Hawkins awoke with a jolt, realising he had fallen asleep in his uniform. More of a mishmash of clothes than a uniform, but it made him feel important nonetheless. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, flattened his messy hair before easing himself out of the couch. Stretching, he gazed up at the leaking roof, the decaying walls and the strange black book hovering above the coffee table. He leapt back in shock only to fall straight back onto the couch he had been sleeping on.

Now, had Hawkins been a normal run-of-the-mill guy, he might have panicked. That would have proceeded to wake up all the tenants currently living above his crooked house. But as luck would have it, Hawkins was a run-of-the-mill guy from Beggars End. This was nothing compared to his day job.

Struggling to stand back up, it was too late to stop the random items from falling out of his pockets as they scattered carelessly onto the wooden floor. Groaning with the effort, he grabbed at a silver lighter teetering on the edge of the couch and flicked it open as quickly as he could.

In a matter of moments, smoke began to pour out from the silver tip filling the room almost instantaneously. Hawkins raised his hand upwards and splayed his fingers out wide as the smoke split into tendrils and began gathering up the misplaced objects.

An old bottle of Black Wing rum, a ratty grey notebook which had seen better days, a leaking pen, a boomerang, a sodden pack of Quiklit cigarettes, a half broken leather sheath stuffed with medicinal herbs and a strange looking glass eye threaded with a string at the top had all fallen from his carelessly placed jacket.

Hawkins conducted the streams of smoke much like a traffic controller trying to command busy rush hour traffic from crashing into each other. His frantic movements would have been comical to watch had the herbs not rapidly began to grow into a small hedge without the leather encasing it.

“Shit.” He muttered, darting to the left and jerking his wrist to direct the smoke towards him.

Thinking quickly, Hawkins directed a single trail of smoke towards the small tree now growing in his living room. In a matter of seconds the small tree growing in his living room caught aflame. The leather sheath was held aloft by the smoke while the four other tendrils juggled with the other items. Moving his hand in a large arc, the smoke guided the rest of the abandoned objects towards his jacket once again, zipping the jacket closed. With a huff, Hawkins smoke Trait blew a plume of dust in his face before retreating back into its lighter, snapping it shut on its own accord.

“Thanks for the help, Wisp.” Hawkins grumbled, wiping the soot from his face with his sleeve and decided to focus his efforts elsewhere.

Stumbling towards the now ordinary book which now lay closed on the coffee table, he stared at it for a few moments. He tilted his head to make sure he looked at it extra hard before grabbing it and angrily firing it into the corner of the room.

“Stupid thing.” He muttered, running his hand across his face as if it were a magical technique to rid himself of the sleep in his eyes.

Lounging back on the couch, he propped his feet up on the now empty coffee table, trying to settle back to sleep. It was then that the book decided to zoom back towards him on its own accord and smack him right in the face.

“Gah!” Hawkins yelled out, not used to being physically assaulted by a book.

He grabbed at the leather cover still hovering a few inches above him as it swiveled out of the way. He tried a few more times but each time he grew tired of missing so he gave up.

“What do you want? I’m trying to sleep!”

The grimoire gave no response and instead began to spark with electricity darker than any storm he had ever seen. Hawkins backed away towards the edge of the room as the book caught on fire, as if trying to generate Trait all on its own.

“That’s insane.” He said, clinging to the edge of couch as he began searching for his lighter with no success.

The grimoire halted at once, flopping back onto the table for the third time today, no ounce of smoking leather in sight. Hawkins sighed, running his hand through his hair, the dark circles around his eyes becoming even more prominent against the early morning sun.

“It’s too early for me to deal with this.”

The smoke from his Trait continued to linger around the room, clinging to his clothes as he lazily stretched his arm out in the direction of the table. The grimoire began to shudder erratically once again but a sweep of grey smog soon trapped it in its own protective bubble. Lying back onto the couch, Hawkins eyed the bubble for the final time before nestling into his jacket for some well deserved shut eye.

“You boyo are in BIG trouble!”

Hawkins jolted awake for the second time in one day, his smoke prison surrounding the crazy grimoire popped in an instant as he groaned, awaiting the joyous sounds of angry neighbours in the morning.

“What in Hellgrind’s great, grinding gnashers is THAT?” a voice called from the nearby room, startling the crap out of him despite the earlier intrusion.

Damn the neighbours. He had forgotten all about the new visitor staying with him.

“Nothing, Hack. It’s probably just a faulty grimoire sent from work. Go back to sleep.” he called back, knowing full well what was about to happen.

A few well-placed grunts and groans later proved his theory. The old man rose from his armchair and attempted to swat Hawkins with his tail. Hack was a nine hundred and fifty-six-year-old lizard man with a temper to rival the great demons of Hellgrind. According to him, that is.

“GO BACK TO SLEEP? How in Laia’s great name is a noble Sand Wraith such as myself supposed to sleep! YOU keep SCREECHING louder than I can YELL!” Hack roared, his once purple scales turning dark red in anger.

“There’s nothing noble about your kind, Hack. The bloody thing has stopped. Now either go back to sleep or stop yelling.” Hawkins said, attempting to stay as calm as he could despite his lack of sleep.

Hack snarled, his jaw clenching despite not having many teeth left to grit them with, he bit back a retort. He turned tail to go back to sleep, only to see something in the corner of his eye. Unknown to popular belief, Sand Wraiths eyesight improved as they got older. The Elder Sand Wraith realised that the ratty old book was a lot more important than Hawkins made it out to be.

“Fine.” he hissed, his long forked tongue sticking out in indignation. “But you might want to get that grimoire properly looked at before it burns the place down.”

Hawkins ignored him, letting out a yawn. He sunk deeper into the recesses of his coat, trying to block out whatever light he could.

“Maybe later. Anyways...my Trait is...more than capable to-” he said, slowly drifting back to sleep before he could finish his sentence.

Hack hissed angrily, his patience as thin as Hawkins level of understanding as his claws dug into his scales, the ground beginning to shake under his fury towards the dim witted detective. With a final stomp of his foot, Hack made his point abundantly clear as the ground rose up just enough to send Hawkins flying upwards and the couch along with it.

“Now. The quicker you go, the quicker you get back. Then we ALL might be able to sleep.”

Hawkins swore loudly, cursing Hack for his stubbornness. He clambered up from the floor, broken bits of wood scattered everywhere as he stretched slowly before half crawling towards the chaotic book still perfectly untouched on the table. Despite Hack’s temper, Hawkins couldn’t help but marvel at his control over his Trait. He had created a rock formation big enough to lift the couch but only over one specific spot so nothing else in the room was damaged.

“Ruddy Earth Traited.” he grumbled, his arms leaning on the coffee table as he knelt awkwardly beside it.

“Watch yourself, boyo. That crazy Trait of yours ain’t easy to handle, especially when it’s angry. Smoke or not, it’ll still do some damage if you piss off something that erratic.” Hack said, reminding Hawkins how his Trait had first reacted to being woken up.

Hawkins said nothing as Hack left the room, his blackened husk of a leg dragging behind him like a deadweight. His tail stood upright, acting like an extra limb as he clung to the outstretched door handle leading into the kitchen and shutting the sliding doors with a sweep of his scaly arm. Hawkins let out a deep breath before turning his attention to the table in front of him.

*Why the hell did the Orders send me something like this?” Hawkins said, attempting to pull open the grimoire with no success.

He fished out the grubby silver lighter once again, engraved with all manner of etchings but did not open it. His Trait relied on his emotions being in check and right now, he was not in a good mood. It was like arguing with yourself, except you were an intangible being who liked to sulk. Ever so slowly, Hawkins opened the cap and allowed a wisp of smoke to enter into the room.

The wisp, proceeded to bounce around the ceiling and become trapped in the chimney. Bits of soot and brick dust fell into the fireplace below as the smoke ball zoomed about excitedly. Tapping the lighter shut, he placed it back in his jacket, not wanting any more Trait to escape. Obviously he was excited about the possibility of a new discovery and his Trait was eager to respond. Too eager.

His hands began to sift slowly through the smoke, coaxing the little wisp to come down and help him. It followed his movements hypnotically before settling happily onto the dishevelled book, the little blob bouncing up and down. His Trait, like everyone else's in this world, came naturally to him but not all possessed his degree of control. It had taken years to rein in his smoke and understand that it could act out on its own if he wasn’t careful enough. He did not have the luxury of a dragonic partner to help share the burden. Not anymore.

The grimoire flickered in response before going dead again. Hawkins clicked his fingers once and his Trait retreated into a corner like a scolded pet. The smoke only continued to coelease in one small section of the already tiny room. Hawkins hoped it would stay put, at least for a little while. He didn’t have time for any self reflection, his Trait would just have to put up with it and calm down on its own.

“Right then, Plan B.” he said, cracking his knuckles.

The little wisp in the corner zoomed back over to him in an instant, tickling his neck in excitement as Hawkins coughed from the endless trail of smog. Obviously his Trait had no intentions of calming down at the sight of a brand new grimoire he’d never seen before.

“OK, OK, that’s enough Wisp!” he said, trying not to laugh.

The ball of smoke sped round in circles a little more before forming two little circular smoke puffs and picked up the black book in its excitement, shoving it into Hawkins hands as he stumbled to catch it.

“Damnit, Wisp. What have I told you about messing about with my stuff. You’re worse than a new sworn Oathed!” he scolded, trying not to think that he was actually annoyed with himself.

His Trait, like many others without an Oathed enjoyed acting in the form of familiar, a way to cope without the extra support of a true partner. Earlier, Wisp had been annoyed at Hawkins for being woken up so he responded by being grumpy and unresponsive. Now, he was high as a kite but in no mood to help in carefully figuring out what this thing was.

“Oh, fine. You can stay. But don’t move. It’s hard enough summoning a grimoire without you distracting me all the time.” Hawkins said, a wan smile forming despite his exhaustion.

Wisp’s hand like blobs of grey floated up towards the main section of his body in his own little salute as he hovered in midair just in front of Hawkins and continued to float there as if there was nothing wrong with a semi sentient ball of grey, smoky mass.

Hawkins sighed, rolling his eyes and giving a wan smile before looking in his jacket and began rooting around in the endless number of pockets. Tugging at the opening, he pulled out a grey, tattered notebook which paled in comparison to the sleek, leather backed grimoire in front of him. Holding it carefully in his hand, he peeled the book open as a plume of dust rose up from the decrepit pages which clung together by mere threads of a binding. One by one, Hawkins slowly flicked through the pages as if they were made of glass, bit by bit the page turning got quicker and easier as the faded yellow parchment soon turned pristine white.

The pages began to move faster and faster as Hawkins now held it with both hands as the pages moved past in a blur of speed, shedding bits of dirt and grime before slamming abruptly shut. He coughed, turning his head away from the grey grimoire, filled to bursting with knowledge and information threatening to spill out from within the confines of its tightly packed pages.

Unlike the barren black grimoire in front of him, Hawkins grimoire was a misty grey, gilded with neat silver trim. Its mottled brown exterior had been brushed away to reveal an ornately designed, almost translucent tome which shimmered like glass. It was full to the brim of information enough to make a scholar in any department drool.

“OK, Wisp. Off you go.” Hawkins said, balancing the grimoire on his knee as he took one last glance towards the coffee table.

Wisp bounced onto the couch in jubilation, streams of smoke began swirling in all directions. The little ball of smoke dived into the pages of the grimoire and disappeared, leaving no trace of Trait left. The grimoire helped store Trait but without the little wisps help, Hawkins would have no power to help find out what the grimoire was.

His grimoire shimmered like water, its pages providing a portal to allow Wisp to enter, like a gateway into another world. Smoke poured out of the binding as Hawkins set the black grimoire in the middle of the table, allowing his Trait to surround it in an instant. He placed his grimoire carefully on top of the other, expecting another torrent of black electricity to come bursting forth.

Nothing happened.

No flames, no hovering, just a boring black book lying still on a coffee table. Hawkins looked at it, dumbfounded before trying again, lifting his grimoire off and back on again. Nothing. Not even a single spark. He clapped his hands together as his grimoire disappeared, leaving Wisp all alone, dejected at the sight of a dud discovery.

Hawkins sighed, turning his back on the book for a moment, before plodding towards his cramped kitchen. He ignored Hack’s curmudgeonly grumbles at being disturbed and pulled open the dividing doors. Heading straight towards the sink in the corner, he washed his face to wake himself up before getting on with his day. Grimoire be damned. He had other things to do.

……….

Hack slid a plate of partially burnt toast towards him as Hawkins continued to sulk, his head in his hands still covered in traces of dirt and soil. He had done his errands for the day, organised his notes and had even collected a few fees from overdue clients but every time his thoughts returned to the damnable book he couldn’t crack open. He eyed the grimoire on the coffee table in front of him, still motionless regardless of the cramped room he was in.

The grimoire was surrounded by a variety of rocks, burnt matches, a cup of water, a salt shaker, the flammable herbs safely encased in its fireproof sheath, a few soggy cigarettes, volcanic ash, an upended fern, a dragon skull and a deconstructed toaster, all of which had been placed in a variety of ways on top of the ragged leather casing. All of them had failed to trigger a spark of any Trait whatsoever.

Snatching his toast in a huff, he stormed through the small division between the kitchen and living room, leaving a sullen Wisp alone in the living room. Hack balanced two mugs of tea curled around his tail, ignoring the sulking Mediator chomping noisily on his extra crispy toast.

He held his plate in one claw as the other gripped a nearby chair for dear life, his eyes clenched in pain as he slung the tea haphazardly onto the table, slumping into the chair as his injured leg made a pitiful attempt to follow. He groaned loudly, a mix of relief and a release from agony as he took a swig of tea before devouring his toast in one large snap of his crocodile like jaws.

“Well?” the Sand Wraith asked at last, licking his protruding teeth as he greedily eyed his companions uneaten slice.

Hawkins sighed, seeing no other option as to discuss the elephant in the room, nibbling precariously on his slice more so out of habit than hunger.

“Doesn’t react to a single Trait source. Seven Cores, numerous combinations but not one seems to work. I even tried a bloody dragon skull for crying out loud!”

“Not even Lightning? I saw you dismember the poor toaster, I had to use the fireplace to cook breakfast again.” Hack said, grumbling in his usual way as he picked his teeth clean with his foreclaw.

“It’s a dud, Hack. Just as I thought. Probably sent by accident by a skittish mail dragon. Not the first time though. Remember that faulty Detector bot that kept returning through the roof?” Hawkins rambled, trying to steer the topic away from his failed attempt.

Hack didn’t respond, sipping at his now lukewarm tea his claws skittering along the table as it beat out a thoughtful rhythm continuing to keep Hawkins on edge.

“Thought for sure there was something in it. Has that aura about it, y’know?” he said at last, a claw curling around his chin in thought.

“Mm.” Hawkins grumbled, taking a leaf out of the Sand Wraiths book as he nursed his tea by putting far too much sugar than was necessary.

“Couldn’t hurt to get it checked out anyways, get out of this ruddy shack.” Hack suggested, trying to encourage him to get out and about.

“Waste of time.” Hawkins said morosely, setting his cup aside as he rested his head against the rickety table.

Hack slammed a fist onto the table, making Hawkins head jolt upwards once again as the mugs rattled alongside him.

“The only waste of time is you feeling sorry for yourself over a bloody book. I know what you’re like, boyo. When you get down it's like all of Hellgrind is on your shoulders. Did you ever think there might be someone more knowledgeable than you about the damn things?”

Hawkins scoffed, turning his back on the foolish lizardman as he leaned precariously on the back of his chair. Sand Wraith were never any good at supporting or comforting others, but he couldn’t deny that Hack was trying in his own blunt, grumpy way.

“No. Otherwise I wouldn’t be a Mediator, would I?” He retorted childishly, half tempted to stick his tongue out.

Hack rolled his eyes, his jaw clenched tight  as he knocked back the rest of his tea and drained the cup out of spite and frustration of not knowing how to reply further.

“Anyways, I used my own grimoire just to make it extra sure. If it doesn’t react then it’s a-”

Hawkins chair crashed to the ground, sending him with it as he attempted to scramble up from the dusty floor to see what was going on. Hack laughed aloud, his great booming voice making Hawkins ears ring but he couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

There, in the other poorly divided section known as the living room, floating above a half collapsed couch was the black grimoire and Wisp, casually spinning around and headbutting each other as an all manner of items were sent crashing in all directions. Hack couldn’t help but grin at the little wisp, out of sheer luck, curiosity or ingenuity it had awoken the stubborn grimoire that not even its owner could coax out of hiding.

“It’s an Abnormal. That’s why it didn’t react.” Hack said, purposely keeping his voice low aa not to startle the grimoire.

“But that’s not possible!” Hawkins exclaimed, not getting the memo about staying quiet.

Hawkins crouched beside the table, his eyes burning with desire to study something he’d never seen before. He could barely contain his excitement as his legs jolted for the grimoire bobbing towards him as Hack said nothing, yanking Hawkins back behind his chair in warning.

“Stay put. If it sees you, it’ll probably play dead like last time. And keep your ruddy mouth shut!” Hack said, his snarl still prominent despite lowering his voice to a whisper.

Hack’s beady gaze followed path of the strange book, his scales shifting from a bright purple to a dank mix of browns and blues as it floated harmlessly by to chase after Wisp’s erratic wiggling. He had changed colour to match the dirt ridden chair he was seated on, his damaged foot hidden underneath the table like a misplaced flowerpot.

“Where in Hell's name did an Abnormal grimoire come from? Only Shuriken had those and they were all burned to Hellgrind and back!” Hawkins said, his attempt at whispering was more of a wheezy yell.

“Obviously not. Why else would it be trying to light the ceiling on fire?” Hack huffed, his arms folded as he clasped his claws together in thought, not daring enough to move just yet.

Hawkins however had other ideas, he had dived towards the flammable grimoire in a dazed attempt to distract it. In its shock, the grimoire dropped like a stone onto the floor as Hawkins narrowly avoided trodding on it. Wisp was undeterred by these events, choosing instead to bounce happily on its owners head before zooming towards his discarded lighter on the coffee table, flicking open the cap and disappearing from sight, deliriously happy with his mornings work.

“So…” Hack said at last, not wanting to disturb the moment. “Now what?"

Hawkins gingerly bent down to pick up the grimoire, gently cradling in his hands as it refused to give any indication that it was indeed anything more than dud. But he couldn’t deny what he had seen. He had studied grimoires for the Mediators for over ten years and had never seen anything like this. He turned the small, black book over in his hands, unsure of where to turn next but was too intrigued by the insignificant looking grimoire not to at least try to figure out what was going on.

“I think I’d better get a second opinion.”