The familiar street was steeped in pitch black by the time they pulled up to the pavement. A tall tree loomed overhead, illuminated by Otto’s headlights, standing as a soldier in rank with its siblings lining either side of the street. Much to his exasperation and amusement, his home stood out like a beacon in the night-time darkness, the windows ablaze with the orange glow of electric bulbs.

With a tired smile, he peered over his shoulder. “Home, sweet home,” Otto announced as the engine’s growl dimmed into a soft silence.

Emmett, who had been snoozing in the passenger seat for the last hour or so, stirred with a large yawn, shuffling upright. With bleary eyes, he peeked through the fogged windows. “Already? Which one is yours?”

Otto pointed to the glowing terrace house. “That one.”

Emmett did a double take. “Oh dear, you didn’t accidently leave the lights on, did you? That’ll cost a fortune,” Emmett said, nose pressed to the glass.

With a small resigned noise, Otto reached back and picked up their cases. “No, that’ll be the doing of the other residents.”

“You don’t live alone?” Emmett gratefully took the leather handle of his and opened the door.

Once outside, the air was pleasantly chilled and had an industrial, chemical aftertaste to it. It smelt of home (The Somerset air was almost too clean in comparison). A red glow of light pollution peeped over the roof tops.

Otto was sure to lock his car with extra care, double and triple checking each door before joining his friend. “Uh, it’s a little complicated,” he admitted. “But, you’ll meet them soon enough.”

They walked along and Otto skipped up the several steps to the dark blue front door, squinting a little at the keyhole as he tried to unlock the door. Finally, it swung open, the entrance hall barely illuminated by the light trickling under the lounge’s doorway. The air held that stagnant scent of a building that’d been uninhabited for several weeks. Running his hand along the wall, Otto felt around and flicked the switch.

Emmett closed the door behind them, locking it and setting down his case. Otto observed him out of the corner of his eye as the man looked around at the crowded walls, the stacks of books and random assorted knickknacks collected on every surface and the colour scheme who’s only theme was simply the word ‘chaos.’

The journalist stopped beneath a particular oil painting and let out a snort. “Nice moustache,” he teased, pointing to the portrait.

Sizing up to his twin in oil and pigments, Otto brushed his now bare top lip. “I looked dashing back then, I’ll have you know.” Back when he’d sat for that commission, the fashion had been much different, his black hair longer and waving without the products he used nowadays to slick it back, a tall Victorian collar pinched close to his throat and bound by a vibrant cravat.

Emmett glanced between him and the dark eyed image, before he made a small noise at the back of his throat. “Oh, well, I don’t think you’ve ever stopped being dashing really,” he said lightly, before turning away and leaning down to take off his shoes. He didn’t even have the decency to watch as Otto’s brain short circuited, leaving him as a warm cheeked mess of a demon.

Despite the initial stuffiness of the air, it became tinged with an icy quality that cut through layers of clothes, right down to skin. Just as Otto’s back prickled with goose pimples, hairs standing upright, a flowing greyish luminance swirled into existence behind Emmett, solidifying into the figure of a tall woman, long hair bound up in an intricate weave of braids and ribbons.

Ah, the first half of the dastardly duo had arrived.

With a razor edged smile and a slight wave of greeting to Otto, Elizabeth prowled closer to the journalist, awkwardly angling around his shoulder within the constraints of her corset to peer at his face.

“He’s adorable, Otto. I can see why you wrote home about him,” she said.

Emmett, who had been precariously balanced, startled at the sound of an unfamiliar voice inches from his ear and stumbled with an alarmed cry. At the same time, the ghost realised her mistake, her face the picture of horror as she lurched back. (If she’d had any blood, Otto could’ve imagined her face draining of it.)

Spinning towards Otto, she pointed at the man sprawled on the ground. “He heard that, didn’t he?” she said with a stage whisper.

Otto nodded smugly, while Emmett stared between the two of them. “Yes, yes he did.”

Elizabeth cringed, her shoulder’s sinking as she looked down at the man on the floor. “Oh bug- sorry- hello. I’m Elizabeth Sandhurst,” she greeted with an attempted smile.

“Er- Emmett Turner.” He picked himself up and dusted at his trousers. “Lovely to- uh, meet you?”

A lingering embarrassment radiated from the ghost and she failed to come up with anything else to say, her hands nervously swishing over the layers of her skirt. Clearly the last half century of mischief had eroded some of her previous manners.

“Is Agatha about?” Otto asked, attempting to draw the conversation to less painfully awkward territory.

Elizabeth straightened back up to her full height, smiling in a way that promised she was up to no good. “Ah, yes! She’ll arrive soon enough. She was off haunting the Parker’s tonight. Now, how about you put on some tea for you and Emmett? I’d quite like to have a little chat with him.”

“We don’t have milk,” Otto protested.

Elizabeth patted Emmett’s arm with an incorporeal hand, smiling harder at the demon. “Be a good host, Otto. You can drink tea black.”

Otto looked to Emmett for backup, but the conspiring bastard sent him a mild expression. “I don’t mind black tea.”

Betrayed, Otto was powerless as Elizabeth and Emmett moved to the lounge, speaking at a level too low for him to listen in on. Huffing, hands shoved into his pockets, Otto turned around and went about fixing tea, making sure to clink the mugs together in loud displeasure. Once the water was boiled, and the tea bags were steeped, he poured the uninviting brown liquid into two mugs, setting them on a tray. He sent the dismal sight a mournful look and made a mental note to get milk in the morning.

Taking the handles of the tray, he carefully slunk back into the hallway towards the lounge. However, instead of making himself known, he steered himself close to the door.

“- and if you hurt him, I swear I’ll break your bloody kneecaps. Understood?” Oh dear.

Morbid curiosity stayed his hand, so Otto continued to listen, ear flattened to the wood.

“Yes, understood, understood,” came Emmett’s muffled voice. “You’re very protective of him.”

“Of course, I am. That demon doesn’t know how to look after himself.”

“Is that why you stay here?”

Otto winced a little at the insensitivity of such a question- even he hadn’t asked why the ghosts had hung around. He was a little surprised a few moments later, when instead of an offended retort, there was an actual answer. “We promised to watch over him. Plus, I do rather enjoy haunting our neighbours when they get too rowdy.”

Otto pulled away, taking a sudden interest in the vibrant pattern of the mug. Breathing in and out, in and out, he composed himself. When the tightness of emotion in his chest eased, he once again approached the dark panelled door and quietly pushed inside as if none the wiser.

Much to his chagrin, Elizabeth had taken his favourite armchair, leaving just the space beside Emmett on the sofa. Once the tea was laid out (and then thoroughly ignored after just a sip or two), the conversation turned to the Brooch Debacle. The living pair spent a good long while giving Elizabeth a dramatic rendition of events (although carefully leaving out certain details). Just as they were getting to the child hunt, another icy cold presence made itself known.

“Otto, welcome home,” Agatha said, appearing by the window. The ghost dressed in a plain working gown paused a little as she glanced over the journalist and then to the black abomination of tea sat in their mugs. “The demon, Amon, came by the other day and waited on the doorstep until I answered. He seemed insistent that I pass a message to you.”

The sudden announcement set him on edge. It wasn’t like Agatha to be so straight to the point. “What did they want?” Otto questioned, doing his best to keep his tone level. Personal visits were never a good sign.

Agatha didn’t meet his eyes as she walked behind the armchair, her hand moving to Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Beleth and Co. are holding their annual gala Saturday evening and you are expected to attend. He was quite...insistent,” she explained slowly, unwinding slightly when Elizabeth returned her touch, “and I think he left something out on the garden doorstep. I was unable to see what it was exactly.”

Otto's fingers tightened against the back of the chair and he fought with himself to keeps his breaths slow and even despite the rising panic in his chest. “Shit. That’s tomorrow,” he muttered to himself. “Please excuse me. Allow me a minute to check what they left.”

Without listening for a reply, he half strode, half jogged out of the room, tearing through the length of the house. Once at the back door, he struggled to unlock it fast enough, wrenching it open with a great shriek of its rusted hinges. His silhouette cast a harsh shadow onto the back step, but neither the darkness nor the pounding in his head could draw his attention away from the object sat there.

Hand deceptively steady, he picked up the tin. Otto held it aloft, face falling into a bitter scowl as the label come into view. His teeth were clenched so hard his jaw ached.

“What is it?” Emmett’s small voice carried across the room. Of course he’d been followed. (There truly was no rest for the wicked.)

Otto walked over to the table and slammed down the can. “Dog food. Closest thing to a formal invite I’ve ever received,” he muttered bitterly.

Emmett stood by the entrance to the kitchen, watching him with a hawkish intent. “Do you plan to go?”

The tin was cold to the touch. “Maybe.”

“Then, how about I join you?”

Otto let go and backed away with a half step. “Absolutely not! Emmett, they don’t care about human laws. They could hurt you,” he stressed. “I don’t plan to stay long, only long enough to be seen and get out.”

The other man only raised his eyebrow higher. “All I’m hearing are more reasons for you to not go alone.”

Otto floundered for more counterpoints. “Please, Emmett. I’ll be fine. I’m well known, so they won’t do that much to me. You don’t need to put yourself on the line for my sake.”

Pulling away from the doorway like a painting escaping its frame, Emmett strode up to him, and grabbed the dog food. Holding it between them, his face was barely more than a foot away, plagued with tension lines. “Are you trying to convince me that everything will be fine?” he said with a hint of bite. “After everything you’ve said about your kind? After they treat you like a fucking animal?”

Unable to meet his gaze, Otto inspected the way the light glimmered off the tin’s metallic rim. “They’re dangerous,” he murmured. “But I know what to expect.”

“Then why go at all?!” Otto flinched at the volume of Emmett’s voice. The man’s face fell like a sack of rocks dumped into the ocean. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” he admitted, setting the can down gently.

Otto ran his fingers through his hair. “Apology accepted,” he said, leaning one hip against the countertop. “Since we spoke to the Wendall kid, I’ve had this suspicion. A niggling thought.”

“What is it?”

“I think maybe it wasn’t a witch in that forest. I’ve met witches and they keep to themselves. Seems out of character for their kind,” Otto explained.

He saw the moment Emmett put two and two together, eyes widening. “You think it was a demon?”

“Maybe. The gala is badly timed, but it could be a good opportunity to listen for rumours. If anyone knows what’s happening, it’ll be the demons of Beleth and Co.” 

Emmett hummed under his breath, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Two sets of ears is better than one you know.”

“Emmett-”

“Come on, please. I’ll beg if you want,” Emmett pressed. “I can’t bear the thought of you going off alone into danger.”

“No, no begging.” Otto raised his hands in the air, gesturing as if to dismiss the idea. “I’ll take you, but on one condition.”

Emmett halted his nervous fidgeting, his face lighting up with a flicker of a smile. “What is it?”

“Promise me you’ll leave if I tell you to," he said, offering out his hand for them to shake on it.

For a moment, Emmett eyed Otto’s deep olive toned hand, but then he jostled it aside and hauled Otto into a full armed hug. Chest to chest, firm and sure. The gesture caught the demon unawares, something so close, so near, so tender about it.

There was a dampness of breath near his ear. “It’s a deal,” Emmett replied in a small voice only for him to hear.

Overwrought and with a ball of tension lodged in his throat, Otto sought out the solidness, the realness of the other man. As he returned the embrace, he could feel that radiating heat, the softness of Emmett’s jumper beneath his fingertips. Forehead pressed to shoulder, Otto could smell the clean scent of whatever soap he used.

“Thank you,” he whispered under his breath, half hoping it was too quiet to be audible. Nonetheless, the arms around him tightened a little, no distance separating them.