Chapter 10 #2
I may not know Huxley, but something in my gut tells me I can trust him.
It’s similar to how I felt when I was with Selene, but also different.
With Selene I felt an unwavering sense of rightness, of safety.
With Huxley, it’s the same as any other gut feeling I get.
Well, they’ve got me this far in life. I’m not about to stop listening to my instincts now when I need them most.
“Thank you.” I bob my head gratefully. “I’m going to head out to conduct a few more interviews, but I’ll meet you back here at the end of the day.”
Spending the whole day in town newly aware of the supernatural is eye-opening to say the least. Things I dismissed during my first few days, I now take a second glance at.
Like the pink-skinned woman in the town square handing out vouchers for one of the local restaurants—turns out she’s not dangerously sunburnt, she’s actually fuchsia-pink.
The guy who owns Bells and Whistles, the shop Selene recommended I get a SIM card from—his unusual eye colour isn’t from coloured contacts.
The group of people I saw on Sunday? Yeah, they weren’t LARPing, their wings and horns were real.
The more I notice, the more confused I feel.
By the time five o’clock comes around, I’m less jumpy but considerably more irritated with myself that I was so oblivious to the literal magic that was right in front of me.
While I can acknowledge it’s perfectly reasonable that the supernatural wasn’t my first, or even fiftieth, guess as to what this town could have been hiding, now I’m in on the secret there are signs everywhere I look.
“You survived your third day then.”
I look up from my notes to find Huxley leaning against the office doorframe. “Just about. Fair warning, after spending the day out in town, I’ve got even more questions now than I had this morning.”
He laughs good-naturedly. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. Come on, pack up and we’ll head over to the Hunter’s Moon for a drink. I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”
Huxley and I are clearly not the only ones indulging in an after-work drink—the Hunter’s Moon is bustling with activity when we arrive, but we manage to snag a table tucked off in a corner.
My heart rate is more of a gallop than a steady thud, but I focus on forcing air into my lungs in deliberately slow breaths while I wait for Huxley to grab our drinks.
It’s difficult, and I keep getting distracted by the cacophony of sounds and smells all around me, but eventually my racing heartbeat slows and my breathing turns steady.
Now that I’m no longer being ruled by my fight-or-flight impulse, I’m able to better take in my surroundings.
It’s a nice place, somewhere I would have happily hung out at before.
Not that I had much of a social life after Garrett left even before the attack, but I made it out to after-work drinks and the odd birthday celebration.
I’ll have to come back here to talk to the owner about their preparations for the Halloween festival, but now I’m here, checking out the place beforehand to give me an idea of the vibe feels like the right move for the article. At least something’s going right today.
The bar décor is leaning into the rustic look—dark wood-panelled walls adorned with what, at a glance, appears to be town memorabilia.
There’s even a few framed articles from The Chronicle up there.
The furniture is nicer than you’d expect from a small-town bar.
While the tables and chairs are all mismatched, the details carved in the dark wood suggest they’re all handcrafted and keep them looking uniform despite their differences.
There’s a small, raised platform opposite the bar that’s currently filled with a few extra tables but, judging by the lights hanging overhead, must serve as a stage for live entertainment.
I jot down a reminder in my notebook to ask about that when I stop by to conduct my interview with the owner.
“Here.” Huxley deposits two beers on the round wooden table, nudging one towards me.
“Thanks.” My smile is weak at best, nerves getting the best of me.
Huxley seems pretty laid back, but I’m still worried I might ask something that offends him.
I can’t say I love the idea of looking utterly clueless in front of my new colleague either, but my need for answers is greater than my sense of pride.
Huxley takes a pull of his beer then leans back in his chair, stretching his arms wide. “Alright, lay it on me. What do you want to know?”
I flip to the back of my notebook where I’ve been jotting down questions as they’ve occurred to me throughout the day. The long list is daunting, and suddenly I don’t know where to start. Do I ask about the supernatural in general? The town? Being a demon? All of it feels equally important.
Taking pity on me, Huxley says, “How about I ask you a couple of questions first?”
I nod. “OK.”
“You didn’t know the supernatural existed before yesterday, correct?” I dip my head in confirmation. “Forgive the personal question, but, to your knowledge, were you adopted?”
“Yeah, when I was a baby. My birth parents left a note with my name and this.” I pull the necklace out from beneath my shirt collar, and Huxley’s hazel eyes go comically wide behind his glasses.
“Well, that explains a lot.” At my cocked head, he continues, “That amulet is packing some serious juice. Until you showed it to me, I couldn’t even sense it was there.
For it to be suppressing not only your magical signature but also cloaking its own…
” Huxley shakes his head. “Whoever your biological parents were, they didn’t want you to be found. ”
“Wait, so you’re saying this doesn’t just block any abilities I might have. It hides me from other supernaturals?”
“Exactly.” He takes another pull of his beer. “Unless a supe saw the amulet, there’s no way they’d know it was there, let alone that you were also supernatural.”
Well then. That answers my question about why I’d not stumbled upon the truth before now—the chain’s long enough that the pendant was always hidden beneath my clothes and, until I found out the truth, I’d never once had the urge to take it off. I’ve worn it my entire life.
“What would happen if I took it off?”
“Hard to say.” He shrugs. “Though I don’t recommend testing it out alone.
That’s some powerful magic you’ve got there—heck, even now I’m still having trouble figuring out what you are.
” He stares at me intently. From someone who seems so easy-going on the surface, it’s a little disconcerting. “You’ve always worn it?”
“For as long as I can remember,” I confirm.
“Then there’s no guarantee you won’t face some magical backlash from taking it off. At the very least, the chance of a sudden power surge is high. Depending on what you are, that could be dangerous for more than just you.”
“Selene said I’m a demon.”
“Selene? Interesting.”
“Why’s that?”
His lips twitch. “She’s the one who spilled the supernatural secret then?”
“In her defence she thought I already knew.”
“A reasonable assumption given where we are,” Huxley concedes. “Selene’s powerful, but I’m still surprised she could sense anything.”
Not for the first time, I think back on my encounter with the hauntingly beautiful witch. “I think it happened when she touched me.”
“Oh really?” He smirks.
“When we shook hands,” I clarify. “That’s when she noticed the amulet and started talking about how that was likely the reason I had trouble finding the town—something about wards?
” I shake my head. Enough getting sidetracked.
There are too many things I need to know more about.
“After we touched, that’s when she knew I was a demon.
She said I should talk to you if I had any questions about that. ”
“Hmm, I’m flattered the witch thinks so highly of me.
” An irrational pulse of jealousy heats my blood.
Huxley’s been nothing but good to me so far, but I don’t want this charming fucker anywhere near my Selene.
Wait. Mine? We’ve met once. Sure, she’s beautiful, and given the way she looked after me, she’s obviously a kind soul, but there’s no reason for me to be feeling so…
possessive. Huxley’s smirk lets me know I’m doing a poor job of hiding my jealousy.
I make a concerted effort to loosen the death-grip I have on my beer before taking a slow sip to cool my temper.
“Did Selene happen to mention what kind of demon you are?”
“There are different kinds?”
“A few, yes, but as long as you’re wearing that,” he waves a hand at my chest, “we won’t know what type or classification you fall under.”
“When will it be safe for me to take it off? Is there something I can do to limit the, er, magical blowback you mentioned?”
“I’ll give you some mindfulness exercises to start doing.
” He shoots me a stern look in response to my incredulous expression.
“I’m serious. I’ll help you with all things demon but only if you agree to do exactly what I say, starting with mindfulness exercises.
Practicing the visualisation techniques for controlling your power should give you a better chance of coping with whatever surge happens when you remove the dampening amulet. ”
“You’re the expert,” I concede, hands raised in acceptance. “I’ll follow your lead…”
“But?” Huxley asks, sensing there’s more on my mind.
“But I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I might be a demon, but I have no desire to wreak havoc. Huxley doesn’t seem like the ‘fire, brimstone, and torment’ sort, and he’s a demon, but we’ve only known each other three days. For all I know, he’s hiding an evil lair in his attic.
Huxley’s sandy-brown eyebrows tug together. “Glad to hear it, but I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”
“Well, you’re a demon,” I say, my tone indicating the implications of that should be obvious.
“Yes.”