#beau would love early supernatural I fear

[foxmulderautism]

i fear 23 year old me enjoys the supernatural halloween samhain episode as much as 13 year old me did I’m giggling and kicking my feet

[uncannyarcana]

Excerpt: Uncanny Arcana Chapter 1

Word Count: 1799

There was something quiet in the transition from fall to winter. Summer was a time of activity and motion and energy, and Spring was the cautious, long stretch after waking up. Between those two, when the air turned cool and the world ebbed into a comfortable quiet, filled with toasting fires and snow boots and throws the size of couches, the universe offered a breather. Time for reflection. Preparations for the year to come.

Sleep.

Something Beaumont Saint-Victor very much wanted as she dug through the last boxes from the move earlier that day. Most everything else had been unwrapped and allocated to its new home within a home, from bathroom to living room to kitchen.

“Remind me again why I’m the one cooking tonight?” Essie called from the kitchen. Esther Ramsey, as Beau found out early into their five-year relationship, held many talents, but cooking anything more complicated than premade or frozen dishes, was not on the list. The kitchen and all things culinary were Beau’s domain, and she planned on making a proper house-warming dinner once everything settled, but a full day of back-and-forth from the moving truck and a couple trips to their old places for forgotten left her barely enough energy for her current task. Essie had done an equal amount of work and somehow drew from hidden energy wells

“Because your hot shapeshifter girlfriend strained her back lugging our bed frame upstairs,” she called back from the couch in the living room. “And you need the practice.”

“Aw, poor baby. So if I call Joel he’ll back up that excuse?” From her tone, Beau knew she was joking.

“He’ll probably tell you to remind me to lift with my legs next time.”

She heard Essie laugh from the kitchen and smiled to herself. Joel Brannon had been Beau’s best friend for almost thirteen years and the only one out of the three of them that had the right license for the moving truck. Together he and Beau ran a bakery with a small apartment above it, which they’d shared until a few days ago when the bank approved the mortgage for the new brownstone. He’d helped with the heavy stuff before heading off on a business lead earlier that day, promising to call if anything came of it.

She paused to pick out a newspaper-wrapped object from the box. Folding back the paper, she revealed a black ceramic sculpture. “Does your seal thing go on the mantle or in the bathroom?”

“What seal th—oh, my walrus! He’s the centerpiece of our living room! He’s going on the mantle, of course.” A moment later she muttered, “I’m mildly offended you had to ask that…” Another small jest, though by the volume she wasn’t sure if Essie meant her to hear it. Most others wouldn’t have unless they were standing right next to her. Beau wasn’t most others, though.

Long ago, before the gods had names history remembered and humans were just banding together in larger settlements, magic ebbed and flowed through the world like water in a river, calm and gentle in some places, chaotic and dangerous in others. Creatures of legend walked the same earth as humans, and for a time both coexisted with each other with cautious respect. The old gods were the source of that magic, and as a gift to their most devout followers, shared some of that power, creating the first Uncanny beings. Shapeshifters, vampires, and witches. Able to control small magical facets within themselves, they eventually found their place in the world, from valiant protectors to cruel overlords.

As more organized religion spread, Uncanny found themselves pushed to the shadows in fear of being destroyed in the name of new gods that drew followers with conquest in mind. Eventually, magic and monsters went the way of legend. Entire species went extinct. Those who managed to stay alive long enough to pass their gift also passed their fears and hesitations of interacting with their human cousins to the next generation. It was safer skirting and surviving in the dark than exposing themselves in the light.

In Beau’s case, risking a peek out from under the curtain had reaped pleasant results. She’d met Essie in the bakery while the latter was finishing her Master’s degree at the local college. At first Essie’s excuse had been its close proximity to campus and the free Wi-Fi. Then it progressed to good food and strong tea. Next the student discount that only applied to her, which Beau swore wasn’t as exclusive as she made it out to be. The final step came when Essie asked Beau to a movie after she closed up for the night. They’d been together ever since.

After an altercation with another Uncanny local on Essie’s behalf, Beau fully drew the curtain back, easing her into the fact all the creatures she loved researching and tracking were in fact real, and most held day jobs because rent was a bitch no matter the species.

Sometimes supernatural senses had their drawbacks, Beau reminded herself. The memory of the first time she spent the night at Essie’s apartment came to mind. The walls had actually been a decent thickness, but the damn neighbors hadn’t understood the concept of consideration, and nothing was a better mood-killer than the muffled, rhythmic beating of a headboard against a shared wall.

At least Essie hadn’t suffered through the other sounds.

She snorted with a short laugh and went over to the fireplace, placing the walrus in its new home beside their little Hearth Guardian. A housewarming gift from their friend Kat, a witch and a well-respected doctor in the city., The stained ash wood sculpture was about four inches tall and carved in the shape of a housecat. It helped ward off bad energies, she’d explained as she finished etching a protection sigil underneath the doormat that morning. Beau scooted the two figurines closer together before returning to her spot on the couch. More items found their places in the living room, things equal parts hers and Essie’s, and soon Beau moved onto a larger box labeled “Bedroom.” A small knot settled in her stomach.

“Hey, babe?” she called over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go put some stuff upstairs. Holler if you need me.”

“I promise not to burn down the house while you’re gone.”

Beau half-smiled, but the feeling swirling in her gut was neither pleasant nor welcome. Wordlessly, she ascended the stairs, box balanced in one arm as she stepped over the baby gate that kept Strudel, their Cairn Terrier mix, on the ground floor. His bowl, bed, and toys had been some of the first things they’d configured in the new place, and he had resigned himself to snuggling up in his plush bed beside the unlit fireplace as his parents continued redecorating.

The master bedroom was the second door on the right, preceded by the one full bathroom, and across the hall from what would become Essie’s editing studio. Beside that was a small guest bedroom that still needed furnishing, but that would come in a day or so.

Beau nudged their bedroom door open with her foot and slipped inside. Looking around, it seemed almost complete save for what she held in the box. Beau set it down on her side of the bed, closest to the door, and cut the tape seal on top with the pocket knife she kept in her back pocket. Most of its contents consisted of personal knick-knacks and memorabilia, mostly Essie’s, which Beau either put aside for her to position how she liked or returned them to their places from memory.

Her things filled out the bottom. She didn’t have quite as much as Essie, considering that not so long ago her life had been ill-suited for collections. Still, each one was taken out and put in its place with care, their range only going as far as her nightstand. When she came to the last item, hidden away underneath everything else, she paused. It was a black wooden box just large enough to house a few manila folders, tape recorder reels, and an old picture with singed edges. Beau stared at it for a long time, almost afraid to touch it, lest the things inside would spill out and somehow pull her down a road she never wanted to walk again. A familiar tightness filled her chest.

Five things. Count five things present with you right now, Beau’s grounding techniques echoed in her head.

The bed, her pillow, Essie’s pillow, the lamp, the window. She breathed in, held it for seven seconds, and slowly released. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Beau grabbed the box and slid it under the bed. Then she turned and went back downstairs.

Miraculously, the house hadn’t caught fire while Essie was left unsupervised, and the smells that greeted Beau at the kitchen entrance made her mouth water. She made an exaggerated sniffing noise as she padded up behind Essie.

“As I live and breathe, is that progress I smell?” she asked, exaggerating her southern-Louisiana drawl while gently wrapping her arms around the shorter woman’s waist. Short wasn’t very fair, though. Average, Beau should say, in height and build. Essie played softball back in her college days, and had the sweatshirt to prove it, although nowadays it functioned as a sleep shirt, which she paired with a set of baggy sweatpants and tube socks.

Essie laughed, the sound light and pleasant. “Maybe you should have more faith in your girlfriend, Saint-Victor.” Habitually she pushed her glasses back up. “Everything go okay upstairs?”

“Yeah, just had to take a minute.”

“The box?”

“Mm-hm.”

Essie’s shoulders dropped a bit, but only for a moment, before she turned and offered Beau a taste of the stew. Beau took it, carefully considering the flavor.

“Needs more spice,” she admitted, swallowing.

“You do realize you live with someone from Atlanta,” Essie said flatly, going back to stirring the pot.

“Atlanta’s still in the south. And a little heat’s good for the winter. Clears your sinuses, warms you up. ‘Specially now that’s getting cold out.”

“That’s why God invented coffee, hon’.”

Beau hummed a response, resting her chin on Essie’s shoulder when the latter leaned back, taking in the coconut scent of her dark hair. She kept it up in a loose ponytail more often than not, a stark difference to Beau’s smoky black hair buzzed close at the sides and only slightly longer on top, hinting at natural waves. “But, seriously, it’s great. Reminds me of home.” They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the bubbling of the pot and Strudel’s tags clinking together as he trotted into the room, impatient for his own dinner.

And then Beau’s cell phone rang.