Crossroads Texas, as explained by Margo Warren, was a
special place. While she stated it was the intersecting ley lines and the constant supernatural activity, Evan argued it was its mild year-round temperature. It never seemed to get too hot or too cold and its rainy season barely lasted an entire month. When snow came, it was usually gone before Valentines. It was a paradise, really, one that just so happened to be riddled with magic and creatures belonging to the night. Evan chuckled as he turned the ignition off and buttoned up his overcoat.
Margo thinks it's a paradise because
of all the weirdness.
Evan wished he was still ignorant of the whole mess, (most of the time at least) but after a year of working with Warren, he had to admit the little oddities had grown on him. There was a sense of satisfaction when he could help someone so many others had ignored or given up on. There was shame too, knowing that a year ago, he would have been one of those people who'd laugh and brush off the crazy claims.
He knew better now. Margo had seen to that.
Evan got out and locked his car (three times, as that was his lucky number) and hurried into the station, a light flurry of snow chasing him inside. Lucy, the receptionist stopped him halfway across the main floor with a stack of mail belonging to the S.I.D. department. So— for Margo. He nodded his thanks and took the stairs down to the basement, where the Supernatural Investigation Department was set up. He unlocked the door with an old skeleton key and plopped the stack of mail on Margo's desk once he was done restacking some books that'd been knocked over in her haste to leave earlier.
Cleaning was nothing new to him. He'd cleaned and organized and
reorganized this office more times than he could count. It was useless, though, as it always ended up a mess. With a sigh, he stopped the manic fussing and simply stepped over the new row of old grimoires and textbooks that'd been donated by an old friend of Margo's and shuffled over to his desk. Evan stared at the package on his desk, a small white box with a thick red ribbon haphazardly tied into a bow. He knew Margo's handiwork and her handwriting.
Meet me at Shackles! And MAKE SURE you have this on!
"The bar…?" Evan said aloud, reading the short note over and over again to be sure he read it correctly. "What would Margo be doing there?"
Nervously, Evan untied the bow and peeked inside. What he found was the most atrocious Christmas sweater he'd ever seen. Handknit from the look of it, with felt and bells and unfurred yarn all strewn together to create— Evan tilted his head this way and that, trying to piece together what he was looking at.
The stitched
"I howl for Santa" eventually clued him in and with a defeated sigh, put on the ugly werewolf sweater and made his way back upstairs, into his car, and drove the seven blocks to Shackles Bar and Grill. He'd forgotten all about their annual Ugly Sweater competition.
Guess he and Margo would be this year's winners.
@Mars Walker hehehe
