Matlacoatl is the guardian and adoptive parent to Adramelech. The kit belongs to Abaddon who is currently on the run. He sees Adramelech as his own, as well as like a precious gift he has been trusted with to protect.
Matlacoatl presents himself to others as a flirtatious and charismatic individual. His smiles come easily and he does not believe in dwelling on darkness. Though he has been wounded by love, he does not turn his back to it and in fact remains a deeply romantic individual. He enjoys the dance of seduction and the tender embrace of a wooed opponent more than anything else - though the trouble now lies in the fact that he does not hold on for very long.
For all he smiles at the shadows that lurk inside his heart, Matlacoatl is scarred by them in a variety of deep ways. He fears commitment and will not allow himself to fully love another - though he will lure them, adore them and cherish them until he lets them go, there is now the inevitable fact that he always lets go. No matter how long the chase, after the catching has been done, Matlacoatl disappears and keeps far from the city or town it occurred in with ease.
A nomadic traveler who will no more settle for a home than he will for a lover, Matlacoatl is always on the move. He is charming and gentle, despite his flighty tendencies, though his temper is not one that is best crossed. Proficient with the use of daggers, Matlacoatl will not hesitate to send a flurry of them at an opponent if the need arises. He fights viciously and gives no quarter - if you challenge him, it is an unspoken rule that it ends when you back off, or you succeed in killing him. There is no middle ground.
Matlacoatl was born and raised in a remote and peaceful village. He had loving parents, and a doting younger sister who saw the sun rise and set in him. His life was a good one, if not much different from the lives of everyone around him. At a young age, Matlacoatl yearned for adventure, for a different sort of life and, as is so often the case with fevered wishes made in the dark of childhood, it was granted with a grandiose twist.
Running away from his happy home, Matlacoatl stowed himself away on a ship, where he was subsequently unearthed and set to work by the ship's captain, Abetani Nenu. For years, Abeteni held Matlacoatl's life as the threat for good behavior, even going so far as to hold him underwater or have him flayed to put some proof in his words. In exchange for Matlacoatl's good labor, Abetani taught him how to read other languages, speak other tongues, barter and bribe his way through almost any market and, most importantly, the versatility of claws.
They became lovers by Matlacoatl's seventh year aboard the Dread Ship Hitsuzen, and the life of a travelling mercenary - while not always pleasant - had enough adventure and excitement to keep Matlacoatl happy. Three years after he and Abetani had become close, they landed in the port city of Matlacoatl's old home. Struck by nostalgia, he had gone to see how his family fared, only to discover that the town had been burned during a skirmish.
During the week of their stay at port, Matlacoatl searched desperately for any sign of his family's survival. When he found possible proof that his little sister, and an unknown little brother had managed to flee the wreckage, he had asked Abetani to wait before setting sail again. The two fought, as Abetani refused to accept that Matlacoatl could still care for the people he had abandoned, and Matlacoatl refused to be forced to choose between his lover and his family. In the end, Abenti relented, and even sent men to help Matlacoatl on his search.
Another week was spent on the hunt, and it was eventually brought to light that Matlacoatl's lead had been false. His siblings, like his parents, had perished in the skirmish. Abetani sought to soothe Matlacoatl on their travels, though after another year, Abetani was the one to shatter Matlacoatl again by ending their relationship. He was not ready to nest yet, and Matlacoatl was entirely too good a person for him. These were the reasons he cited in a letter for leaving Matlacoatl behind in a port town with nothing but a chest full of clothes and enough treasure to keep him warm for ten years.
Deprived of transportation, abandoned by the one he loved and completely alone in a world that had once seemed so bright, Matlacoatl dedicated some time to simply disappearing. He traveled the land and eventually settled in to a life as a librarian in a small town. In comparison to a wandering soul, or a merciless pirate with a merchant's smile, the new life was painfully dull. He considered it his karmic due, a payment owed for abandoning his family - as though Abetani's discard of him wasn't enough of a payment. He found his adventures in the pages of books and gilded on scrolls, and found a way to be content with his new life.
Two years came and went before he made a friend - or rather was pestered enough until he opened up and let someone in. Abaddon Lyereh was more than just a beautiful man. He was the deadliest creature Matlacoatl had ever met, shrouded in delicate disguise. With hair red as first cut blood cropped at a sharp line along his jaw, silver rimmed glasses that seemed molded to the bridge of his nose to accent the way rose and midnight collided in his gaze as he looked over them at you, he was the sort of secretary even the most lecherous would give a wide berth to. Death hid in the curve of Abaddon's smile as surely as mockery danced in his laugh. For every man that skirted him, was two who bowed to his presence. Only Matlacoatl, the stranger in town, would meet his gaze when they first met. Abaddon's reputation did not precede him, but it didn't matter. Matlacoatl knew a killer when they stood right in front of him draped in opalescent satin.
He continued to treat Abaddon as he did any other patron of the library, and as a result found himself frequently in the other's company - or that of his husband's. Sometimes Abaddon's brother would come by and it was he who eventually dragged Matlacoatl into the open. Agramemnon was not a man who understood the notions of no or not now. Life was to be lived in the moment and enjoyed for every second it offered. He introduced Matlacoatl to friendship, but it was Abaddon who introduced him to the Hellions, a mafioso comprised quite literally of demonic entities. He made use of him on the sly and in turn, Matlacoatl was granted access to a network that could help him unearth the ones who murdered his family without ever getting his paws dirty.
While working for Abaddon, Matlacoatl met Cessara Jun. He was warned that her delicate charm and gentle manner was a front for an ugly face, but after witnessing her temper a few times, he believed he understood and could accept her for what she was. The two worked a few cases for Abaddon and the odd one for Agramemnon, all the while growing ever closer. When the bowl arrived, Matlacoatl had been overjoyed to be a father. For the earliest stages of Falani's life, he knew nothing but love for his daughter and his beloved. He could not understand why Abaddon had turned his head away when he asked him to be the child's godmother - not until the kit showed the truth that Cessara had not dared to utter.
Silver-blue like her mother, Falani bore red and black markings all along her form that were identical to Agramemnon's. Cessara denied the affair entirely, but Agramemnon did not. He confessed fully, saddened for hurting his friend but not regretting what he had believed to be a good time. Even after this, Cessara insisted Falani belonged to Matlacoatl. Unable to bear the sight of the kit, he begged Abaddon to get him away, to hide him forever from Cessara's lies and deceit. Abaddon and his husband snuck him away that very same night, and though Cessara later married Agramemnon, she swore up and down til she was breathless that Felani belonged to Matlacoatl.
Adopting the name 'Atlas' under Abaddon's instruction, the thrice wounded noodle returned to his travels. He swore never to love again, swore to never let another in. He returned to mercenary work, the sort of viciousness Abaddon had kept him clear of. The sort of cruelty not even Abetani would have abided by. He found a dark place in his heart and rotted there for years before Yllani found him and dragged him clear of the murky depths he had fallen to.
Yllani was his angel, his saving grace in every way. Violence was not something that the slender beauty would court, though it was something he could tame with an impossible sense f understanding and care. Yllani was a martyr to Matlacoatl's self destruction and in so doing, helped save the good within. The hatred and the hurt had begun to melt away, love and hope tenderly restored when the monsoon struck. Matlacoatl had managed to tuck Yllani behind and under him, unsure why the other fought against the need to find shelter. The two of them were huddled in horror as the waves began to build, when Yllani yipped something Matlacoatl couldn't catch and managed to dart under him and race back against the winds toward their home.
The howls of his mate's name were lost on the wind as Matlacoatl dug his paws into the ground and forced himself after him, only to lose his footing and be buffeted back. He foolishly opened his wings to try and fight it, and they snapped under the wind's pressure. Pain screamed through him as he was lifted and slammed back into a tree, where he was knocked unconscious. When he came to, he was trapped under debris with two broken and utterly useless tatters for wings.
Digging himself out, Matlacoatl ignored the pain as he screamed for Yllani. He made his way back to their home, dug through fallen debris until finally, he unearthed his love. Yllani was curled tightly around a decimated mess that Matlacoatl nearly lost consciousness over. The beautifully painted ceramic was impossible to deny. A wretched whine tore from his throat as he nuzzled Yllani's cold, limp form, devastation rising like bile in his throat when gentle green eyes opened and gazed upon him one last time. A whispered promise, a stolen kiss, and love was lost for the third and final time.
Fourty-four years old, homeless once again and without any family to call his own, Atlas returned to traveling. He felt too old, too broken, to return to Abaddon's side, especially at the risk of meeting with Cessara once again. Yet in the end, it was he who unearthed him, as he drowned his grief in a mountain tavern near the turning point of his fourty-ninth year. Abaddon and his husband were in terrible danger, the sort that you either escaped and found a way to clear yourself of through impossible feats in the eyes of the big men, or that you died running from. Unwilling to face the loss of the last bit of family he had left, Matlacoatl tried to turn Abaddon away, when he nudged something out of his satchel.
Impossibly small, with Abaddon's delicate features and bold coloring, combined with his father's tail and sticks, was a sleeping kit. Matlacoatl met his friend's eyes and knew exactly what was being asked of him, even before he said it. If things went south. If the shadows caught up to him, would he take his child and raise it away from all of what he knew. Against his better judgement, against his better thought, he agreed, and Abaddon slipped away while he got up and readied himself for the worst, which came much too quickly.
The month before his fiftieth turn, Abaddon showed up in a rush and dropped his kit at Matlacoatl's feet. His husband gave them no time, demanding that they run. Without thinking, Matlacoatl lurched forth and kissed Abaddon farewell, gathering up the child and running in the opposite direction for days until he came to port. Adramelech was withdrawn and angry, and for the past year the two have butted heads on many matters. Though the kit has finally come to accept Atlas as his family, Adramelech still believes himself to be a member of the Hellions by right of birth and frequently acts out of turn as a result. With a natural talent for theft and too much observation of his parents without contextual understanding, the kit is a bit of an uneducated thug at times, but he responds well when need arises and thinks quick on his feet. Atlas keeps him close, and to this day, continues to look for hints of Abaddon's survival. There is nothing Atlas will not do for Adramelech, whom he sees as his own as well as something precious trusted to him for a time.
To be resolved:
Who killed Matlacoatl's family - and are they really, truly dead? Where is Abetani - and why did he really leave? Cessara's tall tale of Felani's parantege to be officially silenced. Who has chased Abaddon from the Hellions? Is Abaddon still alive, and when will he come back? Raising Adramelech.
Notes:
Matlacoatl was born November thirteenth and ran away from home at thirteen years of age. As of 2013, he will be turning fifty-one years old.
ScareFest ✖ In which Uncle Atlas tells a scary story, and Lock comes home feeling a bit unnerved.
Matlacoatl dug his paws into the earth, kneading slowly as he hunkered down to tell his tale. There was little consternation in his features over being cast into the temporary role of story teller, and in fact he seemed quite content to nestle in for a tale.
"There is a place, far away, that was used as a home for sick people," Matlacoatl began, his voice containing a gently educational air, as though teaching rather than telling a terrible tale. "These people did not have colds or sneezes, fevers or chills. They saw things that other people could not, whispered words others did not wish to hear, twitched from pain that should not have been felt. Some of them had even tried to cure themselves, with potions and powders that simply made their sickness worse."
There was sadness in his voice, heavy and sincere. "Worst of all, were the children. No bigger than yourselves, these children were bright and brilliant, if troubled by the things that they knew. There was a practice in this place, where healthy adults could come and adopt one of the sick children," Matlacoatl stated, yet despite the brightness of this practice, his voice actually seemed to grow darker. "It was a very low fee to get a child, but there was a policy in place that was truly terrible. You see," He told the children coldly, "If the people decided they didn't like their sick child anymore - they could bring them back."
It was abundantly clear that Matlacoatl did not approve of this practice at all, and his tail stirred dust as it twitched in the sand. "This happened to one little girl named Lily. She was a very special little girl who could talk to ghosts. That was her sickness you see. She was friendly to things others could not see. Imaginary friends that treated her kindly, such a sin," He mused, shaking his head. "A nice couple came and took Lily away from that place. For awhile, they liked her, but eventually, they got tired of her friends and decided to take her back - but Lily didn't want to go. Lily knew that there were scary ghosts in that place," Matlacoatl whispered, "Ghosts that had been there a long time, that she was afraid to talk to. She fought and fought against the couple as they dragged her back, and as they pulled her up the steps, the man let go of her hand and she fell."
Matlacoatl was very quiet, waiting until the little ones started to shift in discomfort, wanting to know what happened to Lily. "Lily hurt her head, and though the place was for sick people, they couldn't make her better. Lily died in that place," Matlacoatl said softly, "But that was not the last time she was seen there."
A cold wind blew in a most timely fashion, causing even Matlacoatl to shiver a bit in its wake. Shaking his head slightly, the large noodle continued on. "Not long after Lily died, the staff began to notice odd things. Balls bouncing down the halls by themselves. Stuffed bears walking on their own. Music boxes sounding in the middle of the night from empty rooms. The other little boys and girls insisted that it was all Lily, but the adults refused to believe. For nearly a year, they refused to believe - but then one of the scary ghosts Lily talked about began to make itself known."
Inching forward on his belly, Matlacoatl lowered his voice to a more spooky octave. "Down in the basement, where the sick adult women were taken to get their daily exercise, horrible screams would rip down the room. The area would get cold, so cold they could see their own breath and then - BANG!" He shouted, pounding a paw on the ground for emphasis. "The doors would slam, all on their own. Eventually, the place got so frightful that people stopped sending their sick there. It closed down after awhile and was empty for years, until it was bought by someone who wanted to restore it and make it pretty again. Though nearly sixty years had passed, and the place was crumbling, all of the ghosts and several more were still there. The screaming, the howling, the windows and doors opening and closing. The new owner decided to turn it into the biggest haunted house ever," Matlacoatl enthused, "Which was why I decided to go and visit," he confessed, his tone a mixture of eagerness and regret. "I was sure that it was all a bunch of myths and legends. I took the whole tour, listened to the stories without believing much. There was a room, full of toys that people had donated for Lily. As I walked through, I noticed that one of the music boxes had a mirror. Our guide told us that Lily was friendly and liked to play with others, but could be very mean if someone upset her. Going to the music box, I thought it might be funny to wind it while nobody was looking," He told them, grinning a bit at his own brattiness."When I leaned over," He said softly, leaning toward them, "I looked in the mirror and jumped back, because there, looking right at me, was a little girl. I looked behind me, but nothing was there. In the mirror, only the room. Then, I heard laughter, and little feet running, and I realized that the tour group had gotten away from me. I raced to catch up and, as we went through the places where the scary ghosts hid, I began to get nervous. We were all very cold by the time we finished, and I was happy to get away - but I looked back, one last time. And there, in the window, was little Lily," That didn't seem so bad, "Holding the hand of our tour guide."
Are you as crazy as I am? ✖ In which Lock accidentally gets another kit killed, and a mad Watcher escaped from Hell sets his sights on him and his Uncle.
Water dripped reluctantly along the cracked cement of the infamous manor, as though sensing the dangers posed even to things as innocuous as mildew and rot lurking in the shadows of this forgotten hell. Despite the dilapidated nature of the building's aged design, the scents one would expect in a place such as this were alarmingly lacking. The subtle coatings of dust failed to give off a musty air that vision promised the clearer senses, just as the earthen quality one might expect seemed marred by the way even the moss and fungi seemed to cringe from the dark. It was the perfect haunt for ghastly rumors and macabre tales, making a convenient setting for clever wordsmiths and tricky tale tellers. Yet not even they who weaved the tales were ever brave enough to go forth toward the place on Hallows Eve, the one night of the year when spirits could physically affect the world around them.
Yet every generation breeds a new kind of brave - be it the foolish, the ignorant, or the valiant, they all exist in some form or other ever so much more defined than the generation before them. Adramelech was one such brave, though whether it was foolishness, ignorance or valiance that served as his form had yet to be determined. Adramelech lived for tall tales, ghost stories and adventurous endeavors; these were things that had always been a part of his life, even as a bowl. So, naturally, upon hearing about the Haunted House on Batholomew Hill, he absolutely had to go and check it out.
Not alone though. No, Adramelech wasn't always the smartest kit in the litter, but he certainly wasn't ever the dumbest one. He understood strength in numbers, but more importantly he remembered best one of the tricks his mother had taught him before she left. If you are going somewhere dangerous, always make sure to take some people slower than you. That way, if anything goes south, you can use them as buffers while you make your own escape.
Once Adramelech had gathered together his merry band of followers and fools, he slipped the careful watch of his guardian and met them at the base of the hill. It was raining, which was as good an incentive as any to go inside the haggard manor. Adramelech was glad that there wasn't any thunder or lightning, less because they made him uncomfortable and more because that would have made the scaredy-cats run off before the fun actually started.
Half a dozen tiny paws padded gently over murky floorboards, stirring up dust that swirled around their heads and settled into their fur. Adramelech twitched an ear, sensing something just before one of his cohorts sneezed and startled the whole party into puffs of alarm. Coughing slightly as the others glared at the perpetrator, Adramelech turned and licked at his side to smooth down his fur.
"Come on, ya mooks. Wee sneeze gonna spook ya?" He challenged darkly, plodding forward fearlessly. "Lets see what all the fuss is about, yeah?"
As the other kits glanced at one another, a patch of dust bunnies rolled clear of a shadowed area and tucked together near the door, quivering for all the world like living things. Unnoticed by the group traipsing bravely through the hall, a disembodied paw floated by in the wake of the displaced rabbits, disappearing into the dark of the hall.
"Man, this place isn't even scary," Adramelech complained loudly, puffing out his chest in a bold way. "It's just old, that's all." His tone almost sounded like it was torn between boredom and disappointment. Bolstered up by his confidence, someone suggested they check the basement. Nonplussed, Adramelech shrugged and led the wandering way to the stairs, taking a few wrong turns before they found where they needed to be.
As he pawed at the door, an impossibly large eye snapped open and peered upward. In the dense quiet, a soft sound could be heard, a whisper of metal on metal almost like a zipper being done up slowly. Adramelech paused, perking his ears forward. He waited, but when nobody else asked the damning question of 'did you hear that?' he chose to ignore it. Far be it from he to be the scaredy-cat.
Finally pawing the door open, Adramelech kept his ears at the ready, somewhat disturbed by the lack of creepy noises. The door didn't creak, or groan, or even squeak. It opened up silently, like the door of any well-kept house might and, for some reason, that felt far more frightening than an appropriate amount of squealing, rotted wood.
Leading the way down the steps, he sniffed the air, which seemed to grow a little warmer the deeper they went. That was odd. In a house like this, a chill air would have made more sense. The foundations would trap the cold outside, not hold on to the warmth of summers gone by, surely. Shaking his head, Adramelech was about to comment when another pup yipped. Rather than jump back, Adramelech pounced quickly off the steps, giving a clear path to the others and pulling himself from sight. When no amount of screaming occurred, he lifted his head and barked indignantly.
"B-b-behind you!" One of the others yowled, pointing a paw and causing Adramelech's ears to fall back, even as he spun around and backed himself against the stairwell with as menacing a growl as he could manage. A great hulking shape loomed in the darkness, but didn't move. After a moment, Adramelech recognized it for what it was.
"Cha, you idiot! That's just a freakin water heater!" He griped, annoyed with himself for allowing the brainless balls of puff to get him on edge like that. The others joined him at the bottom, and for awhile they sniffed about, Adramelech casually dismissing the oddities and chalking the entire place up to a failed ghost hunt when the pup from before tittered suddenly.
"Oh gee, you scared me!" She squeaked breathlessly, causing Adramelech to roll his eyes. "Wh-what are you d-doing down here mister?"
That caught his attention. He spun around to see the hapless kit addressing a tall adult. He was dark as the shadows themselves, spotted with bright green in a way that reminded Adramelech of poisonous lizards. He seemed normal enough, despite his short tail and zipper-like tattoos.it was only as he registered those that he remembered the sound from before.
"Ke-ke-ke-ke." The stranger's laughter sent a chill right up Adramelech's spine, causing his fur to rise in its wake. There was a chattering sound, one like bats and bones clinking, and the stranger bowed his head as though to gallantly introduce himself.
"Tancha, look out!" Andramelech barked, but it was too late. The stranger's head had already split open, and swallowed her screams whole. Shrill cries of terror spilled from the other pups as the dark head lifted, a too-green tongue sliding out the top of the monstrous stranger's skull to clean the bloodstained teeth as more laughter keened around them.
The other kits scrambled up the stairs in a panic, though Andramelech stalked toward the laughing beast, his entire little body shaking with rage. "Watcher!" His bark had a higher pitch than he would have liked, but at least the laughter stopped. The black fur at the other's shoulder shifted, and a disgustingly wide eye stared at him as he approached. "You overstep your bounds!" The young pup declared, only half sure what those words even meant, but knowing that his mother could make others fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness just by saying them, so they had to be pretty hefty.
Though he couldn't see the other's eyes, so dark in the blackness of his face, Andramelech knew his every movement was being closely observed. "She was just a kit," He scolded, conveniently forgetting he had brought her here to serve as a meat shield in the first place. "What are you doing so far from your post?"Watchers were not supposed to leave their Gates. And they definitely weren't supposed to be haunting dirty old buildings eating kids for Halloween.
"Keh." There was an odd slurping sound as the watcher licked his bloody top-teeth once again, followed by a noise that made Andramelech's nose wrinkle in disgust as the stomach teeth slid out. "Brave little hellhound," the Watcher purred, his voice a singsong medley of children's songs and bedlam screams. "Mommy's not around."
Andramelech refused to be cowed, even as he inched his way toward the stairs. "I'm not afraid of you," He lied firmly, moving to the first step. "You can't hurt me. There are rules - WOAH!"
The kit scrambled back as the black mass launched at him, greens blurring in the swiftness of his motions. "Rules." The whisper was permeated with the stench of rotting breath, making Andramelech recoil further, ears flat against his skull. "Onryolyeh eats fools who talk of rules."
The other's voice had taken on a screaming pitch, one that reminded Andramelech of the mad women he wasn't supposed to remember. He was terrified, but he knew better than to show it. Forcing himself to think over the sound of his pounding heart, the little kit began to hum. Desperately, he hummed the tune of the Plague Song, watching in muted horror as it began to work.
The Watcher's shoulder eye began to close, as the tall adult swayed to the tune. He began to sing, if one could call it that, the simple childhood lyrics distorted by the gnashing of his upper jaws. "Pocket full of posies, Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush!"
An odd whisper bark accented each hush as the Watcher laid himself down and closed his eyes. "We all fall down," He cooed, as the still humming Andramelech continued on up the stairs, only to let out a pig-like squeal when something grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him up the remaining stairs. The last thing he saw was the Watcher's shoulder-eye peering after him as the door slammed shut.
Breathing heavily, Andramelech twisted a bit to look up at the brown muzzle of his uncle Atlas. "On a scale of one to never, when does my grounding end?" He asked as cutely as he could, curling up in the other's grip and pressing his ears back, only to get a firm shake for his troubles and a butt covered in mud when he was unceremoniously plopped into a puddle. "Hey- " he whined, indignant, only for a paw the size of his whole side to come crashing down and squish him to the ground.
"A little girl is dead because of you, and you think the worst of your punishments is a grounding?" The low growl made Andramelech whine. Thinking on Tancha hurt in a weird way, a way he didn't like, and so he squirmed. "It's not my fault! I didn't eat her!" A snarl made him grow still and quiet, and he curled up as small as he could under his uncle's firm paw. When nothing else came, he began to tremble, the memory still fresh. "It's not my fault," He insisted tearfully, before he saw it.
There, behind his uncle's looming legs. A foot, hopping all on its own, black as night and sprayed with poisonous green. He yipped a warning, but not in time as the foot launched out of his view and a second later, his uncle howled and spun off him. The pup lurched to his feet and backed up, watching as his uncle fought the disembodied appendage as it swiped and kicked at him, howling laughter resounding from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
Atlas snarled and finally caught the foot, chomping down on it and causing an unearthly screech to careen from the direction of the house mere moments before the full body of the Watcher appeared in the door, shoulder eye wide with fury. "Catch him, crow!"
The wind picked up and the foot squirmed in Atlas' grip, turning until it could slice open his maw. With a cry, Atlas let go and the foot returned promptly to its owner, zipping back into place as the Watcher cried, "Take him away till the apples are ripe!" Anramelech nipped at Atlas' heels. "He's mad! He's mad, we have to go! We have to!"
Spurred by the kit's panic, Atlas scooped him up by the scruff and left, glad he had been wise enough to leave the others cowering at the school with appropriate guardians to keep watch over them. As he fled, Atlas laid his ears back as he heard the shadows whisper, "When they are ripe and ready to fall, here comes baby, apples and all!"
Andramelech, thankfully, did not hear the threat of death, though his mind was consumed with it all the same. He'd woken a Watcher with no mind left, but there was one thing even a mad Watcher was good at. A Watcher could track and lie in wait for years to catch its prey. The kit watched the trees, curling up smaller every single time he caught one watching him back.
Well behind them, on his porch, the Watcher's zipped lips curved into a predatory grin. "Trick or treat, hmmmnn?"
