RUB-A-DUB-DUB [Eli]

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

Ilvyn dreamed he was stabbed in the shoulder but the reality of the situation was that his shoulder was crammed between his body and a hard smooth surface, a fact he became aware of as he began to stir. There was soft light in the world beyond the walls of his eyelids and he cracked one eye open onto to quickly close it after the burning sensation of the light convinced him to. Ilvyn's shoulders and head ached miserably and without looking for second confirmation he sensed he was in a bathroom. Sleeping in a tub. That was awkward because he knew the shack he usually returned to in the morning had a shower stall, no tub. Also he wasn't alone.

The boy could tell his lower half was on top of someone else and a coil of tail had apparently forced itself into the warm area between their chin and their chest. Vyn wiped the rheum from his eyes, smeared the drool of his cheek and chin onto his sleeve, and made a valiant effort to open his eyes again. When the burn of sunlight creeping in through a high set window faded he was able to look at the person he was unintentionally sleeping on top of, an absolute stranger.

On the bright side, both of them were fully clothed. Or was that the bright side? Ilvyn was having a difficult time remembering what had landed him in this situation.

"Asdklaiowbvnals?" the boy gurgled in some strange language that resembled neither English or any other language. "Weh."

He yawned, stretched, and politely removed that bit of tail that acted like a heat-seeking kitten during his sleep. He would have stretched, but he decided to be polite and not kick the guy in the face with his hoof. Then he made another attempt at speaking words.

"Who in the hell are you?" Vyn finally managed in a tired voice. Then he glanced around and blinked. "Where am I? Ugh. It's way too early for this shit."

He sunk back down into the bottom of the tub and closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep. He would too, if the stranger would let him.

[☆Eli☆]

A new dawn breaks slowly high over Boston, and through layers of cloud cover heralding a grey day of rain and fog, the light filters in through a dusty overhead window and across the face of a slumbering man. Man is a kind word, really, though he appears innocuous enough; the demon is likely most human while sleeping, when his own mouth can’t betray him. The day’s call to order cannot be resisted, and it is with a grunt and a groan that the man’s eyelids flutter open, lips drawn up in a displeased grimace. Elijah Maddock is no stranger to waking up in foreign places, having been the victim of a number of botched summonings in his time, but a quick survey of his surroundings leaves unknown bathroom high at the top of the list.

Things could be worse. It could be hell.

What is more disconcerting is that there is someone with him – and the demon certainly can’t recall crawling into anything, tub or otherwise, with another individual the night before. He suspects, in the part of his brain slowly wakening and processing the situation, that this is awkward. Unfortunately both shame and embarrassment are largely societal constructs, and Eli only has the vaguest notion of what they might feel like. Clothes, he surmises, are a good start. Humans like clothing. He tends to like clothing, too, when it’s not wrinkled and clinging to him in uncomfortable fashions, or accompanied by the crushing weight of a stranger sprawled across the lower half of his body. Not being soaked through with stale bathwater is another minor boon.

There is, of course, the small matter of his bathfellow to attend to, an individual curled half atop his legs and sporting hooves, of all things. Shifting, Eli scrubs a broad palm over his stubbled face and rests his arms over the rim of the tub, fixing the boy with a mildly curious stare and a strangely accepting expression.

”Good morning to you, too,” he offers after a moment, both his tone and his smile too damnably pleasant for the early hour. ”Or is it not?” Eli’s eyes narrow, suddenly thoughtful. ”Do you still say good morning if the morning’s going rather poorly?”

It is, apparently, and honest question, and the demon waits patiently for an answer he presumes will come. His companion’s disgust at the time and their location seems to be entirely ignored – or perhaps just unnoticed – and he makes no effort to bother extracting himself.

”—I guess this isn’t your tub, then.” Eli is nothing if not astute – though it does beg several questions as to how they might have ended up in this predicament.

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

"I'm not a, ah, morning person," Vyn responds with his eyes still closed, staring at the dark red of his inner eyelids. "I'm not sure if the morning is going poorly. I would like to go back to sleep."

Ilvyn would have appreciated a warm bed instead of this, so with some grudging respect for the logic of pulling himself out of the tub and finding a warmer place to curl up, he opened his eyes and pulled himself out of the thing with as much grace as possible. He struggled to get his awkwardly shaped legs underneath him without stepping on the strange man underneath him or thrashing him with his tail. Hooved clapped on the tile floor and at last he was granted the room to stretch, legs, tail, and all.

"No. Judging by that question it isn't yours either?" Vyn quirked a brow. "Did we have sex?"

What happens when you put two socially awkward demons in a tub together with no recollection of how they got there? Apparently unintentionally hilarious conversation, or at least any human would find it mildly amusing if only for their exchange of dialogue if they weren't pissing themselves at the two trespassers squatting in their bathroom early morning. Though Ilvyn didn't know what this guy was, didn't suspect him of being anything but human, even if his understanding of the human world was clearly on par with Vyn's. Of the two of them, he was certainly the more charismatic, and Vyn was uncertain if he should trust him.

But we were in the same boat…er…tub? So he can't be too bad.

Vyn pursed his lips and looked the stranger up and down, "I guess you're tall enough. You're too clean and neat looking though. Not rugged. I don't like your smiley face either." That was a the sort of friendly face scheming fellows were prone to or so Ilvyn believed. "Maybe your nose balances it out a bit…maybe I was desperate? What does your o-face look like?"

But Ilvyn was coming to the conclusion that they hadn't done the dirty. Ilvyn did not do drunken intercourse and hopefully this stranger didn't either. Else one of them was going to have a serious issue in a couple of seconds because Vyn was having a hell of a time remembering how he got here and who this guy was. Which raised a very important question:

"Who are you?"

[☆Eli☆]

The deep philosophical quandary of does one say good morning if the morning is not, in fact, good, will have to wait for another time – and perhaps an individual with more of his wits about him than Eli’s apparent bath partner. His hoofed companion does bring up a suitable counterargument: is the morning truly even terrible? The demon is clothed; he is alive, or some approximation of it; he seems unlikely to suffer any wrath in his immediate future. These facts alone might rank the day higher than previous dawns Eli has suffered through. That he is sore and – as the stranger above him shifts – remarkably close to getting knocked in the chin by a hoof seems small in light of darker possibilities.

There’s always the chance someone is lurking in the shadows with ulterior motives, but the demon is content to let that worry pass him by. Summoning victims into slumbering piles in claw foot tubs rarely goes hand in hand with dastardly, evil plots.

”I don’t think we had sex,” Eli replies nonchalantly, pulling at the wrinkled fabric of his shirt with a disdainful look. He seems unfazed by the question, and continues to lounge in the bath – now with ample legroom – following Vyn’s departure. ”I’m not sure clothed, in a tub would be practical for that. Or is that a fetish?” Bright green eyes fix intently on the smaller demon’s face, suddenly intrigued. A discussion on the finer points of strange and laughable human obsessions would not be outside his areas of interest.

With no answers as to how they had ended up in this predicament forthcoming, Eli at last hauls himself up out of the tub, casting an unconcerned glance about the bathroom. There is a thin layer of dust on the floor but the sink has been recently used; the room as a whole is rundown, and the slanted window above them is too high to grant any view of the city. If they are even in Boston any longer; having traveled thousands of miles in the span of a night and the duration it takes to speak his name, Eli does not count out that chance.

”I do have a nice nose,” he murmurs distractedly, lifting a hand to run his thumb along it in demonstration. ”—but I think I might have to be the desperate one?” Turning from the sink, Eli’s gaze falls upon Ilvyn, his curious expression genuine. ”I don’t normally bring – whatever-you-ares – home. Or to bathtubs,” the demon adds, as though there might be some circumstance where defying taste is acceptable so long as a tub is involved. Stalking to the door, Eli presses his ear to it (as he has seen on television, which represents a rather large amount of his human education) and holds out a hand for Vyn’s silence, eyes narrowed.

”…Elijah,” he adds after a moment, glancing to the door handle. ”Eli. I sell insurance.” The statement is oddly cheerful, and matched with a sly smirk. The man glances up to meet his companion’s gaze, the very image of mischief incarnate. ”Either our friends aren’t home, or they’re very good at hiding. Care to investigate?”

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

The tall man possessed such warm congeniality, a perfect attitude for easily winning people over, and it was his talent for charisma that both endeared the boy to him and inspired distrust. The naïve human part of Ilvyn longed to drop the façade of adult responsibility and give that man the power to make decisions for him. There was no way to do that after all he had endured, after all that human cruelty he had suffered in the past, he could not keep making the same mistakes over and over again. Ilvyn said very little for a long while, only nodding his head slightly in response, until he noticed that the man clearly didn't have the same reservations and stopped him in his tracks.

"Two things," Vyn told the man. "The thought of sleeping with men doesn't disgust you and you're a freak."

Ilvyn let that sink in for a moment.

"Did you mean to do that? Tell me those things, I mean? I know you aren't lying about my second point," a smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his voice was surprisingly genuine. "You see through my glamour."

It seemed a lot of people in Boston did and only now the boy was beginning to catch on; there were a lot of freaks living in this city.

"You didn't have to say it like that," Ilvyn said and his voice was suddenly extremely thick with hurt feelings. His voice seemed genuine enough. Surely the boy was used to that reaction from humans who eventually saw through his glamour but this guy was clearly unfazed so why did he speak so cruelly about him, like he was less than a person? They were brethren in a sense, weren't they? It was a fresh pain to be treated like an outcast by fellow freaks. "I'm just a person. Just like you."

Maybe the boy was lying in a convincing attempt to rope in the stranger's sympathies. He seemed like a nice guy, one that was concerned about appearing approachable and friendly, and even if Ilvyn had started the game of taking cockshots at his looks, Vyn was just kid with a soft, sensitive core, and he liked to manipulate that fact in his favor.

Ilvyn would not reveal the answer to the question of whether his hurt feelings were real or not. Things were better kept ambiguous.

"Elijah, your emphasis on the word 'insurance' makes me feel uncomfortable," Ilvyn said, the sad note in his voice fading slightly but still present. "Coupled with the thought that I don't know what you are makes me a bit uneasy but...damn, I would love to have you in my debt. Assuming you are an honorable saleman.. Which couldn't be guaranteed, but Ilvyn still step forward, shouldering Elijah aside. "I'm Luke."

He placed his palm on the handle. It felt cool to the touch, a totally normal door handle. Vyn could have popped his tools out if he was feeling extra paranoid and made sure it wasn't trapped, but that seemed like a pain and he had a feeling in his gut it was safe. So he slowly pulled the door open without any incident and was greeted by the sight of a cool, dark hallway and a peculiar smell. Now the hair on the back of his head stood up because of the sight of how eerily clean and empty the hall seemed to be, as if no one lived here. There were no paintings on the walls or little end tables for Ilvyn to trip over. The door to the outside didn't seem far away, he could see distant light, and thought they could make a run for it. But as the smell seemed to grow stronger the longer he stood in the doorway, and as he covered up his mouth and nose with the front of his shirt, he reached for his pistol out of some paranoid need to protect himself only to find it was missing.

"Shit," he muttered. "I…I can't remember if I had my stuff with me or not."

He had his tools with, the little ones used for picking locks and other miscellaneous mischief, as he could feel them strapped to his chest. They were both a comfort and a curse, the realization of having them on him making him believe that surely he had also had his backpack and guns on him before…whatever happened. The tools could be easily overlooked, hidden under his clothes, so if someone had stripped him of his things they could have missed them. Regardless, Ilvyn knew he couldn't leave just yet.

"We…I have to search this place," He whispered urgently. "No one is here, right? I can't risk leaving my stuff behind, it's too important. Look, you shouldn't…"

How could he convince Elijah to stay behind with him? The door was just a short hallway walk away.

"You shouldn't go," Ilvyn told him. "This place could be booby-trapped. I can take care of that. Also I…I'm…scared…

In truth should anyone actually be home Elijah would make better cannon fodder than a comfort blanket, but there was a familiar thrill of getting into trouble with someone else that Vyn wanted. He might have been a little scared too, if only for that sickening smell wafting towards them through the darkness. Mostly he had every intention of manipulating the guy to his benefit. He didn't want to let him go just yet.

"Will you come with me?"

[☆Eli☆]

”I don’t think you’d like me in your debt at all,” he replies smoothly, and with a smile composed of far too many teeth. ”And honor has very little to do with it. A person like me.” He could laugh. Still, the taller man steps away when the boy – Luke – elbows his way forward, and seems content enough to allow someone else to take the lead. For all his eccentricities and how he diverges from societal norms, Eli is at least ingrained with a strong and utterly animalistic sense of self-preservation. Should anything be lurking out in the hall, he would take nothing but satisfaction in knowing Luke would fall to it first.

His kindness extends only so far as others prove either amusing or useful. Luke, for the moment, proves to be both.

The stench that wafts in once the door is open only reaffirms his decision. Eli narrows his eyes in displeasure, an emotion amplified in the thin line of his frown, and peers out at the hauntingly pristine hall from over Luke’s shoulder. His expression turns into an honest grimace as the smell grows stronger, and he joins his companion in covering his mouth. Whatever is causing it is not something the demon is keen on uncovering – but Luke, in all his naïve glory, seems to have other plans.

The kid’s confession of fright falls upon deaf ears (though he earns a bemused glance for his trouble), and instead it is the mention of booby-traps that seems to get Eli’s attention. That television education, unfortunately, makes him remarkably gullible in some regards. If they are going to star in a Scooby Doo picture, sans large talking dog and questionable substances, it stands that traps and pitfalls are part and parcel of their adventure.

”Fine,” Eli agrees, eyes alight at the prospect of some further escapade – and as though he were not at all concerned regarding their fate. ”We’ll find your – stuff.” Whatever that might be. It’s not the demon’s place to question, only to take advantage, though he would not be against finding answer or two as to their arrival here in their search. ”But you owe me,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. Stepping past Luke and into the hall, Eli runs his hand slowly over the wood of the first door they come across before unceremoniously turning the handle. The overpowering odor worsens; if it does not stem from this room, its source is certainly somewhere nearby.

Inside, there are no windows. The light switch does not work, and the only illumination is the muted line cut from the open doorway that falls over thick carpeting and a collection of lushly cushioned furniture. Eli lingers just beyond the threshold though he hardly seems ill at ease; he waves a hand at Luke to get to his business, and draws an analytical gaze over the parlor. It is, like the rest of the building, apparently unused. There is a lumpy, rolled throw rug in one corner and a heavy chest of drawers, but little else to rouse suspicion.

”Nobody home.” Eli’s tone is blithe; he rocks back on his heels like an impatient child. ”Better find your things fast. Wouldn’t want to get caught skulking about someone’s house.” Spoken as though the demon has no plan on being caught here with him – and he offers the charming smirk to match.

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

"You don't know that, Mister I'm-So-Smart-Elijah," was Ilvyn's blithe retort. He would have smiled at the man but he did not dare drop his shirt and be assaulted by the dreadful stench that surrounded them. "A person like you? Why aren't you just, uh, exceptionally perplexing?"

Ilvyn was not an extraordinarily good judge of people but he felt as though Elijah was spoon-feeding him reasons not to be trusted. A part of Ilvyn could only think that a creature wearing such a convincing human mask was unlikely any real harm but different part reminded him that Elijah plainly indicated he was something more than mere human. His enigmatic hints were of no help to the boy, less hints than they were inside jokes that only Elijah himself knew. Ilvyn considered changing his mind and urging Elijah to leave but a hungry vicious inhuman part of him wanted to dole out some justice for an unknown slight. That inner monster wanted to show Elijah to never underestimate it. Surely he saw the signs as clear as day in front of him; Ilvyn was no good guy and two could play at this game.

"Owe you?" Ilvyn repeated as he trailed after Elijah. He would not mention that checking for traps required him to walk first, Eli seemed confident in his luck. "Did you know you can put an improvised mine behind a door, uh, right where the door handle touches the wall? Similarly you could tie a grenade pin to a door knob. What were you saying about me owing you again? Was it, 'Luke, I don't like being blown to little bloody pieces, and you seem to know a lot about traps, so we're even'? Thought so."

Luck would have it neither of them went flying into tiny bits when Elijah opened the next door. The smell is strong and thinking of it in relation to his rant about booby traps, Ilvyn decided that it was certainly the smell of rot and not explosive or poisonous gas. Had someone died here? That would certainly explain a lot. Even as he glanced into the room, colorless and gray in his darkvision, he imagined corpses were boarded in under that lush carpet, hidden away, and shuddered. The boy didn't want to step further into the room after a quick look. His imagination was haunting him.

"No, they aren't in there."

The next door hide a shallow and empty closet and the one after that a nearly empty bedroom that was not much bigger. Vyn relied on touch and guts to know if the doors were trapped or not and so far none of them were. Of course, telling Elijah the place had been trapped was only a lie to keep him from running out, wasn't it? Yet as Ilvyn travelled down the hall the scent only got stronger and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He stopped at the foot of a small staircase leading into an upstairs that had the same color quality of the first room Elijah opened the door to.

"So, do you want to tell me what you are?" Vyn suddenly asked Elijah in a soft voice. He put his hoof on the first step. "I think you can guess pretty easily what I am. It's really not fair."

Next step. Next step. He took them slowly and every step made his legs feel heavier than the last last. He wondered if Eli felt it too. He glanced back at Eli to make sure he was following and then continued forward.

"I think someone died in here," Vyn whispered.

The smell had become so strong that Ilvyn could feel his stomach flip-flopping viciously, rebelling against the idea of holding its contents inside, but he swallowed and held his breath for he was afraid that if he vomited he wouldn't be able to stop. He came to another short hallway. All the doors closed. Was he still breathing?

"No big deal," Vyn gasped. "Must be close."

A tingling sensation spread across his palm at the next door handle, a subtle sort of electricity that was not electricity at all. It faded in an instant and reckless abandon pushed him to open it without checking. Nothing happened. The room was empty, gray, windows closed and blocked. The smell was overwhelming at this point and in the far corner he saw a red glow and black ink smeared on the floor in the shape of boots. He should have left then, turned around, forgotten his things, they were no longer worth it.

He crossed the threshold, stepping over the bloody prints embedded into the floor, and reached for the door of wardrobe in the corner, the source of the red glow.

Upon opening it he made a disgusted sound and stumbled backward, turning his head and closing his eyes, as the smell erupted into the room with the ferocity of invisible volcanic ash. "It's nothing," Ilvyn choked. "Just a cliché, just a thing from a bad horror movie, it doesn't mean anything"

For the back of the closet was neatly broken out into a small secret room. String lights with red bulbs were stapled along the ceiling around what could only be described as a shrine of some sort and there was blood. So much blood. The walls and ceiling were black with it and the floor was strewn with what had some vague resemblance to half-rotted intestines. As much as Ilvyn wanted to laugh at how cheesy the display seemed, he couldn't open his eyes and look at it again, opting to press himself against the opposite wall and find his way along it, back to the door. Were those animal bits he had seen or humans? What was that skull with the bits of flesh dangling off of it?

He had seen a lot of things but for some reason he couldn't look at this again. He didn't need to. The image of it was burned in the back of his mind.

"My stuff is not in here," Vyn groaned and then proceeded to clamp his mouth. "Oh god. What is this?

[☆Eli☆]

The balance between leaving Luke here to sort out his own problems and sticking around to avoid potential dangers is one tipped, ultimately, by the fact that Eli has no pressing engagements. For a fairly immortal soul with few demands or concerns placed upon his time, spending an awkward morning reenacting the most backwards buddy film is not outside his realm of interest – it is a brief occupation, a pleasant distraction, a curiosity he is willing to pursue until the lead dead-ends. The demon’s attention span is as fickle as his temper, but for now both seem suitably engaged.

”A demon,” the man replies at length, a pleased smile affixed upon his lips – as though he is both amused at the question, and feels the answer should have been obvious. ”And I’ve no idea what you are.” The tone Eli affects is dismissive enough to imply his lack of interest. Some lesser demon, perhaps, incapable of a more suitable form, or some other creature entirely – and in either case, Elijah can’t be bothered with the details. Unless the boy turns out to have some hidden wealth of magic up his sleeve, he is simply delegated to the descriptor of small-man-with-horns-and-hooves. And a tail – can’t forget.

The scent, where the staircase they now find themselves at the base of ascends above into blackness, reaches an impossible level of offense; the normally poised and nonplussed demon presses the back of his hand to his nose, stifling a choking gag. ”Your things,” he murmurs, gaze flickering to his companion, ”had best be in there.” It is unfortunate that Luke chooses to continue his fruitless hunt, and worse still that Eli cannot find it in him to turn away when a child should feign such bravery. The pair climbs into the darkness. The door swings open and reveals the next mystery; behind Luke, Eli’s eyes briefly glitter gold in the shifting and sickly light, and his naïve demeanor evaporates in an instant.

Something is decidedly wrong. The smell should have been more than enough, but Eli is not known for prudence (he may, in fact, not be aware of the word’s definition), and the atmosphere of the dark little room seals the deal.

He would have – should have – warned the boy, but instead the demon only lurks by the threshold, watching as Luke reveals the wardrobe’s hidden machinations. Where his cohort cowers, Eli stands tall; it is not a pair of frightened eyes that scan the secret room, but a darkly curious gaze, something dangerous and wary. For all his innocence and charm the man is yet a demon, and it is the intelligent creature at his core that is concerned by this. He steps from the wall, leaving Luke to cower there, and strides through the wardrobe without trepidation.

”I don’t know,” comes his echoing tenor from the bloody compartment, a glance cast over one broad shoulder to fall upon Luke’s frightened form. ”But it’s hardly a horror movie. And someone certainly died in here.” And there is the return of that empty smile, an expression that suddenly runs cold when cast against the horror that surrounds him. Eli drags his index finger through the layer of blood and grime caked to the walls and stares at the residue with an upturned lip. ”Recently, too, I should think.” Curiouser and curiouser. Doubt is an uncomfortable emotion; worry is not something Eli has ample experience with. As implication sinks home, his smirk fades, and the line of his mouth matches the furrow of his brow.

”I think we should leave.” As though that hadn’t been obvious from the beginning – but Eli’s pace is marked by some haste, now, and he manages the small amount of bother required of him to approach Luke and lay a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. The fate of humans does not impact him. The gruesome sight that had been locked away does not turn his stomach. What matters is that there is some potential and personal danger held in that wardrobe – and that Eli would like to avoid it at all costs. ”You and I appearing here – and this shrine,” the man nearly spits, glancing back at it over his shoulder, ”we should go. Now.”

Before whatever had made that mess – and likely summoned the pair of them with it – returned to make good on its black promises.

A jostle to the boy’s shoulder, and Eli will coax him up and towards the stairwell they entered from, amicable only thanks to Luke’s possible use and the little amount of kinship they share. Behind them, the demon can swear he hears the accursed room rumbling – and if his feet fall a little faster on the steps, well, he doubts his partner-in-crime is of a mind to notice.

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

Ilvyn had seen many awful things, things that most humans could not stomach, and his hand had played a part in dealing the cards of horror and death. The smell that lazily swirled around the forms of the boy and Elijah was more than that, it came with a burning stench of power. The sensation was not a thing easily pinned down and it was hardly as tangible as Ilvyn's glamour, but it squirmed and twisted under the otherwise terrible sights and smells of the room, and perhaps feeling that subtle energy was what subdued Vyn. This shrine tied into paganism, old magic, and witchcraft. Yet Elijah took it like a champ, which amped up the boy's already unruly emotions. He couldn't understand how this man—this demon—was so nonchalant about it.

"Funny. I thought you would enjoy something like that. It's not for me," Vyn coughed from behind his fingers. "If someone built a shrine for me it would be for my amazing sexual prowess. Demon, Eli? Really? I guess I didn't know what to expect from you."

His words were weak and perhaps the biting tone was lost in his desperate gasps for breath and need for untainted air. He despised the word 'demon' and everything associated with it and surely they were both here because of what they were but being grouped with Elijah was offensive to him. Being asked what he was over and over again had left him more than jaded. He was human. He looked like an eldritch nightmare, sure, but he bled like humans and he died like humans. He was not the one who responded to horror with a curious light in his eyes and a slight frown on his lips. Clearly Eli had a completely different nature from the boy. Knowing that, when Ilvyn finally opened his eyes, his expression was sharp and clear: I don't trust you.

They had already been thrown into this mess together by some third party and Ilvyn still didn't recall what led them to this place. He would play nice for now. The addition of not knowing what powers Eli possessed was also a convincing factor in keeping the boy from getting livid.

"Us being here with the shrine, it's definitely related," Vyn muttered, moving out of the room with renewed strength. "Yeah. We should get out of here."

He needed little motivation to want to leave the room. His hooves slapped the floorboards, shirt collar hiked over his nose and mouth, and his tail jerked with each step like an agitated cat's. Had he a weapon on him he might have made an attempt to end Eli if only to protect himself. Even letting the guy walk behind him made Vyn wary. How could he know the man wasn't just jerking him around, that this wasn't a thing of his own design? He couldn't. He had to hope that Eli's suggestion to leave was out of self-preservation but there were no guarantees here. His heart and breath were too loud to hear anything over his own paranoia.

He saw something through a filthy window towards the front of the house, a movement through the glass, and before the pair of them were halfway down the stairs Ilvyn threw his arm out to stop Elijah from continuing forward.

"Someone is coming."

He could see them at the threshold.

"MOVE."