Chapter Text
It starts with an unobtrusive little gift box wrapped in black satin ribbon, left at the agency's doorstep. Inside lies a finely-made scarlet jewel pin, but with Crystal currently on attempted-reconciliation leave at her parents', Charles and Edwin have no quick, surefire way of discerning what it means or where it came from. Edwin leaves it in the top desk drawer as a low-stakes mystery for some other time.
A few days later, there's a markedly less-forgettable offering left at their threshold: a bound and gagged young man with spiked-up hair, covered in what looks like fresh cat scratches, who begins babbling as soon as Charles un-gags him.
"The Hex!" he blurts out. "This secret club for witches and sorcerers and any other magic-users! I'm one myself--that's how I can see you two, yeah?"
"Hold on mate, slow down," Charles says. He frees his bound hands and helps him to his feet, then leads him to one of the office armchairs. "What's this 'Hex' club got to do with us? And who left you here?"
"I think the latter's rather obvious, Charles," Edwin says stiffy, indicating the scratches across the young sorcerer's face. Here in London, of all places…
The man nods urgently. "Th--this freak with yellow eyes told me to come tell you about the Hex. When I told him to fuck off, he threatened to rip out my bollocks before dumping me here."
"Why?" Charles demands, his jaw strangely tense. "What's that slimy git playing at?"
"I don't bloody well know, do I?" the sorcerer shouts. He leaps to his feet. "I've done what he told me--whoever you two bloody are, see you again never."
They stare wordlessly as he slams the office door behind him.
"Well, that was… weird," Charles observes helpfully.
Edwin crosses his arms, now far more agitated than he's been in a good while. Just when they'd largely reestablished a comfortable rhythm and routine after Port Townsend, too… "The Cat King can't possibly expect us to investigate something for him," he says. "Whilst not even doing us the common courtesy of asking in person."
"You'd prefer if he came in person?" Charles side-eyes him. Edwin pretends not to see it.
He returns to his seat at the desk, and to the case files strewn across its surface. "Our current client did mention something about being part of a… magical sub-culture of some sort. Shame he couldn't recall the details, but freshly-spectral memory can be finicky that way. Perhaps the Hex is where they congregate."
"So that'd mean the Cat King is… what… helping us with our case?" Charles appears inordinately peeved by even the notion of it.
Edwin suddenly remembers the jewel pin, and he retrieves it from the top drawer. "This pin… that strange-haired sorcerer was wearing one just like it on his lapel."
Charles is unimpressed. "You aren't actually considering following up on this? Smells like another of that wanker's shitty games, to be honest--baiting you into something horrible for his petty amusement."
It wasn't even like that the first time, at least not by the end… Edwin nearly says. But he has better things to do than defend the Cat King, of all people, to his best friend. "Of course not," he says instead, putting the pin back. "We’ve got more important matters to attend to."
Another three days later, they're greeted by a sleek, swish-tailed black cat at their door.
*
"I thought you guys were good at your job," the Cat King sighs languidly, sprawling into an armchair and hitching a leg over the side. "I had that runt of a sorcerer practically spoonfeed you your best lead, and yet…"
"'Best lead' according to whom?" Edwin says from the other end of the office, rooted to his spot behind the desk. The Cat King is wearing all black in accordance with his current incarnation--today, a modern leather jacket, a completely see-through mesh shirt underneath, and dark denim and boots. Keeping distance between them doesn't entirely curb Edwin's staring, but it helps a little.
The Cat King rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty good at picking up gossip, kitten… helps to have a host of slinky little critters at my disposal. Your current client was a regular at the Hex, and the truth of his terrible, violent death will be found in that nightclub, believe me."
"Nightclub?" Charles demands, arms crossed. "A nightclub for magic-users? Why have me and Edwin never heard of it after thirty years in London?"
The Cat King gives a long-suffering sigh. "Because you, buttercup, aren't a magic user, while Edwin here has never bothered to seek out his brethren on account of being inexplicably glued to you."
"Charles has perfected the use of his infinite backpack," Edwin retorts somewhat testily. "I can't remotely navigate it like he can."
"Doesn't mean he's a magic user. It's his artifacts that are magic, not--"
"So let's say we do look into the Hex," Charles cuts in. "What's in it for you?"
He feigns a hurt expression. "What, can't an old friend do his buddies a solid? After all we've been through together?"
Charles is unmoved, and the Cat King relents with a light chuckle. "Well, I was meeting someone at the Hex tonight anyway, and once I found out you boys were looking into a related case, I figured we could help each other out."
"Charles and I would help you?" Edwin asks incredulously.
"Oh no, just you, Edwin. They wouldn't let Charles in." The Cat King stretches out in the armchair with a satisfied sigh. "Just as backup, more for reassurance than anything else. Seeing as you need a way into the Hex regardless, and I already know where it is and how to get in…"
Charles and Edwin exchange looks.
*
"I don't like this," Charles declares as soon as Edwin pulls on the closet light. "That greasy tosser's up to something. Getting you alone so he can--"
"Do what, Charles?" Charles clearly means well, yet a note of exasperation creeps into Edwin's tone anyway. "Look, I know last time I… slipped up, but that's all the more reason you can trust my vigilance this time around. Besides, he won't try anything."
"How could you possibly know that, mate?"
"I… I just do."
"I'm flattered that you trust me, Edwin," the Cat King's muffled voice calls from outside the closet. "You probably shouldn't, though."
Charles raises his eyebrows. See?
Edwin huffs and draws himself up. "A good detective does what he must to solve the case," he says, effectively ending the conversation.
*
"No, absolutely not," the Cat King asserts upon sight of Edwin's disguise. "I'm not entering the Hex with a frumpy wine aunt on my arm. Besides, I'm pretty sure you'd prefer to investigate discreetly."
"Oi," Charles protests. "I spent ages fine-tuning these, and they've always worked perfectly."
The Cat King shoots him a disdainful look. "And what's your disguise, some balding professor-type?"
"Ours are discrete," Edwin says stiffly, removing the magical glasses. "The more ordinary, the better."
"But not at the Hex, kitten. Let's just say there's a certain… aesthetic associated with that place." The Cat King paces across the office, tapping his lower lip in thought. He then turns to Edwin with a mildly terrifying anticipatory look, like he's been promised a treat.
"We don't actually need to turn you into a whole different person, do we?" the Cat King says. "Just mask your spectral nature and… maybe give you a bit of a makeover." He steps toward him, not bothering to conceal the slow, up-down sweep of his eyes. "Allow me?" he asks, almost purrs.
A chill snakes up Edwin's spine.
"… Very well," he hears himself say.
*
In Crystal's empty bedroom just one door down from the office, the Cat King draws small, prickly X's on Edwin's forehead, palms, and the tips of his shoes, leaving gold streaks that vanish simultaneously after the last one is drawn.
He steps back to apparently admire his handiwork, though from Edwin's perspective nothing has changed. He only sees his own clothes when he looks down--his regular suit, socks, and boots.
"Is that all?" he asks. "Why can't I see the disguise?"
"It's more fun that way," the Cat King says unabashedly. "But I'd never put you in anything untoward… you'll be seen with me, after all."
"That's precisely what I'm worried about. Considering your own… fashion tendencies…"
"You think I'd put you in fishnets, or assless chaps?" he chuckles.
Edwin is fairly certain he understands all those words individually, but not necessarily in their current context.
The Cat King gestures at the door. "Come on, we'll get Charles' seal of approval to put your mind at ease."
*
Charles perches at his usual spot on the desk, attempting to peruse some bestiary volume picked at random and only succeeding in reading the same line over and over. He'll admit it--he hates the idea of Edwin going off with the Cat King alone. Edwin's the smartest bloke in the world, but he can only do so much if that whiskery git had a notion to… He can't even finish the thought, and angrily slams the book closed.
The door swings open and said whiskery git struts back into the office like he owns the place. Trailing just behind him is Edwin, only his hair is in loose curls rather than immaculately coiffed, he's in a black motorbike jacket, white tee, dark cargo trousers and tactical boots, and he's wearing eyeliner--
Charles nearly topples from the desk.
*
"Remember the spell I mentioned?" the Cat King says as they approach a rather unimpressive, run-down old building on the outskirts of the city.
"Of course," Edwin says, reflexively touching the jewel pin on his lapel. "A one-word incantation, a simple color-change enchantment. Child's play, really."
He gives him an odd, searching look.
"What? I've studied the arcane arts for well over thirty years by now."
"Just thinking that if you had a living body, you could've been quite the formidable magician instead of reduced to parlor tricks. Still nothing compared to me, of course, but…" The Cat King looks him up and down in open appreciation, again not caring to hide it. "Hmm, maybe I'll allow you a peek after all. You do look… astonishing…"
Charles had been kind enough to describe Edwin's own appearance to him (ignoring the Cat King's palpable displeasure) once the former had picked his jaw off the floor, but Edwin is still unable to picture any version of himself that both matches such a description and doesn't look objectively ridiculous. Though if that were the case Charles would have surely said so, and the Cat King also wouldn't be looking at him right now with that devouring glint in his predator's eyes…
Edwin would be blushing tomato-red if he were capable of it, and in this one instance he's glad that he's not; the less-than-wholesome impulses and half-formed thoughts that have been roiling in his head since the Cat King's return are mortifying enough on their own.
He blinks hard and forcefully realigns himself. Distraction on the job--because he is on the job--simply will not do. He pointedly ignores the Cat King's knowing smirk.
The Hex's doorman is an appropriately burly fellow with an uninviting expression on his face which may well be his default. He nods at the Cat King in recognition, then turns suspicious eyes on Edwin. "And who would this be, Your Highness?"
The Cat King preens at being addressed as such, and Edwin fights not to roll his eyes. "A good friend, Lionel. Go on, kitten, show the nice man your credentials."
Edwin touches a finger to the jewel pin on his lapel and murmurs the incantation. The doorman leans in for a better look and raises an eyebrow. "Periwinkle--not too shabby, new lad. Welcome to the Hex."
*
The nightclub is dim, loud, and packed--three of Edwin's least favorite things. Perhaps that's why he doesn't resist the Cat King taking him by the arm and guiding him assuredly through the chaos.
The former's claims concerning the aesthetic of the Hex are indeed accurate--youth, leather, and strategic skin-baring cutouts as far as the eye can see. Edwin's usual disguise would have been worse than useless in a place like this, loathe as he is to be uncharitable to Charles' hard work.
They take their seats opposite a man with luminous, violet eyes and an indigo jewel pin who grins impishly at the Cat King and shoots a lascivious wink at Edwin when the former introduces him. Edwin averts his eyes; he'd already endured a lifetime's worth of this nonsense back in Port Townsend, and isn't particularly keen on more. At least, not from complete strangers.
Someone stops by their table and sets a martini glass of lilac-colored liquor before the Cat King. "Oh yes," he purrs, and takes a generous sip. "They do remember me."
The Cat King and the violet-eyed man begin chatting about this and that, soon making it abundantly clear that the former had only come to the Hex to socialize with an old friend, not walk into a lion's den where he'd potentially need Edwin's assistance. Then again, Edwin should have been far more suspicious of such a ludicrous notion to begin with.
"So what's your story, Edwin?" the man asks. "It takes a special sort of bloke to tickle the Cat King's fancies, I'll tell you that much."
"Please excuse me," Edwin says curtly, and rises from his seat--he's got an investigation to conduct.
"Where are you going?" the Cat King whines, his speech distinctly slurred all of a sudden. His golden eyes are plaintive, unfocused. "C'mon, hang out for a bit. Your client isn't getting any deader, is he?"
Edwin shoots a concerned look at the other man.
"Catnip in the drink," he explains helpfully. "CK's favorite here."
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Edwin mutters. He turns to the Cat King. "I have a job to do, in case you've forgotten. Enjoy yourself… I'll be back later."
The Cat King transforms with a burst of purple flame, and his feline form rolls and wriggles drunkenly before eventually finding his feet--or paws. His tail swishes, he turns to face Edwin, and abruptly leaps forward in a blurred streak of dark fur.
Edwin instinctively catches the cat, who wastes no time getting comfortable in his cradled arms--rolling onto his back like an infant, his upturned paws tucked against his sleek belly, and purring like an industrial-grade engine to boot.
"I… don't suppose you'd like to accompany me?" Edwin says, amused and irritated in equal measure.
The cat gives him a slow, languid blink.