And I fear no evil because I'm blind to it all, and my mind and my gun they comfort me, because I know I'll kill my enemies when they come
Nicknames: Does Clayton count given that its his surname? He grew up in boarding school so honestly he finds it weird if anyone uses his first name
Magic status: Mundus
Nationality: English
Ethnicity: White
Accent: Ridiculously posh
Height: 6â˛1
Build: Lean, kind of athletic
Complexion: Fair
Eye color: Hazel
Hair color/length/style: Essentially this, though clean shaven
Tattoos/piercings/daily jewelry:Â A University of Cambridge class ring that he wears on the little finger of his right hand
What would you find if you Googled them? Not much, maybe some information on his father the Baron, maybe a few columns from his day writing for the paper, but heâs careful not to have too much online
What natives would know about them: Moved to town early last year in a house had custom built in the Woods neighbourhood, and is the current Sheriff
Other: He keeps most of his hunting pretty hush hush (even the legal stuff) because its not particularly popular nowadays; has a lot of friends in high places back in London but only a few connections in Swynlake; used to write for the Daily Telegraph
Set in the early hours of the morning, 26th August 2023
Read about the night before here
He had to leave.
This town had been nothing but a pain in his neck since he had arrived. That stupid woman throwing herself in the way of that unicorn was just the beginning of it. How many times had he almost been killed by some disaster caused by a child, or pestered relentlessly by those whose lives were so boring that they had nothing better to do than to seek out problems? He should've left long ago.
The timing was terrible, of course. He couldn't go back to Larchwood; if that man in the forest had caught a glimpse of his face then it was far too risky. He was too much of a public figure for things to be discreet, and news would travel quickly. Isabela would get the message when he wasn't at the alter to meet her. A shame, really. She would've been good at running the estate. His mother would have to keep an eye on it for now.
At The Lodge he stuffed a duffel bag with clothes, gadgets, things he couldn't live without. He had made a plan for something like this, of course. If you were going to play dangerous games, you had to be prepared to face the consequences. Or... not, as the case may be. He left the boot open on the Range Rover, throwing the bag in the back, followed by his gun cases, an entire arsenal neatly packed away. He wouldn't dare leave them behind, and besides, it wasn't like he was going through airport security.
He had a few calls to make, but he wasn't going to hang around. He closed the car boot and hopped in, peeling out of Swynlake at a speed that, admittedly, was rather suspicious. Not that he cared, though. Not anymore. He just had to get away from this backwards hole in the ground.
The first call was to his cousin -- he needed Harry's plane, and a pilot along with it, if he was going to get away without any fuss. There was an airstrip they used, not too far away, for their more illicit dealings. Clayton could leave the car, have someone pick it up and put it into storage, or leave it there to rot, for all he cared. It didn't matter, not to him. All that mattered now was being in the air by the time the sun came up.
The second call was to a man he had comissioned a few times before, one who could be trusted, he hoped. Again, he wasn't much sure he cared, but he needed The Lodge packed up and emptied out, its contents taken to a stoage locker in Central London, before anyone could notice it was happening. It would be expensive, but it needed to be done, he supposed.
He thought about calling his mother to explain, and then decided against it. He would do all of that later, from the air. Maybe once he had landed, even. He done what he needed to for now, the important things.
Swynlake faded away behind him, and Clayton bid it good riddance. He had always been far too good for this place, and he was glad to wash his hands of it for good.
Sophie swallowed thickly. Surely, he didn't think she was a threat. She couldn't even look up to his gaze. And he was the sheriff, who was she supposed to tell about his indiscretions? His coworkers, who could very well be sitting in that booth in the corner?
You're the type of man who is accustomed to getting away with these things. That's why you're so brazen to discuss these matters in public, she thought. And yet, he can still find her guilty for just being in his presence.
An ill advised streak of bravery came about in Sophie. There was no justice in a powerful man strong arming her into submission. He was a plague, a sickness in this beautiful place. "Looks can be deceiving, Sheriff, I agree. I won't be inconveniencing you and your friends any-- any longer... but thank you for the offer."
She tried to hold strong and confident, faltering still in her resolve. Sophie Hadder lifted her chin, slowed her heaving breath, and pushed his money back towards him on the counter. She had to escape now.
Everyone was a threat. When you dealt in the type of hobbies that he did, even the smallest, meekest do-gooder was a threat if there was the risk of them opening their mouth.
Clayton's eyes narrowed momentarily. Look at her, this little bird, puffing up her feathers to seem all big and strong, forgetting that her bones were hollow, that her wings could be clipped with no effort at all.
He could've said something. Reminded her of how fragile she really was. But instead he only watched her, his eyes narrowed, as she left the bar.
He returned to his table, slipping into the booth.
"What was that about?" Oskar huffed, huddled over a half-empty pint.
"Nothing much." Clayton said. "Just a loose end to tie up."
He let them go back to their conversation, pulling his phone from his back pocket to text Gem, telling him to meet him at The Lodge as soon as he was available.
Gil had been doing this long enough to know that poachers usually kept to big cities when they werenât actively on the hunt. There was a sense of anonymity there, where one could easily blend into a crowd and disappear. Big cities were easy bases. No one asked questions or poked around too much â and local law enforcement was often too strapped with regular crimes to pay much attention.
Now, it could be that there was a hunt going on. Like the black unicorn, Gil thought with a pang. He shouldâve paid more attention, but with Rogers taking leave, they were down a creature expert. Gil made a mental note to add that to his regular duties, and maybe get Hawkins and Shiftwell to take some of that on as well.
Samaras stopped in front of a row of apartments, and Gil took this moment to pretend to take a call, so that he too could stop â a good distance away, of course. Â
Evangelos pulled his phone out of his back pocket - a burner phone, obviously; he rotated through them every few weeks, but he had this one for the duration of his stay in England, which would hopefully be mercifully short - and thumbed through the contacts, looking for the boss. He had been in town longer than any of them, so he would know if this was a decent spot or not. Really, he should be the one finding them a place, but he supposed that was what all those rich fucks did. Hired out people like him to do the leg work.
The phone rang and rang until eventually it went to voicemail and he huffed, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He tried the door handle quickly, but it didn't budge. Needed some kind of card or fob by the looks of things. He took a step back, looking up at the flats again; flats were tricky because there was a lot of people around who could potentially overhear things they shouldn't. But, then again, the amount of people coming and going was a good cover for a band of rough and ready looking men like Envagelos and the rest of the crew. If his type were going to be found anywhere, it was a shithole like this.
He reached into his other pocket now, pulling out a coil of long, thin wire. With little finesse, he jammed it one side of the lock, trying to poke it out through the other, when he realised he probably should have checked to see if anyone was looking.
Evangelos turned, looked left and right. A couple walking away, their backs turned. Some suit making a phonecall, probably corporate bullshit. Still, he couldn't take the risk, lest some do gooders tell the cops. Although, would it really matter even if they did? Given that the sheriff was his boss...
Evangelos returned the wire to his pocket and kept walking, pulling his hood up over his head.
Sophie could feel her blood pressure raising, a sensation one gets used to when you can spontaneously age forty years. Though, Clayton didn't make her nervous in the way her curse would activate. He made her nervous with fear.
She glanced just past his elbow, behind him to his loud posse then back to him. It was a minuscule action, but surely the hunter took note. Sophie felt like a doe in his sights. The hammer was clicked into place and there was no escape of the cold, calculated stare now.
"I-I I wouldn't say that. I wouldn't say they are... I mean, it's a pub. Who isn't a little rowdy?" She responded, keeping it light and cursing her timid nature for making her look a lot more guilty. "A-And I'm not really. Not really a surprise, though I supposed I don't exactly look like I belong here..."
She was nervous. She seemed like a nervous kind of girl, in all fairness. Some people were; Clayton had been born with a confidence that settled in his bones, born of being the only son, the heir to land, a title, a fortune. What had he ever had to be nervous about, when the world was catered to him? Clayton had never once even paused and thought that perhaps he should be nervous, because there was no situation that he couldn't turn around to ensure that it went his way.
He looked at her as she stammered and stumbled, nodding slowly. He had noted the way her eyes flicked over his shoulder and back, the way she seemed to want to shrink down to the size of a mouse so that she could scurry away. Like he said, he knew that she was nervous.
Good. She should be.
"Looks can be deceiving." He said, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Shame, though, we were rather hoping for some privacy. They aren't the type of men who want to be overheard, really." He turned to look at them himself, letting her get another good look at them before he continued. "But, never mind - we'll be going. And here," He reached into his pocket, pulling out more than enough money to cover his meal. "For the inconvenience. I'm sure you can understand that mine and my friends' conversation stays in these four walls, can't you?"
A statement about the events at the annual Lantern Festival:
As everyone is no doubt aware, last Sundayâs Lantern Festival was interrupted by an unfortunate series of events that ended proceedings and left one person injured. Whilst we are sure that many of Swynlakeâs residents are concerned about the possibility of further similar incidents, after a thorough investigation by the Sheriffâs Office, no charges are being pressed against either Elinor Dunbroch or Gaston DâAvenant for their respective roles in these events. Any citizens who still have concerns are welcome to contact the Sheriffâs Office directly.
Claytonâs jaw worked as he turned around again. This stupid boy. Who did he think he was? Who did he think he was talking to? Clayton resisted the urge to smack him straight across his self righteous face. Did Gem not understand that it was far too late for him to be a good man? Better to accept what he was and do what he was told than try to force a lie.
âIâm sorry,â Clayton said slowly, voice low, a warning. âHave you forgotten the terms of our agreement? There is no option â I give you an order and you do it. That is, if you enjoy life as a free man.â
Gem felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. And, yeah, he knew what that felt like. In prison at Abracadabra he hadn't had his magic. He'd been cold and damp and unable to get warm, just like everyone else.
He knew if he walked out of this office, that would be what he was facing. And for longer. Maybe the rest of his life.
The idea made his heart gallop along in his chest. Made bile rise in the back of his throat. Made his hands hot and his feet hot--despite the cold--he felt like a bomb. Maybe he'd just light this bloody house on fire. See how Clayton liked it.
For all Gem's faults, and he had plenty of them--he was mostly faults, actually--he wasn't going to burn some innocent girl's house down. Not on purpose.
The irony of getting thrown in jail for that was not lost on him.
"Freedom's overrated." Gem lied a lot, but this was probably the biggest one he ever told. He felt ready to breathe fire.
He was bluffing, of course. No man would rather go to jail and spend the next twenty or so years looking at a badly painted breezeblock wall thinking of all the things he was missing on the outside than being out and about in the world. Gem was young. He should be out, having fun. Enjoying the freedom he had now that he was out.
And yet here he was, wasting it. Throwing it away for what? A girl he didnât know, who likely didnât know and wouldnât care to know that he existed. A girl who would take one look at him and then her nose up in derision
Well then. Perhaps Gem didnât deserve his freedom anyhow.
âYou can go.â Clayton said, turning away from him. âDonât come back.â
Clayton arched an eyebrow. None of this was any of Gemâa business, and Gem should know that. This wasnât how they operated. Clayton said jump, and Gem said how high? There were no questions of motive, no moral quandaries.
Clayton looked at Gem for a long moment before he answered. âThatâs not any of your concern. Tell me when itâs done.â He said, beginning to turn back towards the computer.
In prison, he'd met a lot of people. Only some of them actually deserved to be there. Most of them were like him. Magicks in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting chewed up and spat out by an unforgiving system. There were few people who were like this:
Cool. Calculating. Unbothered by the idea of crime.
Most of those prisoners were probably in the Mundus prisons.
Go figure.
There were a lot of things Gem was willing to do for Clayton. Fetch his random deliveries. Deliver messages to his weirdo friends or accomplices or whatever. He'd sell drugs. Because he felt like this was the only way he'd make money. Once you were caught in the cycle of criminality, there wasn't much you could do. And Gem was helpless against its currents.
But this--
"No," Gem said. He tossed the crumpled address back on the table. "I'm not burning someone's house down without a good reason. Whatever you think of me: I'm. not. doing. it."
Claytonâs jaw worked as he turned around again. This stupid boy. Who did he think he was? Who did he think he was talking to? Clayton resisted the urge to smack him straight across his self righteous face. Did Gem not understand that it was far too late for him to be a good man? Better to accept what he was and do what he was told than try to force a lie.
âIâm sorry,â Clayton said slowly, voice low, a warning. âHave you forgotten the terms of our agreement? There is no option â I give you an order and you do it. That is, if you enjoy life as a free man.â
Claytonâs eyes narrowed as he looked at Gem. Perhaps he had said it too casually; perhaps he had allowed Gem to think that there was room for argument when in fact, there was no such thing. This wasnât a request â it was an order.
âWell, thatâs rather the point.â He said idly, watching Gem from his seat. âIf youâre careful it shouldnât be traced back to you. Even if anyone gets any bright ideas, I can make them go away. But it needs to be soon. The sooner the better.â
Gem's heart was racing. He could feel his hands trying to spark inside of his gloves. The magic suppressing the heat, but for how long? His fingers curled, crushing the address in his fingers. Clayton's promises of making it go away were...barely anything at all. They didn't touch the edges of Gem's panic.
He should just do it. What did it matter? No one would be shocked to find out it was him.
That was who he was. This was who he was.
He desperately didn't want it to be.
"Why?" he said, voice lava-hot. "What could she possibly have done to you?"
Clayton arched an eyebrow. None of this was any of Gemâa business, and Gem should know that. This wasnât how they operated. Clayton said jump, and Gem said how high? There were no questions of motive, no moral quandaries.
Clayton looked at Gem for a long moment before he answered. âThatâs not any of your concern. Tell me when itâs done.â He said, beginning to turn back towards the computer.
Well, that might make things easier. Gem seemed like the type to act all tough and then get sentimental, which was exactly his downfall. Sentimentality was for women and idiots; Clayton wouldnât let anything like that get in his way.
He turned back to his desk, found the note he had written with Sophieâs address on it, and held it out to Gem.
âThatâs her address,â he said, nodding to the paper. âI need you to burn it down.â
Gem took the piece of paper offered to him with cautious, gloved fingers. Though, he did it instinctively. This was usually how it went. Gem received an address and was told to go, fetch. Then burn the note to hide the evidence. He was used to it by now.
He was not used to being told to burn someone's house down.
Gem laughed.
"What? Are you insane? You don't think that's a little--conspicuous."
Gem's heart had started to race. After all, arson was what he'd gone to prison for the first time. He felt his palms starting to itch, his stomach rolled.
Claytonâs eyes narrowed as he looked at Gem. Perhaps he had said it too casually; perhaps he had allowed Gem to think that there was room for argument when in fact, there was no such thing. This wasnât a request â it was an order.
âWell, thatâs rather the point.â He said idly, watching Gem from his seat. âIf youâre careful it shouldnât be traced back to you. Even if anyone gets any bright ideas, I can make them go away. But it needs to be soon. The sooner the better.â
