards to amass a stash of weapons that the boy stockpiled in every room of their tiny house. He collapsed onto his useless bed in the early hours of the morning, only to be awoken by another vision of War every night. Exhaustion dulled the boy's senses, but it was an inevitability; one Eddie would have to bear for his own and Tommy's safety.

Neither cousin could protect each other from War, but Eddie knew what was really keeping him and Tommy alive. The leverage offered by the very thing War made sure he couldn't do. God and mortal were locked in a stalemate. If War directly harmed Tommy or Eddie, the other would leak the journals and everyone would know. War's life of luxury as "Mr. Nevermore" would shatter in an instant, and Salem would be upon him.

At the same time, If Eddie leaked the journals first, War would certainly come after him and Tommy for revenge. Nothing in the world would stop the wrathful god from slaughtering them both. The only person in the world Eddie loved-- the only person he had left-- would be killed practically by his own hands.

Mutually assured destruction. As long as Eddie held the journals that proved War's identity, neither the child nor the god could make a move without rendering themself vulnerable to a counter-attack, and that was why Eddie wasn't dead by now. He was sure of it. The cousins were loose ends. War had no other reason not to just tie them up and be done with it.

Eddie was no fool; the boy knew this balance of leverages was far from equal. One side had far more to lose than the other. Nothing truly stopped War from just killing them anyway, and dealing with the consequences later. Whilst Tommy and Eddie's very lives hung in the balance if they made the wrong move, said the wrong thing. War's constant gaze was his way of ensuring Eddie knew that, and kept quiet.

But it was something. It was literally anything other than complete helplessness, utter despair. And Eddie clung to it, the only lifeline he had.

All he needed to do was never. Drop. His guard. Not for anything.

Eddie's insomnia felt like a blessing in disguise. Sleep was meaningless when the task was so great.

In the Reconnaissance Department of the Salem police station, a Spy held a tiny listening device to their ear. Handling these priceless little bugs was the highlight of Jessie's work day. The Spy loved machinery more than anything else in the world. Watching inanimate metal and wood move as though it had come to life was like witnessing a miracle from the gods firsthand, and Jessie got to experience this miracle every single day.

The time travelers' machinery in particular was fascinating on a whole other level. How could one put something so incredible into something so small? Not just once, but a thousand times, enough to fill all of Salem with more information than anyone knew what to do with. Jessie itched for the day they could learn this craft, and make something like it for themself. Soon, the Spy vowed to themself. Soon.

Jessie pressed a button, and the red light on the device turned blue.

The whistling wind of a cold winter's day spewed forth from the listening device. For several minutes, the Spy savored the crunchy sound of the recorded wind. It was much more comforting than the real wind howling just outside the police station. Then, footsteps. Was there a Coven meeting in this secluded part of town? No, it sounded like just one person. Light, flitting steps at first, then they got louder, and slower. The footsteps came to a stop at their peak volume, right in front of the device.

"Ah!" A voice yelped. High pitched-- either a woman or a young child.

No one responded, and Jessie heard a few more footsteps crunching in the snow. Each quieter than the last. The person being recorded seemed to be moving away from the device.

The wind howled for another minute. "I… I'm sorry I lied to you…" The voice continued, slightly fuzzier than it was before, but still audible. "But I promise, I haven't told anyone who you are. I-I won't tell anyone."

A sniffle came from the device, as if the speaker was on the verge of tears.

"I'm n-not… I know wh-what'll happen to us. You don't have to k-keep following me. I'll do anything, please, just-- just go away and leave me alone!"

By the time the voice finished, it had broken into choked sobs that the speaker was clearly trying to suppress. If there were any more words, Jessie couldn't decipher them.

Nothing else came out of the device for a while, save for the whistling wind and rustling trees. The footsteps returned, receding at a rapid pace-- seemingly, the speaker was running as fast as they could. Once the person being recorded was gone, the Spy heard those same sounds of winter, then silence. The light of the listening device turned red once more.

Jessie shuddered. Someone had found the listening devices again. More than one, going by how the speaker seemed to think the bug was following them. But… who was this? And why did they speak to it like… that? It was unsettling. Mr. Nevermore needed to hear this recording, and the rest of the Spies needed to be informed. Kit's team would have to move the listening devices by sundown, lest a witch hear of this and start smashing the poor machines en masse.

Jessie peered towards the back wall. Mr. Nevermore was likely still in his office; they hadn't seen him leave since he clocked in. They walked over, gently tapping the door with their knuckle. Nothing. After a minute's pause, Jessie's patience ran dry, and they cracked open the door.

"Mr. Nevermore?" Jessie poked their head into Mr. Nevermore's office. Naturally, the man was standing by one of the small windows that dotted the stone walls, steam rising from the coffee mug in his hand. Nevermore had been doing that a lot recently, gazing down at the streets of Salem as though he were lost in his thoughts. It was a wonder the man's work performance didn't suffer.

Mr. Nevermore had finally recognized someone had spoken to him. "Ah, Jessie." he turned towards Jessie as they entered the office and took a seat at his desk. "Did you find anything of note?"

"Nothing related to the witches, but the listening bugs keep getting found, and this one's… strange." Jessie pressed the button on the device again and replayed the recording for him. "We'll have to send Kit and the team out to… Oh."

Mr. Nevermore's expression was alarmingly tense; something resembling a mix of shock and rage flared up in his eyes. A trick of the light made Jessie see those eyes as red, for just a moment. When they blinked, it was gone. "Give me that." Nevermore's mug hit the desk with a loud slam that nearly made Jessie jump. "Take the team, start moving the devices." He coldly took the device from Jessie and held it up. "Leave this one's companion where it is."

"A-Ah, okay…" Jessie mumbled, slowly rising from their seat. "I'll get that done at once, Mr. Nevermore, sir." They avoided his gaze, and quickly left the room. What had caused such a shift in Mr. Nevermore's tone? Just who was the person in the recording? And why leave the one device that they knew was found where it was? Despite their reeling head, Jessie knew they couldn't bring it up now. Nevermore had never sounded that intense in the entire time Jessie had been on the force-- and they'd been around the block a while. Was it something they did wrong? Maybe they just… weren't hiding the devices well enough.

No, it had to be more than that. Jessie would have to ask about it later, when Mr. Nevermore calmed down.

As his office door clicked shut, Nevermore clutched the device so tightly his knuckles turned white-- it was a wonder he didn't end up breaking the thing. This was getting ridiculous; if that child was truly so concerned…

Nevermore took a deep breath. Why would he blame a child for his own mistakes? He knew the pang of hunger all too well, the constant anxiety of what would come next. Feast and famine were intertwined in his childhood; that boy was in the same position. It was odd, Nevermore thought, that he could understand why he'd been burgled that night. The boy simply needed something to fill his family's plates; the discovery of Nevermore's "true nature" was not something either of them had intended.

Still, it had happened-- and now it was a burden they both had to deal with. Every simultaneous possibility weighed on Nevermore as he returned to staring out the window, the device still in his hand. To leave its companion where it was, or change his orders and move it-- either had great benefits, and great risk. A brief thought passed his mind, that he ought to fire whichever fool placed it there, but that wouldn't do anything. Nevermore's team had no idea of this stalemate he found himself in.

Perhaps Nevermore could use that to his advantage. Someone from the lookout team, staking out the buildings across the way in that part of town, to ensure no witches were using it as a side passage… he could send the new recruit. In their clumsiness, they'd just… knock the device out of the tree and break it. A simple accident, a miscommunication between departments.

A scoff left Nevermore's lips as he set the device down roughly. He took a shallow, irritated sip of his coffee and glared at the thing. He was getting just as paranoid as the boy was-- that paranoia would see him dead faster than any occupational hazard ever could.

A month had passed, though Eddie wasn't sure if it was truly a month or only half that anymore.

A storm of hail and snow raged. The winter chill permeated the thin walls of Tommy and Eddie's house, and the middle of the afternoon looked like nighttime. Bloodstained cloth overflowed the older cousin's tiny bedroom. The medicine Eddie stole in his last heist had run out, and Tommy wasn't getting any better. He hadn't gotten out of bed in days. Eddie scrambled around the house, bringing Tommy tea, soup, towels soaked in hot water, replacement bed sheets… anything that might make him feel the slightest bit better.

Tommy's expression was morose as he gathered enough strength to sit upright, only barely-- his sweat-soaked back rested against the headboard, his hair unkempt and his eyes listless. "Eddie, you don't…" He started, voice crackling and weak. "You should at least sit down."

"I can't." Eddie looked over at Tommy, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "This is the most you've moved all week, Tommy, I…" He took a deep breath and looked away, busying himself with the kettle to pour Tommy some more tea as though he'd heard none of it. The thought of doing anything less than he could was inconceivable. Eddie already felt he wasn't doing enough.

Tommy sighed weakly, shaking his head as he closed his eyes for a moment. He could hardly bear to see the poor kid working himself to the bone like this. That was meant to be his job, to shoulder the more treacherous tasks to keep the two of them fed-- or, he supposed now, to protect Eddie from the terror that turned his little cousin into a trembling insomniac on the brink of madness.

The older cousin would curse his short-sightedness and cowardice for the rest of his days. What in the hell was he thinking that night? He knew something was wrong with that Nevermore guy and his damned house. He should have never sent the kid there. Tommy was fine back then, he should have pushed through his symptoms and gone himself. But he was too weak and stupid, and he traded away Eddie's sanity for information they couldn't even use.

Tommy mulled over what he wanted to say next. The fog that polluted his mind made it a Herculean task, but he was still clear enough to see that his visible stress was making things worse by the second. "I promise, I'll… I'll get better by spring." He gave Eddie a little nod, not entirely sure if his promise was genuine yet. He certainly wanted it to be… maybe that would be enough to make it so. "When it warms up, we'll head for the… for the beach together. I'll tell you one of my favorite stories, even."

Eddie's head perked up slightly. Even knowing that Tommy had a habit of embellishing the facts and turning the stories in his favor, Eddie couldn't help the little smile that creeped across his face. The thought of casting this accursed winter aside to go to the beach sounded amazing right now. "Promise?" He said, the briefest pang of excitement shining through the storm clouds in his mind.

"Just did, didn't I?" Tommy coughed out a little laugh. "Maybe this time, I'll even--"

A pound on the door pulled both cousins from their thoughts. The pair of them glanced at the window, then at each other. Snow was piling up around the house, to the point where it threatened to block them inside. No one would be crazy enough to pay a visit in this weather, surely. It must have been a piece of hail landing on the front door. Eddie shook his head and got back to work.

Another pound, followed by a voice neither Eddie nor Tommy recognized. What the…?

Eddie opened the door to find a stranger in white robes that seemed almost invisible under the sheets of snow. The stranger's caduceus staff and cross necklace implied she was a member of the clergy. Something felt wrong. Was this a witch? No one in their slum of a neighborhood came close to having the money for a Cleric. "Hi there!" Eddie wore a perfect smile, as though he saw nothing unsettling about the stranger's presence. "Fancy seeing you in this part of town. What brings you here?"

"Hmmm…" the Cleric down at her notepad for a moment, either oblivious to or avoiding the second layer of Eddie's question. She flipped through a few pages, setting the staff down to adjust her glasses a bit as she deciphered her own handwriting. Eddie noted he couldn't see the Cleric's eyes behind the glare of her glasses. After a moment of fiddling with the notepad, the Cleric returned to meet Eddie's gaze. "I'm looking for Charles Eden?"

Eddie's blood ran cold. What a cruel joke. Eddie remembered War's "offer" to send a Cleric when the boy mentioned someone in his family was sick. This was that trap. War's acolyte, in the guise of a Cleric, was being used as bait to confirm that Charles Eden and Edward Teach were one and the same. Or worse, she was another one of War's mortal disguises, like "Mr. Nevermore". Either way, the bait was tempting in the most horrible way. The prospect of saving Tommy's life dangled over Eddie's head, but he knew better. It was too good to be true.

"Sorry, I've never heard of him." Eddie's smile never wavered as he reached for the door, ready to--

The Cleric grasped Eddie's arm. Her ice-cold grip made Eddie's skin crawl. "I already know." The Cleric paused, an unreadable expression-- frustration? Resolve? Eddie would never know-- forming on her face. "Please, just let me help you." The Cleric shoved Eddie aside, striding forcefully into the house.

Everything shattered. Eddie had seen something like this on many sleepless nights, but this time it was real. He scrambled to his feet, turned his head toward the burning hearth, and grabbed the rapier nestled discreetly within the fireplace tool set. For a moment, he debated heating it in the flames, but there wasn't time. The sword itself would do. Eddie took a quick breath, then bolted down the hallway. The sound of his feet pounding as he dashed through the house was the only thing that kept Eddie's mind from conjuring up visions of the state he'd find Tommy in when he reached his bedroom. The Cleric was still ahead of him. The few yards between them felt like miles.

Eddie didn't remember overtaking the Cleric in his feverish state, but he somehow made it to Tommy's room before she could do something horrible. Tears streaming down his face, the boy stood in front of Tommy's bed and aimed the sharp point of his rapier at the Cleric's throat. "Stop!" Eddie cried out, quivering like a leaf.

The Cleric stumbled back. An expression of anger, then confusion, then concern, was written on her face. She had dealt with patients whose families were distressed in the past, but nothing like this. "What in the world happened with Nevermore to terrify you so much…?" The Cleric muttered under her breath, then stood up straight and pushed her glasses back up once more. "Ch-- Edward, please. I'm here to help. Can you step aside so I can get a look at him?"

She knew his real name. War knew his real name. "No! Of course not! You… You're just going to--" Eddie's thought was interrupted by a gentle tugging between his shoulder blades. Tommy had managed to lean forward, pulling Eddie back a little bit to speak with him somewhat privately.

"Eddie, hey…" Tommy paused, glancing over to the Cleric at the end of the bed. "It's okay. I don't…" He pulled Eddie a little closer, making absolutely sure the Cleric didn't overhear-- though whether that was for Eddie's sake or his own, Tommy wasn't terribly sure yet. "I know this is skeevy as hell. But it is the best we've got, Eddie." Deep worry was etched into his features. "I… I'll be better a hell of a lot sooner with some help."

"But what if she--"

"If she tries, you'll see what adrenaline can do, kiddo." Tommy gave Eddie a small smile. It was a poor attempt at reassurance, but Eddie still felt the slightest bit better. "Last time I was this sick, I could still throw a man into the depths if push came to shove."

Eddie nodded slowly. "Wh-what should I do if…?"

"Here's what we're going to do, Eddie." Tommy glanced over at the Cleric, then the door into the hallway. "Go to the cellar, and wait there until I come to get you." He explained, gently gripping Eddie's shoulder. "There's a candle in the back. Light it, and if it burns out before I come over there, then you take the bag and run like hell. Don't stop running for anything."

"I don't want to…" Eddie sighed softly, looking at Tommy with sad, desperate eyes. Tears had been streaming down his face long enough that they left thin streaks of grime-free skin on his face. "I can't leave alone you with her."

"I promise--" Tommy gently took Eddie's hand, hooking their pinkies together. "I promise things are going to be okay. I'll be fine. Go. I'll come get you when this… when this is all done."

"Okay…" Eddie mumbled, trying to force a smile in return as Tommy let him go. "I'll go wait in the living room, then." He said, loud enough for the Cleric to hear as he reluctantly departed, rapier slung over his shoulder. He might still need it.

Eddie continued to shuffle down the hall, looking over his shoulder every now and again. Despite knowing the length of the hallway, it still seemed to continue infinitely as he walked. At last, after what felt like an eternity, Eddie appeared in the living room again. He gently maneuvered under the small dining room table until his hands found the trap door that led to the cellar. Eddie slipped inside and silently closed the door.

The world was dark. Every sound reverberated through the cellar, making the slightest noise crack like thunder. Eddie grasped blindly at everything in this tiny room, until he found a box of matches and struck one. The dim glow of the match vibrated with Eddie's shaking hands. It was a wonder he didn't drop the thing before lighting the candle in the back of the cellar.

A flickering beacon of light. A creator of long, terrible shadows. The only way to tell if any time had passed in this frigid tomb.

At least there were no eyes in here.

"Now… ah…" The Cleric's voice was slightly muffled by the floorboards, yet still managed to echo through the smothering air. "Fever, chills, jaundiced eyes, lethargy…" She paused for a moment, as if sizing up her prey. "Rapid weight loss." The Cleric continued, a sharpness to her tone. "Is there anything else you've been experiencing?"

"Coughing up blood." Tommy's voice replied, a wet cough following shortly after. Every cough and wheeze made Eddie wince-- as much as he despised this situation, a tiny piece of him begged that she would actually cure Tommy. The boy stamped out the embers of hope before they could taunt him. He knew better. The trap was obvious as sin.

"This is incredibly serious, Thomas…" The Cleric's voice was stern. Footsteps pounded closer and closer to the bed. "Nobody thought to--?"

"We thought plenty of it. We just couldn't afford it." Tommy sighed, "But clearly someone can, since you're here."

"I wouldn't be one to look such a blessing in the mouth," The Cleric said pointedly.

"I'll consider giving him my heartfelt thanks if you can cure me."

Eddie shivered, hunched in the corner as he listened intently. He could hear the subtle calculations in Tommy's every word, trying to prolong this false peace as long as possible. The slightest mistake on anyone's part, and they were both done for. Anxiety and terror swirled deep within his mind, yet he had to trust Tommy. He knew what he was doing.

Eddie shook his head. If he kept thinking about it, he'd end up doing something rash. He could hear the Cleric's footsteps, the way the boards creaked and her shoes clacked with each step against the old wood.

To keep himself sane, Eddie rummaged through the old emergency bag in the cellar. The cousins' documents-- both their real ones, and the fake ones prepared for just this type of emergency-- were all in order. The pistol was loaded. You're supposed to treat every gun like it's loaded anyway, but it didn't hurt to check. The knife was sharp. The dried fruit and meat was still good. The small stash of silver that was supposed to be in there was gone, but Eddie expected that, he knew it wouldn't last the winter. If the boy had to, he could run for the hills and never look back.

That thought didn't make him feel better for very long.

The Cleric chanted something Eddie couldn't understand. She stepped towards the bed again, her footsteps timed like clockwork. The floor creaked as if it were threatening to break beneath them. Her chanting grew louder, so slow Eddie barely noticed at first. The Cleric's clacking shoes circled the bed like a predator circling its victim, nearly as loud as her chants. After what felt like an eternity, she shouted something, far louder than everything else, the whole house seeming to shake as her foot slammed against the floor, so hard Eddie feared she'd kick straight through and reveal where he was hiding.

The boy's rapier felt useless in his hand. Whether this supposed Cleric was War himself or just an acolyte, what would a thin little sword do to fend off the divine power she held? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. After all the effort Eddie had put into protecting himself, protecting Tommy, preparing for just this moment, against the might of a god, it was all for nothing. He could only pray for a chance to escape, or a quick death.

The Cleric adjusted her position with light steps, then sharply tapped her staff on the ground-- the end of the ritual, as far as Eddie could tell. The last echo of metal on the floorboards rang through the cellar, and then the world was silent.

Tommy was silent too. No words, no coughing or wheezing, just painful, dreadful silence. Eddie's blood was like ice, itching out of his skin with the desire to bolt up that ladder and see what the hell this supposed Cleric had done to his cousin. Eddie gazed at the dim little light of the candle. A quarter of its wick had burned so far. If given thrice the time she had spent so far, the Cleric would certainly find him here. This freezing cellar would be his tomb. But Eddie couldn't run now. Not while she was still here. The boy resolved to wait at least until he couldn't hear the Cleric's footsteps anymore.

Eddie strained his ears to listen for Tommy's voice over his own racing heart. He heard nothing but the rhythmic clack of shoes that echoed through the house and out the door.

Eddie looked at the candle, at the ladder, everything in between. The light from the burning wick continued to stretch across the walls, everything around him casting shadows that morphed into the figure of War and loomed over him. Eddie flinched, and when he dared to look again, it was gone. There were no eyes in here. There were no eyes in here. There were no eyes in here. Eddie reminded himself of it over and over, clinging to his one solace like it was a precious gem.

The silence was smothering. Eddie didn't dare breathe. Tommy still hadn't made a sound since the Cleric started chanting. What if she… The thought made him tremble. He glanced at the candle again, but couldn't focus on it anymore. What if Tommy was dead? Wouldn't it make more sense to take the bag and leave now?

Eddie paced frantically around the tiny cellar. The boy's hands clenched at his sides so tightly, his fingernails started digging into his skin. He had to stay. He had to run. He had to check on Tommy. He had to wait here. Everything he could do was equally necessary, and equally horrifying. Hours passed-- or seconds, or minutes. The passage of time meant nothing here in this dark, cramped little room.

A thousand lifetimes seemed to pass before Eddie finally heard something besides his own heartbeat. It was so quiet, he thought he was imagining it, until he heard it again. The bed sheets shuffled. Eddie craned his neck upwards to hear the creaking of the floorboards above him. Slow, awkward footsteps made their way to the door, then stopped. After a long while, too long, Eddie heard the faint, familiar grumbling of Tommy putting on his leg.

Did she truly…? Eddie didn't move, didn't let himself believe what he was hearing. His eyes followed the sound of Tommy's footsteps, more stable and strong as he marched right to the living room. The cellar door opened with a soft click, and Eddie finally released the breath he'd been holding on to for what felt like the last century.

---

The wind and wolves howled in the dead of night. Frost dusted the ground in sparse layers that crackled under Eddie's thin boots.

War's eyes were still everywhere.

No matter where Eddie turned, no matter what time of day it was, those eyes followed. They shifted constantly when he ventured through the streets of Salem, never appearing in the same place twice. Always appearing right where Eddie could see them. As if the boy still needed a reminder of the threat that loomed over him.

Except one spot. The worst place to encounter a terrifying god-- within the trees right outside Tommy and Eddie's home. Every night, Eddie would check to see if War was still there, and every night, he was. Those eyes in particular never moved, as if to make a twisted point. In the deepest hours of night, when nothing save for witches dared to stir, War still gazed. Watching. Waiting. Blinking slowly from within the sickly branches like he was feigning affection. Boarding up the window helped, but those eyes still reached Eddie in the depths of his mind.

The boy didn't know why he thought things might be different, after War sent the Cleric to his home. Maybe Eddie thought the weekly visits from War's acolyte were surveillance enough, along with all the other eyes in Salem, watching the boy's every move. Maybe after all the god had done in the name of winning his trust, Eddie went mad and subconsciously gave War the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just a fool clinging to any hope he could grasp at, even though Eddie knew that hope would taunt him when it was crushed.

Regardless of the reason, Eddie paced around the side of the house he had been obsessively checking for over a month. Those eyes were still right there, piercing into him from the same damned spot. The boy jumped, and hid around the corner of his own home.

I can do this, Eddie told himself, but he didn't really believe it. Pretending to be braver than he was, Eddie squared his shoulders and peeked around the corner again. War still stared at him, unmoving. Eddie would just have to go for it. The god hadn't killed him yet. Maybe he wasn't--

No. Eddie knew better.

The thought of what might happen if War chose now to strike flooded Eddie's mind, but he shook them out. He could do this. He could do this. He could do this. Resolve slowed the boy's pounding heart-- but not by much. Eddie stepped out from around the corner again, trembling as he stared into the bright red eyes of a god.

"Maybe if I say something, you'll finally… finally leave me alone. You'll leave us alone." Eddie started, hands clenched. If he moved even an inch, he'd end up bolting into the house. He'd end up being haunted for the rest of his life.

Maybe that'd happen anyway. Only one way to find out.

"I still haven't… I haven't told anyone. I don't want to think about wh-what'll happen if I do. I still don't know why you didn't-- why you haven't-- just killed us and been done with it. Is that why you keep following me? So you can find the perfect time to…" Eddie's voice wavered. He couldn't bring himself to put it into words.

War gave no response. He merely blinked again, slightly faster this time. A part of Eddie knew why. He hardly had faith in himself not to flee, the second War approached or spoke-- the god had even less reason to take that chance. If War was keeping up the sickly sweet act even now-- and certainly seemed like he was-- watching from a distance was the most the god could do to make his presence known.

Eddie clenched his fists harder, taking a deep breath. He was still trembling. "I… You won't…" Eddie's vision blurred, his breath hitched, his heart jumped into his throat. "You… your… you and your… the Cleric…" Eddie's words fell apart. Sobs he couldn't suppress came tumbling out.

The boy eventually composed himself, though he was still shivering. "Thank you." Eddie lowered his gaze, just enough that he could still see War's ever-watchful eyes. "Thank you for saving him."

A muffled voice called Eddie's name. A little boy in tattered rags vanished into the night.

War sighed as the footsteps grew quiet, cradling the tiny device in his hands. The blue light on the bug turned red once more. War's mug of coffee had been replaced with a glass of brandy after sunset. It stilled his nerves, or so he believed, but no amount of alcohol could stop the storm of conflict that swirled within War's mind. Just who was the bigger fool here, the god or the mortal that bested him? …Eugh. Even calling himself a "god" made him feel ill.

War-- no, Nevermore, was no god. He wasn't mortal. He was barely human. He wasn't a god. Not that he could ever convince the boy of that-- in the mind of the child, Nevermore had terrifying power, watched and heard his every move, and could… would kill him at the slightest offense or mistake. What else could that be, to a little boy, but divine might? Nevermore set the device down and took another swig of his drink, breathing deep as brandy burned its way down his throat.

The moon was full enough to illuminate his office as Nevermore stood, leaning against the window, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. The silver glow of the heavens bounced off the glittering patches of snow on the cobbled roads. It was nearly midnight, but the moonlight was enough to navigate the streets of Salem. Like ants, Nevermore's little workers marched through the town-- moving the devices, positioning themselves at perfect points throughout the town to listen in on any gatherings between witches.

And here he was, stalking a poor child and his cousin over scraps of paper due to a… a misunderstanding? That didn't sound right, and yet it was all that came to mind. What crushed Nevermore the most was that a little boy had been forced to keep this terrible secret. If it had been someone like Thomas… well. Nevermore couldn't say his change in demeanor wasn't due to the fact the intruder had been a kid. Not that he'd have killed Thomas, either, but winning the man's trust would not have been Nevermore's priority in that scenario.

Thomas, at least, would be able to understand the phrase "I did not want to become what I am." Assuming, of course, he had a chance to explain it. He wondered if Thomas would believe him now. What would have to happen, before he could get that chance?

Hm. Nevermore had never known a guardian angel to wear a black suit. Of course, he'd never known anyone else in a position quite like his-- to stop the boy from telling anyone about the "eyes" he saw, or the secrets he kept, he had to earn the trust of not just Eddie, but his older cousin. Curing Thomas was a good step in that direction. Nevermore thanked… was it appropriate for a being in his position to thank the gods? He thanked whatever happened to be watching over him that Thomas at least had enough of a level head to accept the Cleric's help.

Still, the thought of what Thomas may have been afflicted with that only a Cleric could heal him made Nevermore's skin crawl. Something told him he knew just what this plague was, but he refused, under any circumstances, to even think of its name. Nevermore had been dancing on the knife's edge of another crisis too heavy for Salem to bear as is, the man did not need a third one.

How Nevermore longed to be able to confide in Robert about this. To spill everything weighing him down over tea, to hear someone's voice besides his own sorting his anxious thoughts. If only it were possible. The eight weeks since Eddie had found out had only proved in his mind that nobody else could know. Not even those he was closest to. Especially not Robert. Nevermore had done everything he could in the aim of soothing Eddie's nerves, and paranoia still drove the child to madness. What would stop Robert from meeting that same fate? That man loved Nevermore to the ends of the Earth. Robert would be shattered if he found the truth. Nevermore's heart ached with equal parts resignation and desperation. He couldn't bear to do this alone, and yet the alternative was so much worse.

Nevermore took another sip, weariness and drunkenness weighing on his shoulders. He had been locked in this cat-and-mouse game for two months, with little sign of it stopping soon. The walls of Nevermore's secret were already cracking at the seams; and he had only so many resources to patch the holes as they came. He had to fund Jessie's reverse-engineering projects under the table to prevent them from sounding the alarm about a poor kid being threatened by the police. Kit only had several thousand questions about why the "compromised" device had to stay, each more concerned and irritated than the last. Nevermore had to quash them all by dangling the reason Kit had joined the force at all over her head.

Nevermore had told them both he would handle the case personally-- though he had his doubts either of them believed him. He had done well to stop whatever rumors he could from spreading-- Jessie's new department, Kit's promotion-- but none of it felt like enough. The rumors still spread, just more slowly and with more inaccuracies.

Nevermore sighed. Another slip-up like this would be catastrophic. So many strings needed to be pulled to maintain this web of secrecy, and if any of them snapped, the whole town hung in the balance. His nature as War coming to light would cause more panic than the police department could handle, and the witches would have no resistance in tearing Salem apart. All the more reason this had to end. If he lost favor with more of his team, more than just two cops-- maybe even the people he loved-- would start asking questions.

Nevermore opened the bottle of brandy, and considered pouring himself another glass. He was already shaking-- from drunkenness, anxiety, or the winter chill, he did not know-- so despite the temptation, he decided against it and put the empty glass down on his desk. If it were as simple as saying "this had to end", it would have ended long ago, long before things got this bad. The man could only bide his time for now. As long as Nevermore could keep the Teach cousins on good… well, on "decent enough" terms, he could at least gain footing and figure out just what the hell he was going to do.

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