2 January, 2012
12:05 am
Following the events of Happy New Year and Hollows and Staves, Ghosts and Graves



A cracking sound interrupted the sleepy street of Diagon Alley as a man, who had not been there a moment prior, appeared. A light persistent rain, which had continued for most of the day, helped muffle the sudden noise and hide the man's features from potential, curious eyes. On top of everything being wet, and therefore brisker than it might have been otherwise, it was also late. These factors were in the man’s favor, because it meant no normal person wanted to be out of doors.

Duncan McBoid bit off a curse, staggering briefly where he appeared, as his injured body protested the act of apparating. The Scotsman's left shoulder and hand were particularly bothersome during the transit due to an angry gash caused by dark magic and a couple broken fingers.

His pinky and ring fingers, broken only minutes before, had already swollen to twice their normal size thanks to the witch’s hex and the skin had turned an unpleasant purple color. The gash was still bleeding.  Blood soaked his sleeve and traveled down his arm. Duncan took no notice of the bleeding, still on an adrenaline high and too focused on where he was going.

Duncan looked up and down the street, making sure he was alone with no one noticing him. Any cover story he made up could easily be destroyed later if anyone had witnessed his appearance. All it took was one person. Fortunately, the street remained empty and all the windows unoccupied.

Momentarily satisfied, the Scotsman looked further down the street and six floors up to the flat that was his intended destination. Luck smiled on him, as she usually did, when he saw the light shining from inside. Wasting no time he moved painfully down the street and up the stairs to stand in front of Bagnold's door. Now that he was actually walking and not just dodging spells Duncan realized his ribs hurt, too.

Duncan gave the door three solid knocks and waited. Listening for movement inside, the light could have been left on to make it appear as if someone were home though he didn’t think so. He glanced both ways along the street again. Once he was inside he could relax a little. The continuing rain further streaked the soot on his skin, cooled any exposed burns, and mingled with his blood.

This was more visitors than his small one-bedroom flat had ever seen before, but the atmosphere still felt oddly quiet as Kurby gathered up the last few scattered dishes to clean.

After they'd gotten back from Godric's Hollow, none of them had seemed much up for talking, and so they'd settled on food and hot chocolate as a way to get their bearings. He and Nemo had popped over to a nearby pub to get late-night takeaway, and then they'd all had to crowd into the main room of his flat to eat: the two girls on the small sofa, Aileen in the lone armchair, and Kurby awkwardly at the small desk that he used for metalworking.

Something in his head still felt off, even though he couldn't point his wand at exactly what it was. Even the details of what had happened at the church were starting to feel oddly fuzzy: the hidden entrance, the underground crypt, the undated tomb with the perfectly-carved figure of a woman, and the great and terrible light. He hadn't yet asked Aileen what it was that she thought had happened, hadn't asked Nemo when the hell she'd broken his trust and gone back to fetch the flute.

The American musician already had her sleeves rolled up and was elbow-deep in soapy water when he returned to the kitchen with the last few dishes. Like him, the little witch seemed to prefer doing menial tasks with her hands instead of using magic. There was something oddly reassuring about being able to focus on scrubbing plates or wiping down a counter, rather than simply waving his wand and letting a spell do all the work. Kurby picked up a towel and settled into place next to her, prepared to help with the drying.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The werewolf hunter stopped, eyebrows raised, as he looked back over his shoulder and through the open kitchen door to the main entryway to his flat. Who the hell could that be? Had something gotten worse at the church? Had one of the Reids sent word to the Ministry when he'd been distracted? With a sinking feeling, Kurby glanced briefly at Nemo, and then headed silently into the main room.

The two sisters were both where he'd left them a moment ago: Abigail looking as if she were about to nod off on the sofa, and Aileen pacing impatiently by the bookshelf. Kurby exchanged a look with the elder Reid on his way to the front door, holding out his hand to summon his wand from where he'd left it on the desk as he passed by.

But whatever he might have anticipated when he unlocked the locks and edged the door open, the bloodied Scottish wizard standing in the hallway outside his flat wasn't it.

"Duncan?"

It took half a second for him to process what he was seeing. His friend's sudden appearance was startling enough that the werewolf hunter didn't even bother with his normal suspicious questioning. Instinctively, Kurby took it all in -- the blood, the soot, the bruising and the burns -- and then pushed the door all the way open.

"What the hell happened, mate?" he asked sharply, reaching for his friend's non-bloodied arm to take some of his weight and help the taller man inside.

In Kurby's small flat with the Reid sisters, Nemo felt something she hadn't in a long time and it seemed to have happened so suddenly. Abby she'd known a while now, but Kurby not even a month, and Aileen two hours. And yet, in the small space with the smell of food in the air, there was a division between who was in and who was out. Nemo had busied herself helping with the meal, a deliberate penance for the last time she was in Kurby's home and helped herself like a spoiled brat to his kitchen.[1] When Kurby settled in beside her to dry it felt like something got fixed.

Then the door. Kurby moved to answer and Nemo shifted to stand in the kitchen door, just as spooked as Kurby. Her eyes darted to Abby who was out in the living room. And then Kurby was dwarfed as he hefted in a huge man who looked like he'd been hit by a truck.

"Oh my god," Nemo called out, alarmed. She looked again at Abby then Aileen for any sign they knew what this was about.

1.	20 Dec 2011 - Spit and Vinegar

Aileen had more questions than answers. When this had started with Bagnold in the library, she'd told herself that she would figure out what to do with the information once she had more information. Though they had found the bone glyphs, they'd found Clementine's grave, they'd found the medieval sarcophagi in the chamber beneath the church, and Nemo had found or had never lost the bone flute, they'd also opened a portal that should have remained closed.

One of song and light. A death denied.

It brought Aileen back to Egypt, back to the Cult of the Phoenix, back to the days when she never would have involved her little sister in a mystery so dangerous, and certainly not so soon after she'd survived a traumatic loss.

What had she been thinking? Her gaze strayed from the bookcase to Abby curled up on the couch, the girl looking very young with her sagging ponytail of blond curls, her face slack with sleepiness.

What was she doing? If she didn't look out for Abby, no one else would. Would they? Aileen paused, listening to the gentle clatter of dishes in the kitchen. She should take Abby home right now. Rescind her offer to help. Forget the strange resolve she'd shown when she and Bagnold had sealed the chamber. That wasn't her. She ran, she avoided, she denied responsibility, she protected only those closest to her, and she didn't have enough room for the surly-joking werewolf hunter, the brave lost waif, or the girls murdered every 28 years.

She paused again, listening to the clatter of dishes, glancing at her sister on the verge of sleep. She paused, as if waiting for a voice to chime in, to encourage her to stay.

Nothing but silence. Nothing but the pause itself, which wasn't enough.

Was it?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Hell. What now?

Aileen met Bagnold's glance with a sharp raise of her eyebrows, guessing at his meaning. No, not her. She wasn't going to run to the Ministry anytime soon, and Abby, for her part, didn't look like it had occurred to her. Despite her job on Level Two, Abby followed Aileen and Bagnold like she thought they knew what they were doing.

Merlin's sake, Aileen wished.

The door opened. A giant stood in the doorway, leaning on Bagnold. The pair of wizards lurched inside, and as Aileen caught a glimpse of his injuries, her first confused, tired thought was that he'd crawled out of the chamber they'd sealed.

No.

Duncan?

Aileen moved past Nemo, barely hearing her. She knew him from somewhere. She'd seen him once, standing tall beside an older man with the same stubborn chin who had, at another time, looked at her like she'd stolen the dearest thing from him.

Oh.

Duncan McBoid.

Abby had been falling into a strange, much-needed sleep. The small sofa became the floor pillow that she'd shared with Nemo that morning. This time, they didn't talk about the dead-girl-files and Abby didn't wonder about Bagnold's connection to Grimshaw's. Abby told Nemo everything about Iona leaving, the possession ending, Iona dying, everything she'd wanted to say and hadn't said while the winter sun streamed through the picture window in her flat. Nemo had listened. And then Nemo had reached over and plucked the bone flute from Abby's pocket, and started to play.

The sunlight was too bright, and kept getting brighter.

One-two-three-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Abby blinked the sleep from her eyes.

In the seconds that followed, Abby stirred, then bolted upright in her seat, staring at the visitor. Her heart pounded - one two three - and for those first few moments, she didn't understand her anxiety and concern for this stranger with the face of a man she'd known when he'd been a young man and when she had been older.

Memories rushed into her head.

Abby rose, hesitating near Nemo. Oh my god, oh my god. Aileen reached the man but seemed at a loss for what to do. She looked at a nearby chair, and flicked her wand to move it nearer to him.

Abby leaned in and whispered to Nemo, "That's Duncan McBoid."

Without looking at her friend to see if the last name registered, Abby moved closer, forgetting her hair was blond and curly now, her face was softer, and her eyes were mostly brown except for the left, specked with Iona's blue.

Duncan didn’t have to wait long before the flat’s resident opened the door, and not a few seconds after that before he was finding the smaller man offering support. “Oh, you know. Reliving my glory days,” he replied somewhat flippantly with a wince as Kurby helped him inside. It was hard to miss the three ladies staring at him from just a little further into the flat. One he had met on numerous occasions, one he knew of, and the third was a mystery. For various reasons, their presence made him hesitant in explaining fully what had happened.

“Ah, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Had his friend not been home, or were otherwise occupied in more private matters, Duncan did have other places to go although those places were far less inviting and not as safe. Aside from his home, anyway, where he wouldn’t go in this state.

Settling down on the chair that was pulled closer for him, his body protesting almost every movement now, the Scotsman sighed. He considered all four of their expressions, mixed with uncertainty and concern. It was a concerning matter, a bloke showing up battle worn after midnight.

“You lot keep looking at me like that I might start thinking I look as bad as I feel, if not worse,” Duncan said as a way to stall for a few extra seconds, while he thought of a way to properly answer Kurby’s rather important question.

The scotsman rubbed at the back of his neck with his non injured hand absently. His gaze flickered over the faces of those gathered, lingered a moment longer on Abby’s, before it settled safely on the hunter’s once again.

“I suppose you could say I was ambushed.” It certainly had been an unexpected appearance. “Except I fired first.” Physically. Lorelei Hunt had certainly gotten in several verbal punches beforehand.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Duncan finally perceived the sound and glanced down at the floor, at the blood pool forming below his fingers. “Sorry, mate. I’ll clean this mess up later.”

"I didn't realize your glory days involved me havin' to play field healer," the werewolf hunter grumbled as he guided his friend inside.

He kicked the door shut behind him, and it slammed closed with a loud bang. The armchair smoothly sailed over to them, and Kurby gave the elder of the two blonde sisters a tired, appreciative nod as he helped Duncan to sit.

"You mind resettin' the wards with the lock?" he asked her over his shoulder. If anyone could figure his protections out, Aileen Reid could -- and all things considered, he didn't particularly want to leave his flat unprotected right now.

Brows creasing, he gave the older man a more detailed once-over. Blood ran freely down his left arm from some sort of gash, most of which was obscured under his shirt. His left hand was mangled and swelling. His breathing appeared to be shallow and slightly pained, and he was moving gingerly. The Scottish wizard was talking though, and his eyes were tracking movement; it didn't look like he was in shock.

"Staima," the werewolf hunter said clearly, pointing his wand at the other man's left shoulder.

Frowning, he half-listened to his friend's chatter as he flicked his wand at his bedroom. A battered-looking canvas kit came soaring out a moment later. It looped over the heads of the two teenagers to settle on the desk, where its flap unbuttoned and wrapped bandages, small bottles of potions, and other contents began to extract themselves, one by one. This wasn't a bar brawl; he couldn't smell any alcohol on Duncan's breath. He knew the older man could be hot-headed, but this was the level of injuries one might expect from a full-on duel. What the hell had happened?

But the Scottish wizard wasn't exactly giving a straight answer. That was unusual in itself; Duncan had always been straightforward with him, and none of their interactions in December had suggested that that had changed. He had to have come here knowing that Kurby would ask. If he was being evasive about a supposed ambush, it was because of the others. Kurby gave him a caustic look as he bent to take a better look at his shoulder.

"That's a shite explanation, McBoid," he informed the older man sourly, ignoring the comment about cleaning his floor. That could be dealt with later, once they addressed the most pressing issues. "Nemo, can you fetch up some ice?" he asked the little American witch over his own shoulder. "Conjure up a sock or somethin' to put it in."

"That's Duncan McBoid."
The name didn't ring a bell.[1]

"What's a Duncan McBoid?" she whispered back, keeping a watchful eye on Kurby Bagnold's emergency preparedness and the Duncan-McBoid leaking his blood on the hardwood. Clearly, both of them had done this before. That tight little family feeling she'd felt at the sink? It had just gotten a little bigger. (And weirder.)

Kurby then asked for ice and a sock.

"Yep," she responded aloud. Nemo didn't need to search the kitchen to figure Kurby wasn't going to have ziploc baggies to make an icepack. Dude didn't even know how to use clicky-pens.[2] So, the sock made perfect clever sense despite the absurdity of introducing such an innately silly object into this evening's hoary, gory, bloody-floory, tomb-disturbing blasphemy.

Turning to Abby, she repeated in a whisper. "He wants a sock. Bedroom?"

Together, she and Abby hurried back up the short hallway. Kurby's bedroom was the same as the rest of his apartment, plain and to the point. No nesting or performance. A bed was a bed, a dresser was a dresser. Socks were socks. All Nemo had to do to make Kurby feel she was trespassing was to be in his eyeline upon an evening, so implicit permission to rummage in his personals was progress.

Nemo began pulling open drawers as little as possible to see what was inside, allowing herself just the light from the hallway. She found a roll of thick, white dad-socks and went to shut the drawer, but it hitched in off-angle. When Nemo gave it a tug to set it straight, the dresser jostled and a book fell with a heavy thunk on the rug.

"Shit."

1.	Nemo met Moira at the party but I don't thing surnames were exchanged. 31 Dec 2011 - We Are Young, and I can't find evidence of Abby telling Nemo her Pentral's surname either.
2.	19 Dec 2011 - Holly and Ivy, Wood and Stone

"Duncan is as nice as Bagnold is grumpy. But they both have a penchant for finding trouble," Abby whispered to Nemo, the small lamp on the dresser lighting one side of her face with a warm glow.

Penchant, pentral. He'd been ambushed, but had fired the first shot. She'd told him not to get into bar fights anymore. She'd told him to take care, but here he was a week after her death, and she guessed... Abby guessed it made sense.

Abby bent to pick up the book, the old leather binding worn and cracked against her hands. It fell open in her palm, revealing crinkled, yellow pages and faded, mismatched text.[1]

She would have closed it immediately if not for the illustration in the center of the left page. A black crow spread its wings in a circular sigil shaped like the sails of a ship.

The text below the etching explained that Grimshaw's, the oldest shop in Knockturn, had at one time been suspected as a secret meeting place for 'wanted pyrates', among other things.

Though several of the names listed had faded, Abby pointed at the name that started with 'Bagg' as she handed it to Nemo to place on the dresser.

Pirate Baggynold, Abby decided, glancing at the doorway where Bagnold's grumbling voice carried.

They had to hurry. Duncan was hurt. But the numbness she'd felt this morning about all those dead-girl-files had started to creep back since Duncan's arrival.

1.	A Moste Magicale Historie of London, the book that Bagnold found the musical bone notes in

"Of course," Aileen nodded at Bagnold. She quickly turned, going to the door she'd been so eager to exit out of a few minutes ago, reminded that the world was bigger than her, though still small enough to bring Duncan McBoid to the same flat as her little sister.

Concentrating on the lock, Aileen caught snippets of Duncan's mild chatter, but not enough to understand what had happened to him. Still, she assumed that he'd been up to no good, just as the Reids and Nemo and Bagnold were today.

With several careful waves of her wand, Aileen spotted the pinpricks of light that had scattered when Duncan had opened the door, and she waved the points of the ward back into place with a subtle click-click-click, almost as quiet as the sound of a lock being picked.

She stifled a sneeze at the magic settling, her nose itching from the crypt dust that lingered in her hair and had left a light film on the very edge of the cloak she'd hung on the wall hook.

Aileen glanced over her shoulder when Abby left with Nemo to search for supplies, letting out a light breath of relief. Duncan's friendly tone hadn't changed even as he dripped blood onto the floor.

He was like that, she'd heard from Abby a few months ago. He was the type of person who avoided involving other people in his problems unless absolutely necessary.

Frowning, Aileen added another ward above the door to let them know of any other unexpected visitors.

"Wards are in place," Aileen returned to Bagnold at the table, letting him sort out for himself why she'd added an extra.

She glanced at Duncan uncertainly, then at the row of mystery potions tucked inside the medical kit. At least Bagnold knew field healing, because she certainly didn't.

Duncan was struggling out of his jacket. After a moment's hesitation, Aileen helped with the sleeves as best she could, raising her eyebrows at him in cool apology for the awkwardness.

"Anything I can do?" She offered as she placed the jacket onto the wall hook nearest them, glancing at the room that Nemo and Abby were still searching. Abby had been through a lot today and Nemo had found and lost a song.

"Abby," Aileen still called out, in a 'hurry up' tone.

The Scotsman could only nod in acknowledgement to the hunter’s comment about his explanation. It was a terrible one, with absolutely no context. He had come here fully expecting to explain what had happened, and why he couldn’t go to St. Mungos. His friend might have doubts of the methods he used, and maybe even his intention on killing the witch, but he didn’t believe Kurby would go running to the authorities about it.

As Bagnold began the preparations for the field healing he knew and the two teenagers went to appropriate a sock, Duncan shifted in the chair to try and work off his jacket, enchanted for easy clean up fortunately, though the task proved difficult given his state of health. Help came a moment later, in the form of Aileen Reid. He looked up at her, ignoring her apologetic gaze. It wasn’t her fault.

In fact, out of everyone in the flat, she had the most right to know whom he had faced in the graveyard. Her sister had been kidnapped, without anyone immediately realizing, and almost killed. This matter would be as personal to her as it was to him.

Duncan shot a quick glance over his shoulder towards the room where the teenagers were, still occupied with their search. It wasn’t up to him if they should know too. Turning his head back he lowered his voice, his tone and expression suddenly becoming serious, so only Kurby and Aileen could hear him[1], “It was Lorelei Hunt, disguised as usual, at Iona’s grave” Using some poor soul to change her appearance.

A glint of anger flashed through his eyes again and he spoke quickly, still hushed. “Been keeping an eye on it I imagine, waiting for someone to come by. She pretended to be someone else, lied about almost everything, and when I undoubtedly knew who she was I attacked.” They could see the results for themselves.

“She got away in the end, though,” he added with a hint of disgust. While that fact was going to be a sore spot he was grateful that the someone Hunt had tried to trick was himself and not Donnan or even Moira. He didn’t want to consider the outcome of such an event.

1.	Feel free to have Abby and Nemo come back in at any point of this and overhear something if you like!

Nemo had scampered off with Abigail on her assigned errand, and Kurby had wasted no time in turning back to the healing supplies that had now arranged themselves neatly upon his desk. Once upon a time, he'd religiously kept it refreshed and up to date. These days, it was still well-stocked, but he'd fallen out of the habit of making sure the supplies were fresh. As he checked the small square jar that was neatly labeled Dittany, there were plenty of leaves inside, but they were dry and a little crumbly, a far cry from the fresh material that Zelda Sellaphix had been so proud of when she'd sold it to him back on the eve before his birthday, during a humid August night.[1]

"Wards are in place," Aileen said evenly, and Kurby lifted his chin in her direction to acknowledge the help, focused on dumping some of the dittany into a small stone mortar. As much as he was used to the team environment of the Capture Unit at work, it had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to rely on anyone outside of the Ministry.  The elder Reid sister been a steady support the entire day, even if she clearly was less than thrilled about him dragging her into his mess.

He was in the process of turning back to Duncan, prepared to expose the older man's wound so that he could get a better look at it, when his old friend spoke up in a low voice.

"It was Lorelei Hunt..."

The werewolf hunter went still.

Lorelei Hunt. The name that had been in the Grimshaw ledger, listed right after Nathan Briggs with an exorbitant sum of galleons alongside it. He'd meant to follow up on the connection after Duncan had mentioned it[2] in December, but he'd barely had time in the past two weeks.

Silently, he looked from Duncan to Aileen Reid. The witch looked as pale as a Hogwarts poltergeist; she'd frozen up, a look of utter terror on her face, and had glanced back sharply at the door. She, too, knew the name. She'd gone still when he'd mentioned a witch with a connection to pentrals[3] back in the British magical library, but he'd never pressed her on why Hunt mattered to her. Now, he regretted not asking.

First things first, though. The wards on his flat would hold; he was fairly confident in that, even if Hunt had followed Duncan here. Silently, Kurby uncorked a small bottle of Wiggenweld potion that he'd begged off of Zelda. He poured a small splash over the dittany leaves in the bowl of the mortar and then turned back to the older wizard. First, he'd make sure his friend didn't bleed to death in the middle of his living room; after, he could dig into what exactly was going on.

 Aileen had already helped Duncan out of his coat, but the other man's shirt was still obscuring his wound. Trying to get Duncan unclothed through conventional methods seemed like a waste of time. Juggling the mortar in his left hand, Kurby aimed his wand at the his friend with his off-hand and Vanished his shirt.

For the second time in thirty seconds, the werewolf hunter went suddenly still.

If the Staima spell that he'd cast a few moments before was doing any good, it wasn't evident at first glance. Duncan's shoulder was a bright, gory mess. A slashing wound stretched from the edge of his collarbone across his upper arm; a series of black, claw-like talons had dug deeply into his flesh around the edges of the wound, where they seemed to be pulling steadily back, as if trying to expose more of the muscle underneath. The skin around the cut was a deep, unnatural purple, much more lively and vivid than any bruise. Black tendrils stretched through the bright purple skin like discolored veins, spreading outward from the open wound. As Kurby watched, a strange, shuddering pulse seemed to ripple out from talons that had dug into the central laceration; the black tendrils strained and stretched the tiniest bit farther, and the deep purple blotch seemed to ooze slightly further across Duncan's shoulder.

The werewolf hunter said a word that would have very definitely landed him in Iona Ballentyne's office if he'd dared to utter it at the Ministry. Without hesitating, he grabbed the Wiggenweld bottle and upended its contents over his friend's shoulder. The healing potion immediately began to sizzle as it came into contact with the purple mass of skin.

"Finite incantatum," Kurby said sharply, aiming his wand at Duncan's shoulder.

That seemed to do exactly nothing to help, so Kurby turned quickly back to the healing kit that was arranged across his desk, as searching for the potions that he usually kept on hand to deal with werewolf scratches.  "Aileen, I think we might need a hand with some runes," he said over his shoulder, the words coming quick and clear. "You got an idea of somethin' we could use for binding?"

1.	August 5, 2011 - Before the Storm
2.	December 18, 2011 - Fire on the Mountain
3.	December 21, 2011 - Answer Me This

Nemo stilled in her haste to join Abby in inspecting the curious book. It would be easy to feel that Grimshaws and its secrets followed them everywhere, but who was doing the chasing these days? Library books didn't check themselves out, there'd been no free family vacation to Godric's Hollow's finest crypts. In spite of tonight's adventures (or perhaps because if it) Nemo had a reserve of willpower left that allowed her to snap the book shut when Abby handed it to her and Aileen called out.

She put the book back where it came from, and headed back out. The grown-ups were talking and good god - Duncan's shirt was off and the injure and gore that had been covered pulsed and dripped like a horror movie. Despite herself, the level of injury roused a physical response in Nemo's viscera. Her heart fluttered and her stomach turned over. It seemed wrong that Duncan's head was still talking. That horrible gash looked like it could belt a ballad if it wanted.

Kurby was saying something about runes.

"Okay. Well. Shit," Nemo muttered, remembering her small duty.

She unrolled the pair of socks and stuck her wand down inside one of them. It was a simple matter for a witch even without a high school diploma to conjure a modest amount of ice. (They always came out as faceted spheres for some reason.) She knotted the end of the make-shift ice-pack and walked it over to the side table and then stepped back. She had to cover her mouth or risk an inappropriate laugh, but the mismatch of the bright white sock-of-ice against the mangling of Duncan McBoid was too absurd.

Lorelei Hunt was alive and haunting graveyards. If Duncan's words weren't enough, the revelation was written in his skin.

Aileen took a small, involuntary step away from the table, her hands growing cold as she stared at the spidery black lines spreading over Duncan's chest and shoulder.

A rune? Bagnold wanted a rune. Runes could not fix everything, as much as Aileen would like them to. They were strongest on buildings and objects and stone, not on people, and even the most intricate and magical runic jewelry could only provide so much protection.

She looked at Bagnold digging through the healing kit, and imagined his thoughts racing as hers did, back to the time when she should have asked him more about the names he'd found in the Grimshaw ledger. Still, he remained focused.

Nemo and Abby returned. Abby stopped short at the sight of Duncan.

"Y-yes," Aileen managed. "I should have something."

Aileen went to her cloak on the hook and searched her pockets. She didn't wear her profession everywhere, what could she say? Behind her, Nemo dropped the ice into a sock with a clink-clink-clink. If Aileen had to, she'd make a rune out of parchment and socks, but it wouldn't last long.

Abby's soft voice finally sounded, full of horror:

"Who hit you with an Effodio curse?"[1]

Aileen looked at her, the silence that followed a dangerous thing. Please, no one answer her. Aileen held back the first horrifying question that came to mind.

"Abby, what exactly does it do? Can you tell us?"

Abby met her gaze, focusing on her instead of Duncan.

"The poison will spread and paralyze him if not stopped," Abby said, her voice shaky but true. "Dittany will help stop it, if you mix it with some murtlap essence into a paste," she gestured at the medical kit. "And if you need a rune-" she pointed at her lilac cloak hanging next to Aileen's.[2]

Aileen abandoned her cloak in favor of her sister's. In one of the cloak's pockets, beside a compact mirror and a pen, Aileen found a rune charm. Her thumb recognized the groove as Algiz, a rune of protection that Aileen had gifted Abby with several years ago.

It hadn't protected Abby, but perhaps it could protect Duncan.

Aileen returned to the table, giving her sister a look of utter gratitude mixed with worry. She reached out ever so briefly to touch Abby's arm where the girl stood stock still. Aileen set to work, re-activating the rune with several careful wand movements.

Once done, if Duncan agreed to wear it, it would help stop the curse from spreading.

1.	I'm guessing that Lorelei returned the favor at some point during the duel, which would explain how gruesome it looks!
2.	From this post: Abby continued to find her things. A little compact mirror, an auto-flying memo, a rune charm, a clicky gel pen...

Speed was everything when it came to arresting the damage from dark magic, whether it took the form of a curse or a werewolf bite. He’d abandoned the stone mortar and potion ingredients to yank open the desk drawer where he kept most of his metalworking supplies. But despite the heaviness of the air in the room, as Abigail spoke up, Kurby stopped and stared at the Squib girl for a good three seconds.

How the hell had she recognized the effects of a curse like that?  Brows knitting, he tore his gaze away and returned to his search through the drawer.

There was clearly more going on here than he knew. Duncan had waited to name his attacker until the two teenagers were out of the room, and Kurby hardly thought that the delay was for Nemo’s sake. Some sort of strange recognition had passed between his friend and the two Reid sisters when Duncan had first arrived. Aileen was clearly terrified of Lorelei Hunt. He’d been an idiot not to press her about it sooner.

And then there was Abigail. Abigail, who was now giving a helpful description of how to treat the curse, in a voice that sounded slightly flat. The Squib girl had been acting strangely distracted ever since they’d met at the coffee shop in Godric’s Hollow earlier that day. Kurby pressed his mouth tightly shut as his fingers closed around the small pair of tongs that he’d been searching for. He’d chalked most of Abigail’s strangeness up to their adventure under the church, but was it more than that?

“Nemo, there’s dittany in the mortar already, and one of the jars should be labeled for murtlap essence,” he told the little American witch over his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of leather gloves. The teenager was adept with her hands in the kitchen, which probably meant she’d be able at mixing potions ingredients. “Can you mix some up?”

Brows knitted, he picked up the tongs and a small metal stein with a hinged lid in his gloved hands, and then stepped back over to Duncan to examine his friend’s shoulder.

There were five of the black talons, dug in deeply around the edges of the wound. The werewolf hunter frowned as he concentrated, using the tongs in his left hand to get a firm grip on the claw that was closest to Duncan’s neck. No one had answered Abigail’s question yet, and it felt like he had to trust Aileen and Duncan’s instincts if they didn’t want to talk about the culprit in front of the teenaged Squib, even if he didn’t understand the context.

“I’d say sorry if this hurts, but this is what you get for comin’ here instead of headin’ to St. Mungo’s,” he informed the older wizard dryly. With the tongs, he slid the talon carefully free, and then dropped it into the metal stein that he held in his right hand, releasing his thumb to let the lid immediately spring shut. “Next time you go out lookin’ for a fight, try to get yourself jumped on your way out of a Muggle pub instead, aye?”