⛤ Crossroads Investigations ⛤

[Mars Walker]

To Detective Evan Wyrwood

Crossroads, Texas

1991

There is unusual activity in this small town. Should you continue your transfer into this branch of the Crossroads Police Department, It is imperative that you understand and accept that all of those legends and ghost stories you've been told or heard whispers of are very, very real. This is no joke. Werewolves? Handled a whole pack of them just north of Crossroads last year. Witches? There's a whole coven here. Ghosts? Demons? Cryptids? Very common occurrences. The Fae? You better learn to respect them. Brush up on your latin, detective, because you'll need to be fairly fluent in it.
Here in the Supernatural Investigations Department, we are the only ones standing between folks and the forces that seek to harm them through nefarious occult ways.

Buckle up, Detective, and welcome to the S.I.D.!

— Your Superior, Margo Warren

A story written by @rissa + @Mars Walker

 

[rissa]

To S.I.D's Principle Detective Margo Warren
Crossroads, Texas
1991​

I regret to inform you that there's been no effort on my part in transferring to the Supernatural Investigations Department. At this time or any time in the near past. Perhaps the paperwork I emailed to Captain Ashford caused this confusion. I do apologize for any inconveniences it may have caused you and I hope this hasn't troubled your department too much.

All the best,

— Detective Evan Wyrwood

Before Evan clicked send, a weird swarming sensation coursing throughout his body, he checked his inbox for another explanation. Anything that explained why— of all damned places and all damned people —Margo fucking Warren would be emailing him late in the evening to congratulate him on a transfer. Packaged and wrapped with a neat little bow and a soothsayers warning.

"This is no joke", huh? Evan thought to himself with a deprecating huff, forcing down the thoughts that were already creeping up and out of the dark places they'd been banished to. As if I don't know.

"What the fu—"

Evan scratched the sleep out of his eyes when he noticed an unread email from Captain Ashford. From three days ago. Sent thirty minutes before the pay raise recommendation he had to fill out. Somehow he'd missed it. And somehow, it explained the increase in pay. Reading the email thrice over, Evan tossed his midicomputer off to the side, slumping further into the plush leather couch, indignation and rage and paranoid fear clawing its way up his throat.

He sat there for a long while, until his neck began screaming in protest. With a defeated sigh, Evan slumped to the floor and reached for his midicomputer, it's screen dim and asleep, his favorite frog screensaver bouncing across the surface, it's blank, cheerful stare ricocheting back and forth and back and forth. He punched in his password, the click-clack-clicking of the midicomputer keys the only sound in his dim apartment.

To S.I.D's Principle Detective Margo Warren
Crossroads, Texas
1991​

Apologies for not making the announcement myself, Detective Warren, my request to be transferred back to field duty was only just approved yesterday. I've heard a lot about the Supernatural Investigation Department and I hope to shed some light on its mysteries while I'm apart of it. Thank you for your warnings; I'll pull out my Latin dictionaries and freshen up on the basics. I'm looking forward to S.I.D's special brand of training and an introduction to the department.

Are the S.I.D offices at the main branch or at one of the satellite locations throughout Crossroads? Captain Ashford did not clarify when he approved by transfer back to field duty.

Ever at your command,

— Detective Evan Wyrwood

 

[Mars Walker]

The sound of her western boots hitting the weathered wooden floors of her office was not the only indicator of Margo Warren's anxiety. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was muttering to herself as she waited upon the reply of none other than her new transfer.

"Evan fucking Wyrwood!" She cursed, throwing her hands into the air in exasperation. She turned on her heel, pacing in the other direction.

"He's punctual, Chief says! He's smart, Chief says! Not a coward by any means! Well I call got-damn bullshit! Bastard ain't here!" She complained, all while maneuvering around her life's work to get behind her desk again. Margo sat down with a harrumph, waking the monitor of her computer and moving a stack of disorganized files off of her custom keyboard. The keyboard was a work of art, in her mind, the perfect way of keeping people out of her business. The keys weren't decorated with english lettering or numbers, but instead had odd symbols. And one could try to remember where the english letters were supposed to go and type on it that way, but it still wouldn't work, because Margo had worked the programming to flip the location of every single letter. It was a puzzle, and only Margo knew how to use it.

If Evan bothered to show up, and by some miracle ended up sticking around, she might teach the language to him.

She typed in the obnoxiously long password to unlock the computer, and her heart nearly stopped when she looked at her email.

The bastard had responded.

"Holy cow." She gasped, eyes scanning through the short letter, "He has Latin dictionaries!" She read further, "He's excited!? He. . ." Margo sighed, taking a sip of hours-old coffee from a mug on the corner of her desk.

". . .Doesn't know where S.I.D. is even located. Insane. Actually insane!" Margo stood suddenly, loudly, and shouted at the ceiling, "I'm down here!"

Margo sat down again and immediately typed up a reply email, speaking every word as she typed it, fingers flying across the keyboard.


To Evan Wyrwood.
Crossroads, Texas
1991

Good to know you have at least a distant background in Latin. I can work with that. As excited as you are, it shocks me to find out that you don't know where my office is. And slightly offensive. Get here as soon as you can, Detective, training starts now. I hope you can drive faster than your paperwork was approved, because I've got a case gnarlier than Captain Ashford on a Sunday morning after a bad sermon.

P.S.
I'm located in the basement office of the main branch building.


She sent the email with a grin, and leaned back in her chair. The chair groaned in protest, the spine of it snapping in half, and Margo fell backwards with a thud and a string of unsavory curse words.

"This is Evan's fault." She decided aloud, slowly standing up and moving to push one of the many piles of books to use as a stool instead.

 

[rissa]

Incredulous.

That was a good word to describe Margo Warren.

Incredible works too, despite her special brand of crazy. Evan thought to himself, sighing, fighting desperately against the urge to yawn. He already pulled a ten hour shift, filing away old case reports and the meager evidence that went along with them. He'd only been home long enough to shower, eat leftover pollo al carbon, and read over his email before he was back on Main Street again, hauling along a nine volume Latin dictionary set. They hadn't seen much love in a few years, but the worn edges and spines bespoke how often they'd been used before. In the first volume a dedication to E.L.W. was written in fine red ink and signed by his grandfather.

Absolutely incredible that she hasn't been removed from her post or elevated to town mayor.

Evan hooked a U-ie to come up Main Street from the south. Once parked he turned off the radio that was playing audio clips from reports flagged with Margo Warren. Incredible or incredulous, it didn't really matter; her behavior seemed erratic at best, downright criminal at worst, and yet... Evan unlocked his miditablet and punched in his password to a couple backdoor channels in order to access personnel files. Margo Warren, despite all of her complaints and grievances, had just as many, if not more, recommendations and compliments.

It was confusing, all of the discrepancies of Margo Warren.

Exhausted and thoroughly defeated for the evening, Evan shoved his miditablet back into his briefcase after logging out of those channels and grabbed his stack of Latin dictionaries. They were a strain, each over four inches wide and a couple pounds a piece, but they were knotted together with twine and would hold until he got to the basement. Evan groaned, climbing out and making his way towards the station, both hands full. He was escorted in by the receptionist Lucy, who looked at him with so much pity.

He ignored her and followed the half-remembered schematics to the basement, a place he'd never been to before.

When Evan walked in there was an awfully loud thud as the nine volume stack of Latin dictionaries simply fell out of his hand. It was an absolutely disaster in here and not a second desk in sight. He contained the groan, just barely, and used his free hand to give a sleepy salute.

 

[Mars Walker]

Margo stood from her seat, now a pile of books rather than an actual seat, as Evan Wyrwood himself entered her basement office. And the state of it was indeed a massive disaster, which she now realized with a bit more clarity, as Evan was visibly off-put about it, though he did try to hide it. Aside from the piles of disorganized books and unruly files, all kinds of oddities littered the space. A glass cabinet full of skulls sat proudly beside her desk, each one illuminated within the case. Some were human-looking, while others were less so. Several were vampiric, dark with age and sporting gruesome sets of impossibly sharp teeth, another was something more alien and labelled as a chupacabra, another was humanoid but distinctly not human, eye sockets too wide, and cranium far too long. Dried herbs, mysterious flowers, and garlic hung from the ceiling in front of the egress window. Right beside where Evan stood, to his right, was a full suit of armor crafted with some kind of pale metal and gaps left in the back for what one could only assume were spaces for wings to fit through. If they had any sort of common sense, that is. To the left was a seating area, or what was supposed to be one. In that space was a couch with two armchairs facing it, and an ancient-looking oakwood coffee table between them. On the couch, sat three standard-sized bed pillows and a large woven blanket draped lazily across it. Takeout ranging in age from days ago to mere moments ago sat upon that coffee table, open files and gruesome photos were laid out, and the space of wall to the left of the couch was a mess of photos pinned to a large map of Crossroads and the woods and brush surrounding it, red lines of yarn stretching between the photos of people and places, sticky notes with wild and nearly incoherent writing littering the thinking space.

And right beneath Evan's feet was a large magic circle drawn and written in red paint. For what purposes it was there, no one but Margo knew.

"Well," Margo drawled, sidestepping out from behind her desk to go greet the Detective, "Keep that up, and maybe I'll get you your own couch and place it right next to mine." She laughed, gesturing in reference to Evan's sleepy salute.

Margo hadn't expected him to actually show up, and she hardly tried to contain that thought from displaying itself in her expression as she circled around Evan slowly, somewhat like a wolf observing its prey.

"Hope you're okay with getting dirt and blood on your suit, because we're gonna be getting dirty. Real dirty," She began, stopping in front of Evan only to use her feet to move his latin books into the hoard of other books littering the office, "You ever tried to wrangle a chupacabra?"
She glanced up at him briefly, not giving him a beat to respond, "Don't answer that, I know for a fact you ain't shot one. I'd've heard of it by now."

Margo flipped through the file she held in hand, pulling out a gory image of an older woman covered in frenzied claw-marks, strange bites and punctures all over her body, "Anyways, I've got a real gnarly case over on Broken Spurr Ranch. Cattle being eviscerated and drained of blood 'n such, but the funny thing about this chupacabra is that it seems to be attacking people, now. I don't know if you recall it, but a few weeks ago, the owner's wife, Mrs. Esperanza Muñoz was killed, allegedly from being mauled by a mountain lion. And we have those 'round here, sure, but I was on scene when the body was fresh, and judging by the defensive wounds, those teethmarks ain't from a gotdamn mountain lion. And guess what? She'd been almost completely exsanguinated. What's the odd thing about this, you ask?"

Margo held the entire file out to Evan so that he could look at it, "Chupacabra don't normally attack humans. So what's got this one's spine in a twist? I want opinions and ideas while I drive us out there. The SID Van is already packed with what we need for some nighttime bloodsucker hunting- Oh! I hope you know how to handle a shotgun with a moving target, because this particular cryptid moves faster than a speeding bullet! Wheels up, let's go!" she declared, blowing past Evan and up the stairs like a tempest on a mission.

 

[rissa]

This is not an OSHA approved workplace.

Evan spared a moment to collect his thoughts before shaking his head, trying to understand and comprehend and wrap everything together. He tried not to look at the empty takeout containers or the humanoid skulls in the china cabinet or the maze-like walkway that'd surely been built and forgotten and finessed over time as more were added to the collection. If he didn't look, he didn't feel the urge to clean it up and shuffle it around until it made sense. He ignored the armor fit for a nephilim and glanced down, noticing the faint shimmer at his feet. He ignored that too and the way his superior circled him like a predator meeting prey.

He tried not to sigh.

Taking the file in hand and readjusting his stack of dictionaries by the door, Evan followed after Margo with a tired gait, glancing down at his suit, wondering how much extra a month he'd be paying the dry cleaners. Perhaps a pair of police fatigues would be more apt.

Margo left an easy, audible trail; a whirlwind of trackable chaos. Lucy once again speared him with a look of pity but he ignored it; after all, he was the one who put in the request for field duty.

Back out in the chill of the evening, Evan asked, "You're driving, I presume?"

 

[Mars Walker]

Margo hardly gave Lucy more than a wave as she flew past the front desk with Evan trailing after her as she continued to talk about the case, making it stunningly obvious that she'd memorized every single document in the file. Word for word.

As she spoke with her hands and exited through the front door or the building, there was finally a moment of silence from her as she tried to dig through the pockets of her SID jacket to find her van keys. Once she had them in hand, and the tump of her black leather western boots on the pavement echoed into the cold night, she turned to look at Evan as he asked his question. With a smile, she finally pulled the keys out to show him, jingling them.

"You bet your stuffy desk detective ass I'm drivin'," She spun back around, and continued to walk through the parking lot at breakneck pace, "How fast can you run, by the way? I only ask because chupacabra are a fast kinda critter, and this one is particularly vicious. Wouldn't wanna see you get all bit up on your first night," She paused, throwing a glance over her shoulder to Evan, "That's what happened to Detective Vasco. She lost a finger, I think. Not to a chupacabra, but to a newborn vampire. You're lucky I'm only throwing you at a chupacabra on your first field trip!" She chuckled.

But internally, her mind forcibly put her through the gore of that night. Nearly two years ago, Margo had taken Esmeralda Vasco on a vampire hunt. And the woman had been skeptical, because who in their right mind would believe Margo Warren when she's telling you that's what you're going to be doing for the evening? It was preposterous. Until it wasn't. Margo had been too careless, too cocky. Too excited. She should've done something easier for Vasco, put the woman through rigorous training. Should've made her read a book. She shouldn't've taken her out to hunt a newborn vampire, because it led to Vasco's right hand being ripped clean off and abused like a chew toy after Margo had been bitten and partially drained trying to kill the damned thing.

Margo shuddered, finally getting to the van and hopping into the driver's seat. The scar from the vampire's bite was visible just under the collar of her sage-green button-up shirt. She had a lot of scars from past jobs and stupid accidents, but that scar was special. It reminded her to be careful.

"Anyways, I've looked through your file and stalked you a little bit. Seems like you can handle yourself, which is perfect. But I need you to be honest with my right now, Evan Wyrwood," Margo leaned on the center console with her elbow, watching Evan approach the van and open the passenger door, "If you're too scared or prone to freezing up, don't come with me tonight." Her gaze was suddenly very serious, her tone stern.

Her autumn-brown eyes held Evan tensely and she continued, "I will not put you in harm's way if you don't wanna be there, because the danger of my specific job can be horrific, and mind-breaking. It's different from the regular detective job. If you don't take me seriously, then I need you to turn around and get transferred somewhere else. But if you trust me when I tell you we're goin' to hunt a vicious creature, and promise me that you'll listen to every piece of advice I give you like it's fuckin' law, then I think you'll have a future in my department. I am not the joke I know the rest of the force thinks I am."

Margo leaned back into her own seat, starting the van.

"What's it gonna be, Wyrwood? Comin' with, or chickening out?" She grinned once again, hoping she wasn't making another mistake.

 

[rissa]

Evan Wyrwood winced at her words.

I am not the joke I know the rest of the force thinks I am.

They repeated themselves over and over and over again, until a crack of thunder forced him into the SID van. He didn't say anything, nor did he make eye contact, mulling over everything else that'd she said. Danger? Evan had already lived through the most dangerous and traumatic moments of his life. He'd already grown from them. Moved past them. Made up for his weakness in mind and flesh.

He didn't believe in vampires. He didn't believe in ghosts or chupacabras or witches. Maybe he should. Maybe he should believe in everything, that magic existed in the center of the universe and it trickled down through into stardust and cosmic rainstorms that washed upon this earth since time immemorial. He struggled to though. He struggled to believe and find meaning in anything.

All he knew and believed in were the powers of demons and the radiance of divinity that washed them away.

He opened his mouth to speak, resolve set as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, unbuttoned the cuffs around his wrists, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The sky unleashed its full fury then, drowning out most of his declaration.

"—I'll be there with you."

 

[Mars Walker]

In the flickering light of the thunder, the hairs on her skin raised slightly. Her blood ran with static through her veins—as it always did when it stormed—and she could hardly contain her excitement.

Margo flashed a wild, mischievous smile at Evan before she backed out of the parking spot and sped off towards their destination.

I'll be there with you.

The thunder had been loud, but she'd felt those words more than she'd heard them. She felt the trueness of them, felt the promise strike.

Tiny embers of blue sparked in her pupils, gone quicker than they'd appeared.

And despite her nerves and anxieties about bringing Evan on a hunt, she felt something, a rightness in the occurring situation. This hunt was going to be a good one, and she knew in her statically charged bones that they'd be coming back with a chupacabra body, whose parts she would keep some of and then bury the rest.

A crack of thunder shook the van, illuminating the sky around them like it was day, "Crossroads got its name for two reasons, you know. The first reason—the known reason—is that the town was built on the crossroads of Main Street and Clover Lane. But what I bet you don't know, or might even refuse to know is that those roads are simultaneously built along leylines. And leylines are full of arcane earthen energies, some believe they're pathways used by aliens to travel by. Truth is, they're like a nervous system that connect Wellsprings or arcane monuments together, all over the world." Margo prattled.

She gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled as a powerful strike of lightning rumbled through the sky. The van's radio fuzzed for a moment.

Caelifur!

Margo swore she heard the name whispered over the static of the radio. Her name. Or maybe it was in the buzz of the electricity in the air. She wondered if Evan even noticed it, since most people didn't. And for just a second, she wondered if she ought to just get back on her medication. She rolled her eyes at herself, outcasting the thought. Ignoring the whisper on the radio.

Taking a quick breath, she sped up to seventy miles an hour once they were outside Crossroads, heading towards Broken Spurr Ranch, which sat on the inside edge of the county line.

"But anyways," she continued, keeping an eye out for night-critters on the road, "Part of the reason Crossroads even has a Supernatural Investigations Department is because of the leylines. It's not just an honorary position, not to me, anyways. Supernatural activity always kicks up around leylines, so you can probably imagine how high activity is around a leyline crossing. And the fact that there's a whole town built upon them is kinda wild too! You wouldn't believe the amount of people who sit in the Main Street Cafe are actually demon-curious and trying to summon one right there in the middle of town—or how many of them I've stopped!" She huffed, turning the steering wheel with the curve of the road ahead.

They were nearly there, the lights of the ranch house visible in the distance on the right side of the road. Around them, the fields were expansive, full of tall cornstalks ready for harvest.

Rain pelted in a heavy pattern on the windshield. Margo glanced at Evan, "I did bring raincoats, by the way. And if you've got prayers you like to say before doing something reckless, say 'em now. Doesn't matter what religion the prayers originate from, so long as the intention is there. It's always about the intention. And we could use some positive intention."

Margo pulled off the paved road and onto a dirt one that led to the ranch house, where she parked beside a beat up and rusty old ford truck.

An older hispanic man stood waiting on the ranch house porch, mostly a silhouette against the dim yellow light behind him. His hands rested on his hips as he watched them drive up and park, waiting anxiously to talk to the investigators.

 

[rissa]

There wasn't much room to talk around Margo Warren.

Evan surmised it was nice after awhile though. He didn't mind being alone with his thoughts, even if they did tend to linger. Tend to get warped and faded and twisted, summoning old wounds to the surface and threatening to overpower what little amount of wherewithal he had left. With Margo though, unlike with others, he had time to think, time to consider and deliberate. She didn't mind waiting for an answer, though to be fair, it's not like she actually waited for one either; but for all of her idiosyncrasies, there was a genuine air to her that he appreciated. That he couldn't help be attracted to. Like the moon pulled the tides, Margo pulled Evan along the lightning-lit path, towards those in need.

He did bow his head after he decided what to pray for, though it was only bowed for a little while and he made no mention of doing so. He agreed, if only silently, that intentions- good intentions -were everything. In this life and whatever fucked up life the supernatural's caused.

Evan clutched the grab handle tightly when the van transitioned from pavement to rocky soil, half-worried that it'd bottom out and they'd be stuck out here in the growing storm, but Margo handled it with ease, pulling up beside the old ford and putting her in park. Unbuckling himself, he shrugged out of his suit top and reached into the back of the van for the raincoats Margo had mentioned. One for her, one for him, even if yellow wasn't exactly his preferred color.

"Happy huntin'," Evan said with a shy smile as he got out of the van.

He strode up to the homeowner, noticing the anxious and worried expression laid atop the one of grief. Evan held out a reassuring hand, "Despite the circumstances, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Muñoz, I do hope we can be of service tonight."

 

[Mars Walker]

Happy Huntin'.

The words put a bittersweet stir in her heart, and Margo grinned fiendishly back at Evan. Her instincts told her that if things didn't work out with Evan, her department was in danger of being shut down. Margo's knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, a crack of thunder breaking through her anxiety.

Caelifur...!

There it was again, that voice. There was a buzz of warning in its tone this time, however, and Margo ignored it.

Only a moment having passed as Evan exited the van, Margo also got out, landing sure-footedly on the ground. The silver of the spurs on her boots glinted briefly as thunder lit the skies. She grabbed hold of the raincoat and slid into it before taking up position beside Evan as he and the owner clasped hands. She was surprised by Evan again, with the way he carried himself. No nerves, just right to the point.

Margo turned her gaze to Mr. Muñoz, extending her hand to him as well, and offering a bright smile. "Good to see you alive and well Mr. Muñoz. This is my partner, Evan Wyrwood. He'll be helping me in the field tonight- and while we're out there, I urge you to lock yourself inside the house, and no matter what you hear, regardless of how terrible or inviting it sounds, do not leave the house. I expect to be out here for a few hours, or all night. I'll check in with you every once in a while via walkie-talkie-" Margo reached into one of her pockets and handed the old rancher a walkie, "Got it? We'll lay out some traps around the house just in case the creature does try to get in through any possible openings- is there a chimney here?"

Mr. Muñoz, a bit shocked, but managing to grasp Margo's fast-paced instructions replied, "There is, in the livingroom-"

"Block it off. Shut the damper and put some furniture infront of it. Just an extra precaution."

"Do you really think a..." The rancher paused almost sheepishly, "A chupacabra would try and get in through the chimney? It can't be that crafty of a creature."

Margo nodded gravely, looking between Muñoz and Evan, "If i'm being quite honest, sometimes things like this end up bein' the opposite of what you expect. It could be a regular person doing this for some reason, or it could be something other than a chupacabra. But, I for one am hoping that it'll be a simple chupacabra hunt, that way we can close the case and make sure this thing stops doing what it's doing. And of course to bring you some closure regarding what happened to your wife, sir."

Mr. Muñoz considered things for a moment before nodding, turning slightly away from Margo and Evan, before turning back.

"You two'll be alright out there by yerselves? I just...I trust ya, but I find it hard to believe that you don't need any kinda backup." He looked over them, worried and anxious. An ember of vengeance burned in his expression.

Magro nodded with a near-feral smile, pupils ever so slightly tinted with an odd blue sheen, "You can trust us to take care of the problem. When it comes to this kind of hunt, my mama taught me well."

With that said, Margo turned away and headed back over to the van to get everything they'd need. She opened the back doors of the van and started sorting through the weapons she'd brought. Silver bullets, lavender and holy water bullets, holy water bombs, five different rifles, six handguns, two silvered swords, four silvered daggers, and two small packs filled with snacks, traps, some odd-looking darts, gloves, rags, flashlights, and extra batteries.

Margo Warren began to strap up, readying herself for the tedious hunt and violent battle she expected.

Mr. Muñoz looked to Evan, hands still on his hips, "I never expected to have the need of a Warren's expertise on my property, but here we are," he huffed slightly, shifting on his feet as he opened his front door to head inside, looking over his should once more at Evan, "I know her mama taught her well, but what 'bout you, kid? You got expertise in this line a' work, or do I need'a be prepared to find your body out there in the fields?" he asked.

 

[rissa]

Evan let out a small laugh, agreeing with his sentiment. Though something in the back of his mind tickled, a thought that hadn't surfaced in years— if they had reached out to Margo's mother when that demon possessed his sister, things may have turned out differently. It may have ended up alright in the end. But, nah, everything had to be handled with out-of-state professionals so word didn't get out the Wyrwood's were devil possessed. Not the Wyrwood's, not one of the founding families of Crossroads!

It was more astonishing that it worked. That everyone believed the tale of her mystery illness.

The day they took her away, Evan had lost both a sister and a mother.

"Don't worry about me sir, though I do appreciate the concern. My mama taught me how to take care of myself too... though, admittedly, not in this line of work. I'm not worried though, I got Margo at my side."

He shook the man's hand once more and spoke clearly, "Don't forget what Margo said about the chimney, alright? And be sure to lock the door behind you. Stay inside. Remember that's of utmost importance here."

When he got a grim nod from Muñoz, Evan headed back to the van as well and what he found nearly left him breathless.

"What the..."

"Are those actually silver daggers?"

 

[Mars Walker]

Margo tightened the strap that held one of the silvered swords to her back, and her eyes darted to Evan, wide with surprise.

"Did you think I'd bring regular daggers? I'm not stupid, Evan Wyrwood! You can't bring un-silvered weapons to a supernatural hunt! Shoot, I've got silvered swords and bullets! You best start carryin' a stockpile of silver bullets. Never know who's gonna end up tryna eat you for breakfast, y'know?" She replied to him, gesturing to the silvered items as she spoke of them.

"You any good with a sword, by the way?" Margo felt an internal paranoia rise again, her eyebrows knitting together worriedly. She just couldn't risk another accident. But another part of her soul sang in the presence of Evan, lilting to her mind that it would work and he would be okay.

"Regardless of whether you're good with one or not", Margo continued, "You oughta wear it. It might come in handy. I'll start training you sometime this week, so I hope you're in shape and a quick study—" Margo's eyes surveyed Evan from head to toe and with a cheeky smile she added, "Well, you're definitely in shape. The odds are in your favor, Wyrwood."

Thunder cracked, and a nail-biting guttural scream flew from the distant and dark side of the field, and Margo couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.

"That's an unusually vocal chupacabra." She muttered, hair damp from the pouring rain.

"By the way, Wyrwood, if you gotta run away, do it stealthily. If you run, you'll look like prey, it'll give chase, and you will not win that race." She warned, cocking a shotgun and slinging a backpack over her shoulder. With bullets and a sword strapped to her upper body, a leather tool belt and old leather thigh holsters belted to her waist and legs, Margo looked like anything but a detective.

She picked up the other silver sword, and without asking permission, she strapped the scabbard holster to his back, adjusting the belted strap across his chest, and she did the same with a toolbelt. Looking him in the eyes, she pointed out the different pouches and what they contained, "You got salt, a wooden stake, and—" She slipped a couple of the silvered daggers into sheathes attached to the toolbelt at his side, "Silver daggers, lavender and salt bullets, holy water bullets, and a flashlight. There's batteries in this backpack set up for you, and other essentials as well. Like snacks. I hope you like cheese puffs and twinkies. I also stuck a sandwich in there for you, I hope you don't mind it bein' crushed." She instructed, not skipping a beat while she unloaded what most people would find to be an intense amount of information upon her new partner. There was no time for steady adaptation— it was do or die.

"Let's get to huntin' that damn pest!" Margo grinned, and turned on her heel to march right into the field, her middle name faintly and almost secretly whispered on the wind through a crack of thunder.

A few steps into the field, only yards from the house, Margo Warren stopped to turn and check that Evan was indeed following her.

The moment she turned her back, a grotesquely emaciated creature with gleaming red eyes leapt up behind her into the air from seemingly nothing, horrendous claws outstretched and ready to rip through flesh.

 

[rissa]

"I took six years of fencing, you know," Evan replied as Margo strapped the sword to his back like a baby getting strapped into a car seat. She wasn't listening though, so he huffed and finished anyways, "Obviously not the same, but I know which end to stick something with— the pointy end of course."

He nodded along with each description of each compartment, memorizing and filing away the info for later. He had about a thousand questions— and retorts (he too had passed the physical examination in order to apply to Crossroads police department) —but he knew if he asked, he'd just lead Margo down another tangent.

Do I really need to know what lavender does besides smell nice? Mmm. Probably not.

He took a deep breath when Margo grinned and exclaimed it was time to hunt. He watched her go, long confident strides into the dark. Evan smiled too, though rather bemusedly— what exactly had his life become, now that he and Margo Warren were partners?

Guess he was about to figure out—

Evan took a few long strides to catch up, hand resting uneasily on the grip of his newly issued S.I.D revolver. It was funny, how different and yet so similar life could become. His grandfather had taught him how to shoot with a revolver, out back on the Wyrwood property, shooting tin cans overlooking the lake beyond. It felt comfortable— it felt right —strapped to his hip. What didn't feel right was the way time held its breath as another crack of thunder sounded overhead— Margo turned —eyes backlight by the lightning and that's when Evan realized.

Margo Warren had been telling the truth.

Evan acted on instinct— he grabbed Margo with his left hand, pulling her closer and around, while simultaneously drawing his revolver. One. Two. Three. Three silver bullets thud-thud-thudded into the horribly emaciated… creature in front of them.

"Oh fuck!" Evan said with a shout, noticing another set of bounding footfalls rushing their way towards them. "Is that another one?!"

 

[Mars Walker]

Cursing loudly, Margo whipped out her revolver, checking to see that it was properly loaded with silver bullets— which of course, it was— and she raised it to the field, eyes wide.

The body of the creature had slumped to the ground, deader than a doornail. Margo could hear the other set of feet approaching fast… Too fast. They didn't sound like a chupacabra, either. She listened carefully, putting a firm hand on Evan's arm and giving it a squeeze.

"Listen— That ain't the sound of four feet. That's two feet. This ain't a chupacabra." She whispered grimly. The footsteps stopped. Field mice scurried out of the corn stalks and towards the light of the front porch. An owl screeched and flew fast as it could away from the area. The storm seemed to pass quickly, too, leaving just the sound of the wind and the crickets.

Until those stopped too.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight, bumps rising on her pale freckled skin.

Her eyes darted around- stopping at the sight of tall corn stalks swaying. The wind had stopped, and so there wasn't anything that could possibly be swaying them except for an animal. Or some other terrible creature of the unholy night. Margo would put money on it being the latter.

She reached for her flashlight, and clicked in on to shine it in the direction of the swaying corn. The light was powerful- more so than a regular flashlight. It illuminated the stalks, swaying violently now as something hissed and moved out of the light. Margo caught a glimpse of reflective black pupils ringed with gleaming yellow irises and ashen, malnourished flesh.

Margo held the flashlight up, propping her revolver up on her forearm so that she could see and prepared to shoot if she caught another glimpse of it.

"Evie?" A female voice came from the field, but it sounded distant, and far off.

"Evie! I need help! I-I don't know where I am—" The voice cut off, and there was a butchered scream that echoed into the night.

 

[rissa]

There was a duality to Evan Wyrwood, one that paired nicely with Margo. A yin to her yang. A balance. A resourceful and logic centricity that kept him stable and able to work efficiently with anyone— even her. So when he heard the terrified voice of his older sister, Evan was rooted to the spot with two opposing thoughts. One was of disbelief, of course, as his older sister Evangeline had been in a coma for the past decade. The other, the instinctive desire to protect her at all cost simply screamed at him to find her.

And so he ran and ran and ran. As hard and as fast as he could, straight into the swaying corn field.

"Ange? ANGE?!" Evan yelled, voice thick and pained from the fear that struck his heart.

The hair on the back of his neck raised the deeper and farther he ran into the field, but he ignored it. The gut-wrenching fear that steadily bubbled to the surface. Ange had been living in a hellish nightmare for years, he could handle a few moments of it until they were reunited.

"ANGE!!" Evan yelled out into the void, halting suddenly and spinning in circles, attempting to locate her. Tears welled into his eyes the longer he listened to her pleas of help and desperate screams. It pulled him back to the past and sent him spiraling. He could barely keep air in his lungs, the anxious in-and-out came faster and though he had trained himself to take deep, slow breaths, not of that mattered right now.

None of it mattered.

He could save Evange—

Evan was caught somewhere in the chest and a few things happened at once.

He took air and landed hard on the center of his back. The wind was knocked out of him and what little breath he had been struggling with was lost completely. There was a warmth pooling atop his chest and thought it an odd sensation with the cool rain. Then an awful screech rent through the stalks, ear-splitting and dizzying. It took a moment for Evan to finally come to, to raise his head and realize that whatever had tackled him had jumped back and was clutching it's hand, a foul and disgusting stench emanating from it.

He also realized he was bleeding.

To ease its pain, Evan raised his revolver, having managing to keep it in his grasp when he went down, and cocked the hammer. He had aimed for his head, but perhaps he was dizzier than he realized, for the silver-shelled .357 magnum blew off its burning hand completely.

It screamed again, flattening the stalks of corn nearest in its throes.

Evan tried to move, to get up, but the stars above were spinning around and around and around.

Fuck.

"Sorry, Ange. Sorry, Margo. Sorry, mom." Evan whispered as the creature stalked forward, death in its yellow black eyes.

Guess I fucked up real bad this time.

 

[Mars Walker]

"Evan, no-!" Margo shouted, reaching for Evan, but missing him by inches.

Oh.

This was bad. Very bad. This was worse than what'd happened with Esmeralda Vasco. Vampires were survivable.

But wendigoes? The chances were incredibly slim. Regardless, Margo was going to try.

Margo ran after him, but Evan was much faster than her, his legs stronger, his strength carrying him farther. Whomever it was that the wendigo was mimicking must've been incredibly important for Evan to run off without thinking like that.

If you'd told him it was a wendigo faster, then maybe he wouldn't've taken off. He'd have rationally thought about how to act, and he would've listened. Great job, Margo Warren. Gonna get a man killed tonight because you can't talk fast enough or explain anything well enough. You got too excited again, and now you both might die. You talk so much, but you couldn't say the words that might've kept this situation under control!

Margo swallowed her panic and guilt, following Evan's path through the corn stalks. The ones he'd run past were broken, so it was easy to tell where he'd gone.

But Margo stopped.

Wendigoes were hunters. Great hunters. It would know to steer her off, expecting her to run after Evan. She looked closely at the broken stalks, but there was nothing there to tell her whether it had been done by Evan or the creature. Margo stayed still, listening. She could hear Evan running, somewhere else, and she could also hear the rustling around of the creature.

A screech split through the silence once, and then again a short time later.

Margo ran, fast as her legs could carry her until she could see it, towering and ominous, death incarnate. The ultimate hunter whom none could outrun. Its flesh was ashen and grey, like leather stretched over bones. Claws dirty and sharp, impossibly sharp teeth snaggled and crusted with blood, pieces of dried flesh stuck between them from its last meal.

It seemed preoccupied with Evan, stalking closer and closer to him as he lay vulnerable on the ground.

Margo Warren launched herself onto its back, wrapping her legs around its waist tightly, and hooking the long barrel of her shotgun around its neck, and yanking it backwards to ram into the creature's throat.

"I fuckin' dare you to kill me, ugly bastard! You ain't even got a face a mother can love, you toad-faced-" Margo wheezed as the air left her lungs.

The wendigo reached backwards with inhumanly long arms, digging its dagger-like claws into her back and gripping her by the shoulders to pull her up and over its head, throwing her to the ground in front of Evan, and doing so with just one hand.

Margo's mind buzzed, the skin of her back blazing with pain.

No time to feel the hurt.

Margo pushed herself to her feet as the creature lunged. She drew her silver sword, and it halted, drawing back a few steps with a simmering hiss.

"Yeah. You know what this can do to you, huh?" Margo taunted it, grounding herself with a wider stance. She didn't take her eyes off of it as she spoke to Evan.

"Evan Wyrwood, you're the dumbest dumbass I've ever met. Probably my fault, to be honest. But I'm gonna need you to do somethin' for me, a'right? Stay awake." She said to him, adjusting the grip of her sword as the wendigo began to circle them. She followed it, acting as the only thing separating it from getting to Evan, who for all she knew was dying on the ground.

She wished she'd brought some juniper. Margo made a mental note to make some bullets coated in juniper powder. Or fill some with it.

Margo watched the creature carefully, her breathing ragged with fear that she struggled to contain. Only seconds were passing, but it felt like hours. She noticed the creature's stub where it had been missing a hand was no longer a stub. Bone and tendon and flesh had grown back. Not fully, not yet, but it had regenerated the missing hand. The creature launched at her again, a flash of ugly skin in the night, barely visible if not for the moon. It was a miracle that Margo lifted her silver sword in time, and a miracle that she had the strength to catch its claws with the blade and slice its fingers clean off.

It screamed.The horrible and splitting sound flooded her ears, seeping into every part of her brain, a symphony of horror pounding inside of her skull and shaking her eardrums, rattling her bones. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt something drip from her nose. Covering her ears did nothing to prevent the sound from harming her, and only caused her to drop the sword. She staggered backwards, and when the scream ended, she was surprised to find herself still alive. One quick glance around and she couldn't see the wendigo anywhere.

It was gone.

Gathering all of the strength she had, and all of her audacity, Margo Warren shouted into the night.
"You keep your goddamn distance, or I'll show you the sharp end of a silver dagger! I am not afraid of you, and I can, and will kill you!"

Her declaration rang into the rainy night. She tried to banish her fear, and knelt down next to Evan.

"Hey. You're a real dumbass, you know it?" She huffed, pulling Evan's shirt up to look at his wounds, "These ain't too bad. Just punctures, and not deep either, maybe an inch and a half- nothing vital hit. You're dumb as hell, but you're lucky. So incredibly lucky, Evan Wyrwood." Margo's voice was shaky, and she wiped blood from under her nose before taking off her raincoat and ripping away a piece of fabric from her knitted sweater. She rolled the piece up and placed it over the wounds, then reached into her bag and produced a roll of duct tape from it, ripping four pieces from it to tape the folded fabric to his chest.

Margo patted Evan's head, and stood up again with a grunt, ears ringing and head spinning, "I've never fought a wendigo before. Kinda hoped I'd never have to. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone surviving a serious attack from one's these bastards, but there's a first for everything! Silver hurts these creatures. We need to destroy its heart, and dismembering the creature and burying the separate parts in a church cemetery would be wise. This thing is gonna hunt us until it kills us, or we kill it." She explained, pushing her soaking wet hair out of her face.

"Okay. Hoo—" Margo exhaled loudly, then inhaled and let the breath out again, "Shit, Evan. Fuck. Just stay awake, okay?" She asked him one more time to not fall asleep, while trying to stay upright herself.

A male voice called to Margo from close by, "Mija? Don't be scared, Mija, I'm here for you. I'm here to help, just follow my voice."

It was the voice of her mother's best friend, her beloved tío Luis.

Margo did her best to not react, even though the sound of tío Luis' voice being used in a foul attempt to lure her out alone into the night infuriated her. The fact that the wendigo knew how to use the voices of loved ones she knew for certain hadn't been around in a while told her that this creature was not new to the area.

Her uncle hadn't been in town for months, now. Almost a full year, actually.

"Evan, if you can get up, I need you to get up as slowly as you can, " Margo whispered, still facing him, her back to the cornstalks. The wendigo was just barely visible in the space between the stalks, a few yards behind Margo.

"Don't say anything. Don't look at it. I'm going to turn around, okay? Be ready." She spoke to him, hoping and praying that Evan was coherent enough to hear her, and see her eyes. And all she could do was keep hoping that Evan would either choose to walk away, or shoot the wendigo while she distracted it. Another hiss emanated from the creature. She knew it could hear.

"Alright," Margo inhaled, slowly tightening her grip on the silver dagger in her right hand, "Three. Two-" Before she got to one, she ran right past Evan, and the wendigo followed, pursuing prey. Margo knew that the creature would hone in on her the moment she ran, and she'd hoped that it would pass Evan up- and it did.

Her plan was simple- draw it away from Evan, and hope he could get up to walk away and survive while she held it off, or shoot the wendigo from behind. And also hope that he had been blessed with stunning aim. It wasn't a super sturdy plan, but it was all she could figure, knowing that once this kind of creature had its sight set on something, it would never give up.

The Wendigo struck her across her back again, leaving bleeding rips in her skin that thankfull hadn't managed to slice too deep. Another moment passed, and it knocked her to the ground. She flipped onto her back, before it pinned her, shouting in surprise as it dug its ugly needle-like teeth into her shoulder.

Still holding onto her dagger, Margo plunged the blade into the wendigo's stomach, then its lungs, stabbing again and again and again in an attempt to pierce its heart, the blade searing its flesh with each strike.

 

[rissa]

There was something interesting about falling.

Evan fell between the minute spaces that separated the stars and the wet gravelly soil belonging to the stalks of long forgotten kings.

His head swam.

He could hear every word Margo spoke, could feel the warmth of her hands against his chest as she taped something against the still-bleeding wound. Her warmth felt nice, despite the sharp tang of her insults. Perhaps in spite of them, actually. Evan's eyes were mostly closed, an instinctual reasoning keeping them shut or barely fluttering open to gaze into Margo's blue-autumn eyes. He smiled a bit.

Time was fuzzy in moments like these. Pain did weird things to your brain. Sometimes it overloaded it, sometimes it caused it to slow down. Halt. Freeze in place, stiller than a statue. Stuck. Evan was somewhere in between. It didn't help that he was sleep deprived, having pulled a long shift before arriving and introducing himself to Margo Warren, principle detective of the S.I.D department. He groaned, body acting on instinct and rolling over, attempting to get up as he felt her warmth leave him.

His head still swam with the stars above and the screech from earlier had thoroughly damaged something; his ears were hollow, numb. Evan dragged a hand bemusedly to his ear, the one with the revolver still in it. Both his hand and his gun came away bloody.

There was no more rain to wash away the sight.

Oh well. Evan thought to himself as he struggled to one knee, swaying in the dirt.

He understood, now, why his body wanted him to stay down. Act asleep. Act dead.

The creature... the wendigo, as Margo had put it, didn't spare him a glance when it stalked after her. He got up slowly, because that was the only way he could get up, and the wendigo was too preoccupied with its rampaging to notice Evan creeping closer. In the light of the moon Evan was a yellow-ringed specter, delivering justice with tired grey eyes. He stood above the wendigo that pinned Margo to the ground and shot twice, the six shooter aimed as well as his vision would allow to ensure Margo didn't get hit with anything that went through.

Once in the head. Once in the heart.

To be sure, he grabbed the dagger out of the pocket Margo had described earlier and carved the heart out of its leathery body. It was disgusting, but more so was the stench where his blood and the silver caused the grey skin to burn.

Satisfied and completely spent, Evan fell to the ground and wheezed out a laugh. "I'm hungry, Margo."

 

[Mars Walker]

Evan's blood had burnt the wendigo's flesh.

Evan's blood had burnt the wendigo's flesh!

Margo C. Warren had never seen anything like it happen— never heard of it. The idea of it was insane, actually. Why would his blood be doing damage to the creature?

Was it something the Wyrwoods were even aware of, or something they were hiding?

Margo needed to know more. But there were slightly more pressing matters at hand.

The wendigo's lifeless corpse slumped against her, Evan having killed it beyond regeneration. Margo kicked the now heartless beast off of herself, finding that she was covered in blood. The rotting blood of the Wendigo, and the blood coming from her own wounds— the bite on the shoulder, and some gnarly scratches.

Propping herself up on her elbows to stare at Evan with awe for a second, Margo Warren laughed.

"You're…hah!" Margo snorted, "You're hungry? Wyrwood, you keep getting better and better. Most of the people I get sent woulda been carted off to the looney bin by now, and willingly!" She stood up, wincing, and looking like she'd been in one hell of a catfight.

"First things first, never do that again. You hear something calling to you in any way at all, you don't answer. Second, my business thrives on a buddy system. Do not ever leave me like that again, because it is actually a fuckin' miracle that neither of us died. And you're lucky bites from that type of creature don't turn you into one of them, otherwise, I'd be fucked." She said, gesturing to her still-bleeding shoulder.

"Third, you're paying for dinner." She grinned.

Margo couldn't get the image of Evan wreathed in moonlight out of her head, slaying the Wendigo like he'd done it a thousand times before. Like he was made to do it.

"And last, but not least, I'm taking you to visit a friend of mine. I have a spare set of clothes in the van for each of us, I guessed your sizes. Let's touch base with Mr. Muñoz and then hit up Beck's Burgers and the church cemetery on the way out. Sound like a plan, Wyrwood?" Margo held out a hand to Evan, as if striking a deal.

 

[rissa]

"Yeah, I— ow —figured out that much already. Don't go runnin' after voices in the dark. Understood."

Somehow, Evan managed to climb his way to his feet. His head still swam with the stars above, but at least the world wasn't spinning so harshly. He could tell up from down and the shake in his knees started to simmer away the longer he stayed in one place. Deep, slow breaths. Inhale, exhale. Breathe. Evan did it routinely and took a moment to peer at Margo's wounds. It was hard to tell what blood belonged to her and what blood belonged to the wendigo, but he surmised they weren't too terrible. As long as they stopped bleeding sometime soon.

"I want a report on... literally everything ...before we go out in the field again." Evan coughed out, stretching out his limbs and wincing with his hand to his sternum. He stopped himself from saying if he had known the risks he wouldn't have taken them. It was a useless statement. They both knew so. "Go shore up with Mr. Muñoz and I'll get... these to the van."

He fetched some twine from one of the several compartments around his waist and began hogtying the creatures limbs. Evan wished that'd been the hardest part, but no, it was dragging the creature and it's friend to the back of the S.I.D van from so far out in the fields. From all the rain the ground was a muddy mess, slippery and sticky, refusing purchase to just suck you right in with a nasty squelch. Evan managed it though, somehow, and even managed to retrieve the corpse of the chupacabra as well by the time Margo returned, her eyes still looking a little blue.

"You good to drive?" Evan asked, tossing her the extra clothes she mentioned before and mostly changed himself. "I don't mind drivin' us to Becks."