the first to find out

Eddie Teach

Edgar "Nevermore" Adcock

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this is a misc. fic!

The window lock clicked. A little boy in tattered rags slipped into the biggest house he would ever enter in his life. For a moment, Eddie couldn't help but gaze at the splendor of the place. The massive portrait of a man in his forties dancing with what seemed to be Salem's mayor. The intricate chandelier that made the room sparkle like starlight under the moon. The enormous staircase leading up to the second story, the third, the fourth...

All the while, he and Tommy were living in a shack, with next to nothing to their name. That thought put a bitter taste in Eddie's mouth as he reminded himself to get moving.

By the age of twelve, Eddie knew all the tricks to sneaking around without getting caught. His thick socks kept his feet from freezing in the winter chill. He treaded lightly along the vast halls, and hugged the edges of the staircase so they wouldn't creak. He opened doors at a snail's pace, making sure not to let the doorknobs snap or squeal. He let the rustling wind and snow outside time his movements and mask the sound of footsteps in the night. Wherever he went, Eddie moved like a ghost, confident that he'd never be heard on a heist like this.

Still, Eddie had no idea how rich folk organized the million rooms in their gargantuan houses. The boy made several trips up and down the many floors of this strange manor before finding anything that seemed like treasure. He could already hear Tommy scolding him for wasting time. He needed to find where this Nevermore guy stashed his money, and quickly.

Eddie opened the door of an empty bedroom-- gods, how many beds did one man have? Past the sparse, perfectly neat furniture, he opened the closet door and found his prize at last. A large safe, guarded by multiple layers of locks, dominated the inside of the closet. Eddie drooled at the sight. Now he knew why Tommy sent him here. It was like a sign had been put up, pointing to gold that could keep the two of them fed for months. Or if he was really lucky... no, not even in his wildest dreams would Eddie be able to afford the services of a Cleric.

Fiddling with the safe's many locks was a tedious affair, but none of them were a match for the dextrous hands of Edward Teach. The final lock gave a defeated click, and he was in. Eddie opened the door as slowly as he could bear, itching in excitement for the vast riches that awaited him. Would there be gems? Priceless heirlooms? Machinery from the time travelers? Eddie's wildest dreams filled his mind as the safe door opened a little more, a little more, a little more.

When it was finally open enough for Eddie to see inside, all he found was a stack of papers that pooled around the inside of the safe.

A deep, frustrated sigh escaped Eddie's lips. He remembered what Tommy said last time something like this happened: "Sometimes info's worth more than gold, kiddo."

Before he could claim the papers as his haul, Eddie had the good sense to read through them first, lest he bring back the deep secrets of Grandma's Potato Soup. Initially, Eddie searched for deeds, bank statements, anything that could be sold. While there, the boy noticed something strange. A stack of small pages torn on one side, all depicting... something about a cult? Curious, Eddie kept reading.

October 1664
[...] Rye's dead... I didn't want her dead, I didn't want any of this. But her blood still runs down my hands. Rye stood between me and that... that scum calling himself her fiancé. She begged me not to hurt him-- what, was I to let my sister continue to suffer? I had to take matters into my own hands. It wasn't my fault. I didn't have a choice. Father was furious, of course... though I only found that out when I heard his voice in the distance.

Something is brewing, deep in what little of my soul remains. I can't make sense of this feeling; I feel so much stronger, so much more alive-- but at the same time, I feel a looming terror, a dread so cold it freezes my bones. Leaving the cult so violently wasn't what I had in mind... but if I'm to stay sane, I'll have to continue to flee-- and keep fleeing if anyone discovers what I am.

I miss her so much already.

June 1665
Most of them ended up dead at my feet before I left-- I heard what they called it in passing. Apocalyptic... I knew that Rye was the start of something darker-- something far worse than anything Father He had goaded me into doing before. For now, I'll have to keep moving-- if I stop for even a moment, I'll be found and...

I don't want to think about it.

I'm fine, though. A Horseman feels no love, no pain, no happiness. And being alone is better than being weak. What did these attachments ever do for me, anyway? I'm not lonely. I simply need to adjust.

January 1666
My hands are always red. People come, people go-- most people die. One second, I'm able to maintain a conversation and nearly gain footing, stability-- only for the next moment to appear, my hand buried deep in another man's chest, throwing him to the ground as I [...]

Writing gets difficult, every time it happens. I find myself struggling to find the right words; oftentimes picking up the pen makes me see red all on its own. I wonder how I haven't torn this thing apart yet.

May 1680
Sixteen years since her death-- fourteen since I last turned these pages. I think at last I've managed to control the outbursts-- nothing has happened since 1677 or so.

June 1680
Where else remains that doesn't live in fear of what I've caused?

Every page after was nothing more than incomprehensible scribbles. The only word Eddie could decipher from this point on was the occasional "WAR", scrawled in various sizes all over the remaining torn pages.

Eddie's skin began to crawl. He knew of risk-- he and Tommy both did, living off pilfered bread and gold for as long as they had. But this was a Horseman. A god of the apocalypse. And he was pissing off this deity just by being here. A part of him wanted to put the papers back, tell no one of this, and vanish. Another part wanted to scream it to the rooftops, proof in hand, and get War locked away before he hurt someone... before he hurt Tommy.

Erratic footsteps pounded through the halls, several rooms away. Eddie knew well the sound of a homeowner stumbling about in the dead of night, but this time it nearly made him jump. His time was running out. As fast as he could manage without making noise, Eddie scooped up what papers he could carry in his arms and made his way out of the room.

Fear quickened Eddie's pace, but he still couldn't figure out the layout of this godsforsaken house. Every corridor he passed through looked the same. The identical walls and doors and that same patterned carpet on the floor all blended together into a gelatinous mass. The boy felt like he was going around in circles, like the halls were distorting before his very eyes. And every time he heard those footsteps get louder, Eddie's heart climbed towards his throat. The main hall was so big, it should have been impossible to miss. Where on Earth was it? Eddie began pacing faster and faster, and he noticed the sound of his own footsteps alongside the ones he was trying to escape. But he couldn't worry about it anymore, he had to just get out of here, silence be damned.

The sight of that chandelier, and the glittering main hall underneath, was worth more than gold. It was all Eddie could manage not to burst into a sprint. The distance between him and the front door was agony. With each arduous step, freedom came a little closer, a little closer, a little closer.

Nevermore's-- no, War's voice boomed through the main hall of his enormous house. A little boy in tattered rags prayed for a quick death.

"And just who, exactly, would barge into another man's house in the dead of night? Give me one reason why I shouldn't--"

War thundered to a halt, staring down at the little intruder. Though the little boy had prayed for a quick death, it did not come-- at least, from his perspective, not immediately. The footsteps resumed, though they came quieter, more tentative. Eddie didn't dare breathe, despite every fiber within him burning, screaming with the desire to flee.

"You're just a child." War's voice was uncomfortably soft. He knelt down, slowly, and reached for the stack of papers. "Did someone... ask you to come here, little one?"

Eddie didn't respond, trembling as he stared into the bright red eyes of a god. War let out a soft sigh and put on a reassuring smile. This felt wrong. Surely it was a trap-- a god as cruel as War would use the veil of kindness to trick his enemies. Eddie clutched the papers tightly against his chest, and stepped back to avoid War's touch.

"I won't hurt you; I just want you to tell me the truth." War retracted his hand. He met the boy's fearful gaze with an expression that looked just like concern. "Why would such a young boy like you be breaking into houses in the middle of the night?" War sized Eddie up and down, eyes fixated on the tattered rags that dressed the boy, the unkempt blonde hair that stuck to his forehead yet flowed about haphazardly around the back of his head, and the terrified hands that clung to a stack of papers like they were precious gems. "...Would you come with me? I don't bite-- I'm hardly a wolf or witch." War let out a soft laugh.

You're worse than either, Eddie thought, but only a fool would blaspheme a god to his face. Instead, the boy stared up at War, back pressed against the ornate wood of the door. The latch was right there. He could run, sprint into the night, tell Tommy about everything he found, rid the town of this monster in human skin... but if he tried that, War would give chase again, and the god was most certainly faster than he was. Eddie would never make it home.

Maybe the safest option was to play along. Eddie stepped forward, poised to jump back and flee at the sight of any sudden movement.

War's reassuring smile grew, and he turned, motioning for the boy to follow. "Come on, then. It's not a terribly long hike to the kitchen." He hummed, taking small steps as he ducked into the hallway again so that Eddie could keep up with him. "Is there anything you'd like to eat?"

"I..." Eddie's voice was barely louder than a squeak. "I'unno..."

"Ah, there you are." War looked over his shoulder, smiling softly. "Don't worry if you don't know what you want. I'm sure I've got something that'll keep you fed." After a moment, the god turned again, leading Eddie into the kitchen.

This place held the same quiet opulence as the rest of War's manor. An enormous stove with multiple grates framed one wall, next to a cabinet whose frigid air permeated the entire room, even in the depths of winter. Food was everywhere-- wooden shelves were stocked with jars of preserves, pickled vegetables, and fresh honey. Garlic braids and dried herbs hung in fragrant bunches over the counter, atop which a large pot stood, covered in frost. Another wall was lined with cabinets, full to bursting with sacks of flour, exotic spices stored in labeled jars, fine porcelain, pewter dishes, and what looked like silver cutlery. On that same wall, one shelf stored various cookbooks with assorted layers of dust-- though one was unusually clean compared to the rest, indicating it had been reshly handled. Eddie suppressed the pain in his stomach that sharpened at the sight-- and scent-- of the abundant bait.

On the far side of the kitchen, an archway carved in deep brown wood framed the dining room. This was a far simpler, but no less luxurious place. The main feature Eddie noted was a window so large it rendered the wall it was on more glass than stone. An ornate wooden table centered the dining room, with enough space to host a family gathering and leave room for more.

"You can have a seat right over there; there's a little table in the dining room." War hummed, gesturing towards the table under the window. "I'm sure I've got enough in the icebox to even send you on your way with some extra food."

Eddie hesitated for a moment before shuffling to the table. Despite already being caught, the boy instinctively did his best to make as little noise as possible while pulling out his chosen seat. Out of the dozen chairs on this massive dining room table, Eddie made sure to choose the one closest to the window latch. It was quite a fall from the second story, but if War decided now was the time to drop the act, the window was still a closer escape route than the door.

War took careful steps to not alarm the boy, or at least to not alarm him more than he already had. The god stepped toward the icebox-- so that's what that freezing cabinet was called-- before his eyes drifted down to something next to it, resting on the counter-- a meaty stew that had frozen solid in the winter chill. "Ah. Here we go." He hummed, drifting to the stove. "...of course I couldn't bless myself by miraculously not burning the logs last night..." War mumbled, glancing at the window before looking over at a plain-looking door at the end of the counter. Striding over, he opened it and fetched a few logs before closing the door and preparing the stove. "There," War gave the burning hearth a confident nod, then glanced towards Eddie. "Now... perhaps I can ask you some questions while this is cooking."

Eddie shrank ever so slightly into his chair. War gave him an understanding nod, opting to keep his distance and stay by the counter. "I promise I won't harm you, boy, I simply... I wonder who would send such a small child into a dangerous situation like this?"

Eddie said nothing. His face was as blank as he could manage.

War's brow furrowed slightly, fingers interlocking as his thumbs rested against his chin. "Was there... something specific you were looking for?" The god seemed unsure of how to put into words what he really wanted to ask. "I see you've found my papers-- those aren't important, really. Old bits of information I've collected during this war with the witches." He looked at Eddie kindly, leaning forward slightly. "I'll have to take those back, of course. Since I'll be giving you food from my kitchen, it's only fair..."

Eddie silently noted how skilled of a liar War was. The god's tone was perfectly unbothered, and he hadn't appeared to pay much attention to the precious information Eddie held. Were it not for the fact that he already knew exactly what was in those papers, the boy might have actually believed they were as unimportant as War let on. But Eddie did know, and that meant he would have to be sharper, to notice those slight tells of deception when they came.

War turned his head, standing to quickly set the pot of stew over the now-at-temperature grate over the flame. "Ah, I'm-- I should apologize for earlier. I had feared you were one of the more... unsavory folk that try to enter my home."

The saccharine words rang hollow in Eddie's ears. It was impossible to imagine that War would sincerely apologize for anything. He looked up at the god, trying to gauge the true intention behind this sickly sweet act. Just like before, Eddie saw nothing-- War's tone and expression seemed sincere, even though Eddie was absolutely certain that they were not. Just what was the scheme here? What could a god hope to gain by pretending to be nice to someone fully at his mercy?

"...What's your name?" War asked, snapping Eddie back into reality. "You... you really don't have to be afraid, you know. I can help."

What a cruel joke. A thousand curses flared within Eddie's mind at the mention of "helping". Rich folk never helped, not for any longer than it took to soothe their own ego. And the gods were not so different in that regard. The boy's awareness of the danger he was in stayed his tongue, and he took a deep breath. Lashing out now would only end in disaster.

"Charles Eden." It was a fake name Eddie had practiced with Tommy on many sleepless nights, but this was the first time the boy actually had to use it. It seemed to satisfy War, who turned toward the pot with a soft hum.

"You can call me Mr. Nevermore," War said, tapping the half-thawed brick of soup with a wooden spoon. "...Although I suppose I hardly need an introduction. You were only here for my belongings." He joked dryly, cracking the top layer of ice into small bergs as he stirred. "Do you..." War paused, trying to find the right words. "...Do you live by yourself, Charles?"

The question made Eddie freeze. The god's plan was becoming clear now. War had asked the boy twice about who sent him to this place. That person was a loose end that needed tying up, but if Eddie were foolish enough to tell the god who he lived with, who he spoke to, there would be no need to track them down. He could just slaughter them both. It was the kind of cruel efficiency War was known for. And the worst part was that, even knowing the ruse, Eddie had no safe response to this question. If he claimed to live alone, War would know he was lying. Worse, if he told the truth... Either way, Tommy would get hurt, and it would be Eddie's fault. He stayed silent, struggling to find the answer that would save them.

"Ah. If you do, it's all right. I was only asking to see how much food I ought to send with you." War said after a moment, looking through the arch to try and glimpse at Eddie's expression.

Eddie counted his blessings, that War couldn't see the spark of relief forming on his face. The god only asked for a number. Eddie had his out. All the boy had to do now was weave his story carefully. "...Three of us. All young. We lost our parents when I was about ten."

"You've been raising your siblings by yourself...?" War's tone shifted to that of surprise. "Sort of reminds me of..." He shook his head, stirring the pot as he collected his thoughts. "It must be difficult."

Eddie was not planning to claim the role of breadwinner for his family, but he certainly wasn't about to correct War now. "Unbearably so, sir." Eddie's head fell as he spoke, looking at the god with a meticulously crafted mournful gaze. "My youngest brother, he... he fell ill a few days ago." A half-truth. Tommy had been hiding the signs of plague for nearly a week, but the best liar in the world could never fool his little cousin. The scraps of bloodstained cloth in the trash spoke when Tommy himself refused to.

War's eyes widened. "I could send for the Cleric--"

"Don't!" Eddie scrambled to cover his mouth. "It's fine. It'll be fine. We're fine. Once I can get all of us fed, he'll be alright." The boy's heartbeat quickened. Another mistake like that could be catastrophic.

"Are... are you sure?" War set the spoon across the top of the pot. "In your shoes, I'd prefer a Cleric over a Coroner."

Eddie slowed down to choose his words more carefully. "If I could get something to cover medicine..."

War squinted slightly, raising an eyebrow. Odd, that the lad would accept food and money, but not a way to guarantee his brother would be cured of whatever ailed him. Odd, but not surprising in the least. "If you insist..." the god relented, shaking his head. That boy's fear was going to put his brother in danger, but all of War's divine power would never compel Eddie to trust him.

It took Eddie's entire will not to release his held breath all at once. He may have been done for, but he could still save his cousin's life. With the false story he had fed this god, War would be sent on a wild goose chase, searching for kids Eddie's age or younger. Once something happened to one of those kids, Tommy would know to run for the hills and never look back.

...Knowing Tommy, he would likely try to do more than just look back.

"I've nearly got this warmed back up." War said quietly, stirring it a little more before setting the spoon across the top again. The god then stepped aside to collect two bowls and two spoons. "Oh, I should probably..." War's voice trailed off as he grabbed a smaller pot and a pair of cups, setting them on the counter. "Charles, do you like--?" Realization dawned on the god rather quickly, and he shook his head, "Ah, never mind. You'll enjoy this. It'll make for a nice dessert."

War dunked the spoon back into the stew. Satisfied with its temperature, he grabbed the pot without much thought, then used the spoon to dole out two bowlfuls of stew before setting the pot on one of the unused grates. The spoon rested on a cloth on the counter, ready to be cleaned by someone else later. The god gestured casually to the steaming bowls on the counter. "Do you want to come get it, or should I bring it over there?"

"I'll get it." Eddie barely gave War time to finish the sentence. Not a chance in Hell was he going to ask War to approach him. Eddie rose from his seat, shivering as he walked back into the kitchen and gently took the bowl. After taking one of the spoons War had set aside, he returned to the table and sat, trying to put as much distance between himself and the god as he could while he ate.

Eddie expected food meant for gods would be delicious, and this meal certainly was. However, he was surprised by just how normal it tasted. The stew was savory and flavorful, but not too salty or spicy. It reminded Eddie of holiday dinners he used to have back when his parents were alive. The hazy memory made Eddie's eyes water, but he quickly wiped his face and kept eating before War could notice.

War shook his head softly; leaving his own bowl undisturbed for the time being as he made his way to the icebox. He grabbed a jug of milk, followed by a half sphere of dark-colored... something. War set it upon the counter, letting it defrost for a moment as he poured the milk into the smaller pan he'd grabbed earlier, and set it on the still-hot grate. While the milk was heating up, War grabbed a knife and cut little pieces from the half sphere, gathering them into another bowl. Once the god had chipped enough of that dark substance off of the thing, he returned it to the icebox, and finally grabbed his bowl and spoon to begin eating.

War had barely set the spoon to his lips when he turned his head, finding Eddie had already finished his bowl. A little smile flitted across the god's face as he leaned against the counter. "...You want more, Charles?" War asked, doing his best to study Eddie's expression. "I've got plenty to spare."

For a moment, trepidation stayed Eddie's hand. He was a moment away from refusing the offer, but the pain of hunger in his stomach made him pause. Eddie had already angered a god just by being here. He was doomed the moment War laid eyes upon him. Eddie could calculate all he wanted, make whatever little motions he could to avoid breaking this false peace, run for a night or two if it came down to it. But no more than that. A little boy stood no chance of surviving a god's wrath, no matter how prepared he was for it. Eddie had no idea why War was granting him a last meal, but refusing the food wouldn't save him now. Eddie's only valid move was to savor as much of it as he could, and try to ensure Tommy wouldn't be hurt in the crossfire.

"I'll have another one, please," Eddie finally answered, in a voice barely above a whisper. Just as before, the boy went to the kitchen himself, and filled his bowl to the point where it threatened to overflow. Despite locking eyes with War for practically the entire trip to the kitchen and back, Eddie made his way back to his selected seat without spilling a drop of stew, and scarfed his second bowl down nearly as quickly as the first.

After a few minutes, War set his half-finished bowl down to grab another spoon and stir the now-heated milk. He gently sprinkled in the dark shavings from before, slowly stirring them for a moment.

While the god was distracted, Eddie took the opportunity to discreetly check under his seat cushions to see if the papers he had stashed away were still there. To the boy's relief, the precious evidence hadn't been moved.

Once satisfied with whatever he was preparing in the kitchen, War set his second spoon on the counter next to the first, then returned to his meal. As he finished his first bowl, War set it on the counter again before returning to his task of making dessert.

"A very dear and indispensable friend showed me this recipe not too long ago." War started, seeming to talk solely to fill the air. "Something like chocolate is quite a rarity among the other townsfolk; I'm sure you'll enjoy this."

Chocolate? Eddie hadn't had chocolate in... he didn't want to think about it, but the memories kept flooding in anyway. Eddie couldn't have been older than about eight. He and Tommy both lost their parents that year. The specter of misery haunted Tommy's empty house as the cousins tried to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. It was Tommy's idea to set the goal of saving up to buy a chocolate bar on Christmas, just so the two of them would have something to look forward to. They didn't make the goal, but three weeks late was better than not at all. The cousins mixed their luxurious prize into a hot drink to make it last as long as possible, and Eddie remembered the taste like it was yesterday. It was the first time he and Tommy felt happy-- felt anything other than pain since they lost their families.

"It'll take a bit to heat up, to get everything melted together, of course." War gave the mixture a stir before setting the spoon down once again.

Right. No matter what lengths War went to, the part of Eddie's mind that screamed he was going to die would not let him drop his guard an inch. The boy suppressed his bittersweet memories and kept watching War for any sign he was about to strike.

War gave the mixture another stir, and mumbled softly to himself. Eddie couldn't make out any words as he watched War look around, gaze shifting to each cabinet and shelf in turn. After some time, War nodded firmly, quickly tasting the mixture before setting the spoon back on the cloth with a smile. "There we go." He reached for the cups and quickly filled them, before setting one on the edge of the counter. "Hot chocolate's ready, Charles, if you'd like to come get it." War called out, raising his voice slightly so Eddie could hear him.

The words had barely left War's mouth by the time Eddie appeared at the counter. The boy's gaze was still focused on War more than the dessert he was offering, but this time Eddie glanced at the hot chocolate multiple times while carrying it back to his seat, an indecipherable expression on his face. It was as if Eddie was both happy and sad to see it at the same time.

The minute Eddie put the hot chocolate to his lips, something inside him cracked. This was exactly how he remembered it. The chocolate was creamy and rich, slightly sweet, and... when did Eddie start crying? He kept wiping tears from his face, but they returned faster than he could send them away. The boy's vision blurred, his breath hitched, his heart jumped into his throat.

War gently brought his own cup to his mouth, sipping the hot chocolate slowly. "I hope it's not too warm for you; I tend to heat this a little more than it probably should be." After he finished talking, War glanced over to see tears streaming down Eddie's face. "Ah- Charles...?"

Eddie cursed his own body and mind a thousand times. His emotions had dulled his senses, and War instantly noticed the vulnerability. Eddie pulled his hands closer to his face, bracing himself for an attack that did not come.

"It's all right." Eddie could almost hear the frustration rising in War's voice. "You can take as much time as you need to; there's still plenty of hot chocolate if you'd like another cup." He hummed, taking another sip as he closed his eyes thoughtfully. "Whenever you're finished, we can work on sending you on your way with some of what I can spare."

Eddie stared at War. The boy's vision was still blurred with tears, so he couldn't see the expression on the god's face. Still, the trap was obvious as sin. Eddie never gave War the information he had been clearly trying to coax out of the boy this whole time. That was the only reason Eddie was being kept alive right now, the only reason War had been pulling out all the stops to win his trust. Only a fool would just let him go now. When War "sent him on his way" and Eddie's back was turned, the god would strike and silence him for good. Eddie sipped his hot chocolate a little faster, but held no hope that War would keep his word.

When War had finished own dessert, he set the cup on the table, hand on his chin as he paced around his kitchen. Surely the god had something he could use to hold enough food to feed three people. After a moment, War turned his attention to the plain closet where he had gotten the logs from before. He opened the closet and pulled out a burlap sack that looked to be about a foot wide and twice as long. The god set it on the counter before turning to gaze at the vast expanse of food that filled his kitchen. War's brow furrowed; just what to give to the family seemed to confuse him.

The papers Eddie had stashed away under his seat cushions were not lost on him. The boy knew this was his last chance to hide them, lest the secrets he had uncovered tonight be buried. Eddie could not let himself be the only one who knew there was an apocalyptic god walking among the townsfolk. Salem had to know. Tommy had to know.

The tattered rags Eddie wore had been fitted with large inner pockets, in which the boy slipped most of the papers he had carried with him to the kitchen. Not the perfect hiding place, but they'd satisfy War if he did remember to search Eddie for the papers. The strange journal entries, the most damning evidence of all, Eddie shoved into his smallclothes, where no one would dare to search. The light sound of rustling paper made Eddie's heart jump, but one eye was on War the whole time. If the god noticed the noise over the sound of glass jars clanking around, he made no indication of it.

The kitchen counter was piled high with dried meats wrapped in brown paper, jars of preserves, and candied fruit. Plenty of food to last three people a good while. War stuffed the bag he prepared until the glass inside no longer clattered around as it moved, then tied the bag shut with thick twine. "Here, I've got everything packed up in this." War gave the bag a light tap, then glanced at it for a moment. "...I worry you won't be able to carry it, though." War set the bag on the ground. "Come pick this up, just in case."

"I've got it." Eddie wasn't sure if he did actually have the strength to carry that bag, but he refused, under any circumstances, to consider the alternative. As Eddie put his hands on the bag, he noticed it was really heavy, but the boy had to make it look as though he could lift it with ease. Eddie took a deep breath for a moment before lifting it up in one smooth motion. The boy was shaking, and he could only hope that War didn't notice-- or if he did, that it could be played off as just the winter chill. "Thank you, Mr. Nevermore," Eddie breathed, and made his way out of the kitchen.

"I believe you still have something of mine." War's voice was firm, and his footsteps boomed like they had earlier that night. Eddie quickened his pace, heart thudding in his chest, vibrating his entire body as he heard War thundering after him like a galloping horse.

Eddie was stopped by the door again-- that damned door! He dared to look back. War stood perilously close, his gaze aflame with-- Rage, it had to be-- as the god stared the boy down. Eddie pressed his back against the door, keeping what little distance he could in this cramped foyer. The boy hid his face behind the bag he carried, unable to look War in his enraged eyes.

War sighed, the briefest flash of resignation on his face as he grabbed hold of the sack, pulling it just out of the boy's reach. Eddie's hands were no longer full, but terror locked his body in place, preventing the boy from reaching into his pockets for the papers. Deep regret flooded Eddie's mind as War placed one hand on the boy's shoulder. What wretched part of him came up with the idea to store anything in his clothes? Eddie had handed War the perfect excuse to touch him, and now the god would tear him apart. Eddie slammed his eyes shut and cursed his stupidity yet again.

A chill ran down Eddie's spine as the front slit of his rags flew open. War pawed around each side for an agonizingly long time. The feeling of being touched made Eddie shake more than the cold. That hand on the boy's shoulder felt awfully close to his throat. It would be so easy for the god to crush him, to choke him, to snap his neck. Eddie wouldn't even be able to scream.

After what felt like ages, War fished out the papers Eddie had left in his tattered rags. Each pocket felt a little bit heavier when War was done, although Eddie didn't think about that for very long. By the time the god stepped back, Eddie's heart raced a mile a minute, and his ragged breathing shared that pace. The boy pulled his rags tightly to his chest and shivered.

"Here." War returned the bag of food, then held the door open with one last smile. The shrill cold of the winter air did little to stop the breath of freedom that filled Eddie's lungs. The boy bolted into the pink-and-orange hues of the rising sun before War could change his mind.

Once the child's silhouette disappeared over the horizon, War closed the door, a touch more forceful than he usually would. He turned, looking down at the stack of papers in his hands. The page that greeted him back wasn't much-- a report handed in by one of his subordinates a few days prior. Same page that he'd last placed into the safe, War mused to himself as he made his way up the stairs, gazing down the hallway--the window that the boy had broken open was still ajar.

War's movements did little to the still, lifeless air within the room as he pushed the closet door open again, and kneeled in front of the empty safe. For security's sake, he took the time to give them all another glance.

Old reports from his investigators, a couple of his own reports-- oh, the recipe for the hot chocolate. How did that get in there...? War laughed under his breath, adding it to the rearranged pile that had begun to form in the safe. The last paper in his hand was a somewhat crudely-drawn sketch of two figures dancing. War had drawn this himself when speaking to the artist that eventually created the beautiful painting of him and his "dear and indispensable friend," the one that--

War froze. Every other paper was there, as intended... He stood, patting himself down, his blood suddenly turning as cold as the frigid air outside. War's journal-- or what remained of it-- had vanished. He quickly turned, bolting down the hall, down the stairs, back into the kitchen, turning over every chair and drawer that the boy had access to during his stay in War's manor. The stove's embers were still warm, but not hot enough to burn paper. No, War wasn't so lucky. That kid kept the journal for a reason, burning it wouldn't make any sense.

His head turned, terribly slowly, towards the grand window in the dining room. He stepped into the room again, gazing down at the streets of Salem below, the earliest risers already making their way through the snow capped cobble to their destinations. The boy, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

How could he, War, a god, have been so foolish? He should've turned that brat over to-- no, he couldn't have turned the boy over to the police, not while he had such valuable evidence on him. If the truth of what he was became public...

War stamped the thought out of his mind, clearing away grim visions and the phantom feeling of rope crushing his throat. Something had to be done about this-- but what? Not a chance in Hell could he justify sending his investigative team out to search for a young child, no matter the influence War held.

A thought crossed the god's mind, and he gazed down once more at the streets. The raging inferno within him quieted just a little. As a Spy-- as, currently, one of Salem's most respected men-- War certainly had methods of getting back what was rightfully his. He just had to request a favor or two...

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