‘Miss Weathers, you are being assigned a Muse by the department. Due to your rather…spotty record, we have decided this is a matter requiring some force. You and your muse; who is also under parole, must go through a three week trial period before acceptance or rejection is possible. ’
Blaine frowned across at the uptight Unit assistant, the paper proclaiming her fate held loosely in her hand.
‘Three weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘No, no Miss Weathers we are not. It’s been three years now since you lost your muse and while we understand how difficult this must be for you, the Department has expectations to meet. We have been lenient with you, considering your…obvious talent. But enough is enough Miss Weathers. You can consider this your last chance.’

                                                                         -

The conversation played over and over again in Blaine’s head as she took the bus downtown into Old Morrow. Finally, after three years the DCA had had enough of her. As the Unit assistant had said, this was her last chance, and much as she hated it she knew she would have to make this work, or kiss her writing career goodbye. Looking down and the orders for the hundredth time her eyes skimmed over the address she had been given.
Number 13, Tanglewood Grove.
What a name, right out of a goddamn fairytale. But then, what wasn’t these days. Even in the Upper city everything was draped in the old world glamour of Grimm fairytales. Old world charm was the New world vogue. The only difference was, down here, where the world was falling apart, it was more than a passing fashion. It was who they were.

The bus pulled over and she was unceremoniously digested onto the pavement. She lit a cigarette, looked around. Taking in the crooked buildings, peeling paint and waterlogged posters, eyes ironically catching a Muse Wanted notice, the words typed out in bold black letters, ink running in the rain, tattered edges tacked down with some kind of cheap adhesive that clearly wasn’t doing a very good job.
She sniffed, flipped up the collar of her coat and set off down the street, eyes flashing fever bright in the afternoon gloom and rain as they flicked over the fading curlique street signs. A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she passed each outlandish name. This was it, the old city. The place where; metaphorically speaking, the shit had hit the fan, so long ago. It was fitting in its way that she would end up here of all places, when she had spent her whole life running away from anything and everything that reminded her of this world.

There were, it seemed, very few other people around. A couple dark figures hurried past her, obscured by the silver haze of rain. But they kept their heads down and Blaine didn’t complain. She got a little lost somewhere between Grim Warding and Harlow Road but she stopped to ask directions from a little lady in a clear plastic raincoat, loaded down with shopping bags, and she pointed a stubby figure across the road.
Blinking the water out of her eyes, Blaine nodded a thank you and crossed the street. Her boots splashing in the dirty puddles collected on the sagging asphalt, and stepped up onto the pavement, looking up at number 13, Tanglewood Grove…though where they had got the Grove bit from was completely beyond her. The Tanglewood too for that matter.
Everything around her was a numbing concrete grey, from crumbling bricks to rain darkened pavement, even Blaine was a creature lacking in color, dark curls plastered to her skin, the collar of her black coat flipped up in an attempt to keep out the water, her eyes dark and wide as she looked up at the house.
The only things of color on the entire street it seemed were the cherry embers of her dying cigarette and the red door, the number 13 etched out in tarnished brass upon the number plate. But there certainly weren’t any trees or tangles or otherwise natural objects in this warren of humanity and Fae.
There was the 13 though.
Not the best of numbers according to most of the world. Even five years back at the end of the leprechaun uprising when the Umpire had decreed it a lucky day, people had grumbled. Old habits die hard as they say, and in a world of walking fairytales it was hard not to be suspicious and avoid things like black cats, cracked pavement and walking under ladders.
Blaine was different though. She had been born on a Friday. Yup you guessed it, unlucky 13. Throughout her life that number had gained a certain significance. Things happened around 13’s. They weren’t always good, but they were something. And looking up at the tarnished numbers on the red door she reckoned it was a good sign that she was seeing this now. She needed a beginning, and her number showing up in this of all places showed that maybe she wasn’t in such a dead end after all.
She dropped the cigarette onto the pavement and pushed open the doorway, taking in the dim lit interior with a slight frown. The apartment building was quite old, even by this areas standard. The premises a strange mix between old fashioned gloom and half hearted renovations, piles of boxes still stacked sporadically on the sides of the hallway and in corners away from the light. She had been told to be here at 9:00 but apart from the low WAT light bulbs swinging from the ceiling, the open door and the faint smell of coffee drifting down the hall she would have said the place was deserted. She shoved her hands into her pockets once more, dripping onto the floor as she stood uncertain upon the threshold and listened for any sort of sound.
Cautious, she walked over to the built in alcove that seemed to hold the register, and tapped halfheartedly on the old brass bell.
“Hello?” Silence.
“Anybody home…”A faint clinking from down the hall.
She tried the bell once more, just in case and finally someone poked their head out of a doorway somewhere near the vicinity of the coffee smell. It was an old man, small and thin, with a few tenacious whisps of white hair still clinging to his head and an alarming pair of bottle end glasses. He looked momentarily startled upon seeing her, but quickly broke into a smile and shuffled down the hall to greet her.
Blaine met him halfway and shook his hand, leaning down slightly so it wasn’t too much of a reach.
“Hi, I’m Blaine Weathers.”
“Yes, yes, the writer, we have been expecting you.” He grinned, waving a hand haphazardly behind him. “Already have the coffee made, you see. I am Ponticus, the manager of this building. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise I’m sure.”
“Come, the others are round the back, I’ll just get the coffee and take you through. All very exciting isn’t it. We haven’t had a new tenant since Alexander moved in, and that was quite some time ago.” He said, turning and bumbling back into the room he had emerged from. Blaine followed, trying not to look confused.
“Tenant? Is someone is moving in?” She asked, smiling in a friendly way, though it fell a bit when Ponticus turned back to look at her and adjusted the glasses on his nose.
“They didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me?”
“Yes. Cant say I am all that surprised. Not that it matters much. We can just go and collect your things later on.” He patted her arm, gathered the tray and started walking towards another doorway. Blaine stood still for a couple of moments then leapt after him, beginning to get truly worried.
“I’m sorry, but. What do you mean.”
“You are the tenant dear.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“And I have to move in here?”
“I believe so.”
“With you and the Muse?”
“And a few others, yes.”
“Says who?”
“Well the DCA of course. I suppose they must have given you a different letter. They always were the most terribly disorganized government branch. But no harm done I suppose. You can look at the letter later on. It is one of the requirements of your probation.. You and the muse must reside together for three weeks. Ah, here we are.”
Blaine blinked and followed him through the door, mind turning over the new information like some sort of marble, trying to figure out what the hell had happened and why she hadn’t been informed. It was about then that she saw him, sitting on the other side of the room.
He… burned.
Not literally, which wasn’t that far fetched a context since Demon mingling had been legalized. But everything about him seemed too bright. Even sitting in a dusty green armchair with his hair hanging in his eyes, elbows resting on his knees and a cigarette held loosely in one hand (one bonus so far, that smoking indoors seemed to be allowed). He was the sort of person you saw photos of in dusty storybooks or ancient family albums. The kind of person who died young. Simply because someone like that couldn’t exist in a world like this for too long. They were too different, too bright, intense, dangerous… They burned out.
He took a drag of the cigarette.
Blaine blinked.
And then it was gone. He was just a man, about her age, tired looking, with the sleeves of his white button up shirt rolled back and a sardonic smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, his features still mostly hidden in shadow. He stood up. Or more appropriately, unfurled, stretching backwards cat like until his back clicked, and offered his spare hand to Blaine as she walked over.
They shook, eyed each other and Ponticus coughed awkwardly, having deposited the coffee tray on a corner table. Blaine broke the shake, but kept her eyes on him, judging, wary.
“So you’re the muse.”
“So you’re the washed up writer.”
She smiled, slightly. “Guess I am.”
Looking away, she let her eyes cover the rest of the room, taking in the shabby furnishings. Trappings of former splendor fallen into a sort of shady comfort that most likely resulted in a few bruises every now and again when one fell through a piece of rotted furniture or stubbed your toe on a crouching enchanted side-table. All in all it was about the same as the other rooms they had walked through getting here, but with a slightly more lived in feel.
“You…lived here long?”
“A while.”
“You like it?”
He smiled again, distractingly. “Well enough. I can give you the grand tour later on if you want. Ponticus here is rather proud of the old girl. She’s been around for a long time. One of the last of her kind.”
“Yes, she seems rather older than anything I’m used to. Are there many tenants?”
“A few, there is myself and Ponticus of course. A family of Were’s live on the fourth floor and Vialin lives in number 10, but he’s harmless really. Then there is Dominik, who has stories about Alice White and her grandmother Snow that will curl your toes. And Sadie…the cat, who belongs to Mrs Musgrove.” He took another drag of the cigarette and flicked his eyes over her. “You’ll be moving in upstairs, number 7.”
“Number 7? What are the chances…”
“You mean the 13? Ya well, I’ve always thought they were a bit hard done by. 13 has always been lucky for me.”
Blaine stared at him. He stared back. Then Ponticus shuffled over with a rather elaborate antique key clutched in his hand, gesturing for her to follow. And the Muse smiled that smile again and swept his arms forward, gesturing that she go first. She paused.
“I just realized, I don’t know your name. They didn’t have it on the form and…I’m Blaine Weathers.”
He inclined his head. “I’m Alexander. Alexander Tarrus. We’d better not keep Ponticus waiting…”
“No I suppose not.”
Living at Number 13 Tanglewood Grove was going to be alot more interesting than she had thought.
                                                                             -

There was a rap of knuckles from outside the room and Alexander popped his head around the door.
Blaine looked up from the book she was reading and flashed a smile. Used- after a week of living there, to the various comings and goings of number 13 and the tenants it housed. Privacy wasn't exactly high on there list it would seem.
"You busy? I was just wondering if you wanted to go for a walk."
"Emmm..." She glanced down at the novel which had thus far been rather disappointing and nodded. "Ya, sure why not. Ive been meaning to buy another pack of smokes, mind if we stop at the store on our way out?"
"Na not at all."
She grinned and marked her page with a spare piece of paper, grabbing her coat off the back of a chair and trotting down the hall after him as he opened the door.
"Good book?" He asked, as she ducked under his arm through the doorway and out onto the pavement, still wet from the rain that had fallen earlier on.
"I suppose. I might have raised it up to heights higher than anything it could have reasonably accomplished. Hype is a terrible curse."
"Well it got you to read the thing. Cant be that terrible."
"True, true. But all the same. Unreasonable expectations are nothing that anyone wants to live up to."
"Better than no expectations at all." He mused wryly, falling silent as they reached the shop and Blaine ran inside to buy her smokes. As she waited for the clerk to ring it up she found herself watching him through the glass storefront, still slightly fascinated even after a week of knowing him.
All the other muses Blaine had known had been entirely different, which was saying quite a lot since they tended to be a rather variegated bunch.
Whether decked in Grecian robes and laurel wreaths, clutching wax tablets that to the best of her knowledge, had no real purpose other than show. Or hiding behind a pair of half moon glasses in creased tweed jackets or masquerading as a pigtailed, rude, 12 year old girl. They were all obviously muses. They had that defining spark, that vital element that showed up on the mana scanners used by the DCA when they were trying to ascertain if you were Muse worthy or not.
But Alexander- while far from ordinary, was essentially just like everybody else. He lacked all the usual pretensions and graces Blaine was used to, and from what she had been able to gather from her time at the house thus far, he had given the DCA just as much trouble as Blaine had over the years. Which was, all things considered, quite alot.
"Got everything?" He asked, falling into step beside her as she waved the box of cigarettes in conformation and ripped of the plastic seal, stuffing into a jacket pocket as she retrieved her lighter and lit it, inhaling deeply and letting out a
satisfied sigh.
He chuckled. "How long have you been out?"
"Mmm, since this morning. I think I was attempting to cut down or something."
"Ah, yes... Well we can see how that worked out."
She threw him a narrow look and took another drag, the embers flaring cherry red in the settling dark and making a satisfying crackling sound. "You know you want one." She purred, mouth twisting upwards in a sardonic curve.
He chuckled. "I only smoke when I'm harrassed and/or nervous."
"You? Nervous? That sounds like some sort of alien word. I dont think I have ever seen you less than calm and sarcastic in all the time I've known you. Though I have seen you smoking...Quite alot as it where."
"Yes well. You havent known me for very long have you. And as for the smoking. Can you blame me? I mean...having to put up with you for a week." He shook his head in mock tragedy, though his teeth flashed in the darkness as they turned a corner and started down another road.
"It wont work. You were smoking before I met you."
"It was the fear...Just the knowledge of your existence was enough to reduce me to a shivering wreck."
"Oh shut up."
"Haha, you started it."
"All the same." She rolled her eyes and they continued walking in companionable silence until Blaine finished her cigarette and stopped to crush it into the damp pavement, looking up at the moon as she did so. Hanging pale and full above them in a sky washed clean by the rain, though the city gave off to much light for them to be able to see the stars.
"You are right though. I don't know much about you." She said suddenly, turning to look at Alexander as he shuffled his feet and dug his hands out of his pockets to grab her own and lead her across the street. She didn't comment. Though it was the first time they had touched since that initial handshake. A part of her considered asking where they were going, as there was definitely a direction now. But instead she savoured the cool taste of the air and followed him as he ducked into an alleyway, leading them into the next district over.
"There isn't much to know really." He answered finally, glancing back at her. "Besides, I figure Dominik would have told you all there is to know by now."
She arched an eyebrow at his back and shook her head. "All Dominik talks about is Grimm conspiracies and how much of a druggie Snow Whites granddaughter is, laying about all day sniffing gold dust. Did he really work for her?"
"Alice White? Sure he did, and her grandmother before her. Dominik Duskholm had a rather illustrious career within the White corporation until dear little Alice booted him out. Not that she is the only one he will talk about if you let him. He also
has a rather large list of grievances against Little Red Riding hood and her clothing line. All those wolf pelts. Its a wonder the authorities ever let it go on."
"Indeed. Terrible stuff...These rich and infamous fairytalers. As if it wasn't bad enough, them having a stranglehold on all bedtime stories."
"Yes." Alexander nodded."This is a sad sad world."
She laughed then, and he joined in.
"You really want to know?"
"About you?"
"If you want."
"Yes. If you want."
He smiled and let go of her hand, pointing to an emergency fire escape on the side of an old building ahead.
"Up there."
Blaine eyed the narrow metal stairs dubiously, glanced across at him, and with a sigh started to climb, slowly.
Alexander following a step below.
"Like I said. There isnt much to know. I was born outside the city. Mother was human, father was half Ifritt. He and I never got on much "
Blaine stopped and turned back to look at him, searching his face, though most of it was covered in shadow. But even in the darkness he burned.
"Not surprised?"
"Not really, no. When I first saw you, well... you burned." She started to climb again. Alexander followed after a slight pause.
"Well naturally my father wasn't around much. For more than just legal reasons. I don't think any of them can stay far from the desert for long. Not if they have seen it."
"Do you feel that way?" She asked.
"Feel the pull?"
She could here the smile in his voice, even without seeing it.
"My blood is much more watered down than his. And besides...how can you miss something you have never known."
She grinned and continued climbing. "So thats a yes then."
He chuckled. "Yes. Sometimes. A little, it fades after awhile though. I just go a little crazy for a time, trying to cope. Painting helps, Ive found."
"You paint?" She was surprised by that.
"Sometimes...I prefer sketching really. Suits my temperament more. But sometimes you just have to immerse yourself in color. Know what I mean?"
"Yes, I suppose I do. Do you have a license?"
"No. I don't need some muse telling me how to do things." He paused. "Neither do you, you know."
They had reached the top of the stairs by then and Blaine paused, looking down at Alexander.
"When I lost my Muse...the words dried up. Maybe I don't need one. But I don't know if I can write anymore."
He looked at her silently for a moment, then reached up and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. He didn't smile.
"Maybe you just need to remember what its like to believe in something."
She looked down, hands fidgeting. "I don't know anymore."
"Sure you do." He said, and stepped up beside her onto the ledge, taking her hand again. "You live in Morrow. The heart of the world. There is magic all around you. Every day. Just because its common place, people forget to stop and look."
He led her over the rooftop, right up to the edge of the building where the city burned on the horizon like a second sun.
The light enveloped everything, reflecting off the puddles on the streets and rooftops, rippling across the lake on the edge of the Three Wounds district, illuminating the night with the fae light of the Mana plants and the multicoloured neon glow of the street signs. Gargoyles watching from the upper stories of Gothic churches and twisting skyscrapers, their faces half in shadow as they watched the world pass by below.
And for the first time Blaine looked at it. Really looked.
"Try it. You never know. It just might work."
Twisting her mouth into the approximation of a half mocking smile Blaine rooted around in her pocket for the cash slip from the store and looked across at Alexander. Eyes bright with the reflection of man made stars.
"I don't suppose you have a pen on you?"
Alexander smiled. "Why Miss weathers, I thought you would never ask."