Saturday, April 7th, 2009 4:00 p.m.
Location: Woolwich Home for the Mildly Abandoned™
Tagline: "Tragically Aspiring to Arkham Since 1934"
Woolwich was not a building.
It was an apology in brick form.
It sat squat and angry on the edge of London like it had been exiled for crimes against architecture. The sign out front had been graffitied into honesty:
"Home for the Mildly Abandoned™"
Now featuring spiritual decay, chipped hope, and asbestos.
The place had Arkham Asylum dreams but budget soap opera funding. Paint peeled in sociopolitical protest. The hedges actively tried to flee. Seraphina parked the trailer outside and considered cleansing the area with holy water and retail therapy.
She pressed the buzzer.
BZZZRT.
A voice crackled through, already irritated.
"What do you want?"
Seraphina leaned into the speaker, all regal wrath and unsettling cheer.
"I'm here to collect my cousin. Caius Grey."
Silence.
Then visible panic as a camera twitched and zoomed. A face blanched.
"…Come in."
Inside was worse.
The lobby smelled like hand sanitizer and unresolved trauma. Plastic chairs wept existentially. The wallpaper had given up hope and started molting.
Mrs. Feldwick, the matron, materialized from behind a reinforced security door like she'd been summoned by the word "lawsuit." She was brittle. Beady-eyed. Smelled of burnt toast and fear.
And she was ready to vent.
"Oh, thank MERLIN," she wheezed. "Please take him. Just take him."
She proceeded to emotionally dump twenty years of suppressed child-wrangling into Seraphina's lap like she was the magical child services hotline.
"Did you know he speaks to things that don't blink? Refuses therapy. Predicted my accountant's death to the hour. Makes the hallway lights flicker on purpose!"
Seraphina sipped her thermos tea.
"And that's different from a toddler how?" she asked flatly.
"He named a crow 'Gerald' and it's now our CFO."
"That's initiative."
Feldwick shoved a clipboard at her. A Non-Disclosure Magical Agreement with the energy of a cursed user manual.
Highlighted clauses included:
If subject becomes violent, not our fault.
If subject causes apocalypse, please recycle.
If subject becomes Dark Lord, we knew nothing.
If anyone dies, we blame bad parenting (not ours).
If subject owns pets class 9 or higher, not our problem.
Seraphina squinted. "Does this place survive purely through waivers?"
"Yes," Feldwick replied without blinking. "And hush money."
They passed retinal scanners, breath analyzers, and a suspicious amount of anti-possession wards for a children's home.
"Why do you need three biometric locks on one child?"
"Because he locked us in the freezer. With runes. Twice."
"Again. Toddler energy."
They reached Room 103, sealed like it housed Chernobyl secrets. Gospel music was blaring faintly through the door, like the building was trying to exorcise him with Beyoncé-flavored hymns.
Mrs. Feldwick tapped a keycard labeled "INMATES crossed out CHILDREN."
The door hissed open.
Caius Everen Grey sat cross-legged in the center of a warded pentagram, flanked by a crow with gold eyeliner, a cat with visible trust issues, and something invisible making wet chewing sounds.
His hair was white-storm silver, face unreadable, body still. A magic suppression cuff clung to his ankle like a guilty secret. The carpet was slightly singed. The lightbulbs trembled.
"Caius," Seraphina said evenly.
He looked up.
Razor eyes. Murder posture.
Then:
"You brought snacks."
"No, I brought consequences." She approached. "Let's go."
She knelt, touched the cuff. It pulsed. Whined.
She met his gaze. "On three."
The matron winced. "Maybe we "
Clink.
The lock fell. Magic snapped.
The air rippled. Light flared. The wallpaper peeled in panic. Gerald the CFO-crow cawed in holy joy.
Caius exhaled. "Gods, that's better."
Then immediately attempted to incinerate a floor tile.
She caught his wrist. "Not today. Save your tantrum for Tuesday."
"Fine," he muttered. "Where's the trailer?"
"Outside. Probably being judged by your chaos menagerie like Indian aunties at a wedding."
"They're very discerning."
They turned to leave
Only for two staff members to sprint into the hallway with clipboards.
"Wait! You need to sign more forms!"
"...Seriously?" Seraphina muttered.
Caius deadpanned, "This is a stalling tactic."
They glanced at the clock. At the door. At each other. Sweat beaded.
Someone was supposed to arrive.
No one did.
Seraphina signed with a flourish that probably summoned three minor demons.
Caius smiled. Her smile. Murder smile. Family smile.
"Too late," he said brightly. "We're the problem now."
And with that, they walked out
Cousins. Royals. Survivors.
And deeply done with this establishment's aesthetic.
The trailer purred. The crow winked. The invisible thing burped.
Chaos reunited.
The world?
Had about five minutes of peace left.