Greenwich, London

  <7 hours remain

  When he entered the pub through the rear entrance, Henry could practically taste the disappointment radiating off of Randall. The old barkeep’s gaze swept him from head to toe, thoroughly unamused at the state he’d arrived in. Apparently, his prayers to slip in to work unnoticed had gone unanswered.

  “Huh,” Randall grunted disapprovingly. “What’s this mess you’re wearing, some sort of new fashion statement?”

  His shoulders slumped, sighing deeply before he answered. “I know, I know… it was all I had left in the way of clean clothes.”

  “Right… and putting your shirt on a hanger after it’d been washed would’ve been completely out of the question, I’m sure.”

  Henry knew when it was time to shut up. Randall’s eyes felt like they were drilling holes into the top of his head as he stared down at his shoes, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Whatever,” the old man finally relented. “I need you to keep an eye on the football crowd tonight, not like they’ll be dressed any better anyways. Keep the jacket on, and tie that damn tie already.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without another word, Randall left to attend to the regulars already arrived at the bar.

  Henry was left in the entryway to tidy himself up enough to meet the bare minimum of presentability. He chastised himself mentally as he worked quickly to tie his tie in a passable fashion, hiding the unevenness of the ends by zipping his jacket back up most of the way.

  He cursed under his breath when the zipper got caught on the cloth. After struggling momentarily with the mild annoyance, he made his way over to the front of the pub to man his station.

  The building itself wasn’t much to write home about. Especially considering, for a few years, it had been his home. The ground floor was entirely used for the purpose of the business, but there was a staircase tucked away near the back of the building that led up to a second floor where Randall and the rest of the family lived. It used to be a bit crowded for four people, he remembered. Now that it was just Randall and Layla living here, however, he imagined that was no longer as much of an issue.

  The pub itself was your typical London fare; heavy oak bar-top, large street-facing window, and plenty of pints to go around. A tried and true classic that got locals coming back year after year.

  Not so much tourists, however. Aside from the occasional away team sports fans.

  Henry busied himself with wiping down the bar and set to work, quickly falling into his routine. Alcohol flowed freely to those who requested. Eric Clapton strummed gently on the jukebox. As the sun began to dip over the horizon, the football fans started to slowly trickle in, as predicted.

  And occasionally, one of the patrons would flag him down and offer up an interesting story.

  While Henry was busy serving another customer, he heard the bell at the door chime. It was followed by a voice he recognized calling his name, but when he looked up it was not the face he recognized.

  “Ah, Henry! Good to see you!” the man – elf – called cheerily.

  He had to blink in confusion at the figure several times before the new face in front of him clicked with what he remembered.

  “Mr. Donahue?!”

  Henry could only gape incredulously. Harold Donahue – whom he’d known to be a regular for as long as Henry had worked here – was an older, more heavyset man with a mustache. A far cry from the significantly younger face in front of him, clean-shaven, with color returning ever-so-slightly to his hair. And, most surprisingly, in the best shape of his life.

  “In the flesh!”, the elf reaffirmed. “And not only that-”

  The bell chimed for a second time, and Henry’s jaw practically fell to the floor.

  “-But my beautiful wife as well!”

  “Oh, hush, dear…”, the second entry demurred. “Here you go, making a scene for my sake…”

  “Y-you both…” Henry interjected, unable to keep the stammer out of his shocked response.

  “Had a visit from the good Ghost himself? Most definitely.”

  “…How?!?”

  It was at times like these when being clued in to the sum of publicly available magic knowledge tended to backfire for him. He couldn’t help but start rambling about it.

  “The odds of either one of you chancing upon that alone are already astronomical. For both of you to have it happen at the same time would be-”

  “Practically impossible?”, Mr. Donahue finished.

  “Well… yes!”

  “Exactly what I thought at first, too! But I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  He really didn’t want to be mad at them. Not their fault for being lucky, after all. The both of them… stupidly, infuriatingly, out-of-this-world lucky. Sudden possible Domain talent nonwithstanding, they’d been fortunate enough to stumble into the much rarer, physical enhancement side of Ghost of Tolkien as well.

  The phenomenon was already hard enough to come by at its core. For those who weren’t born with an innate tie to a Domain, you had a chance it on being in the right place at the right time, and pray that at that exact moment a cloud of unordered mana formed.

  It was the being present at formation that mattered, mostly. So long as you stood practically on top of a spot where the fundamental building block of all things magical punched through the fabric of reality, poof, you’re a wizard now.

  Sure, you might not have all too much mind-boggling power at your disposal, but it’s a fair shade more than everyone else for just being in the correct random location.

  That was the issue with banking all your hopes on Ghost of Tolkien. It was chaotically unpredictable to the point of absurdity. Even if you did track down a mana flash, what you ended up with could range from finding yourself able to use your thumb as a lighter, to ending up trading a third of your height for a beard and ridiculous upper body strength. Or any combination in between, theoretically.

  So, good for them that they lucked out like that. Henry wasn’t jealous. Nope. Not remotely.

  He kept up his customer service face for the few split seconds that that anger flashed within. Neither Mr. or Mrs. Donahue noticed, caught up in the moment as they were.

  “I’ll tell you everything that happened in due time, but first!”

  He raised his voice, turning around to address the crowd inside the building.

  “A round for everyone on me, to celebrate another 200 years of retirement with my dearest!”

  The audience cheered. Henry just wearily fired up the taps.

  < -|- -|- >

  < 1 hour remains

  “Sho then… *hic* sho then just ash we’re about to go shleep, there’s this… thiss… this flash an’ we both black out!”

  “Uh-huh. And then when you woke up, you had pointy ears, right?”

  “…Yeah! How’d ya *hic* how’d ya know?”

  “Because this is the sixth time you told me, Mr. Donahue.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Ish it?”

  Henry nodded, his lips creased to a thin line. Nailing the double jackpot on the fountain of youth clearly had not affected the man’s low tolerance. In fact, it might even be lower now, considering this was only his third drink of the night.

  Mrs. Donahue, on the other hand, was pounding shots back to back and hardly blinking an eye. She shared a commiserating look with Henry, who’d taken the brunt of her husband’s ramblings throughout the night. Considering that the sun had set while heavy clouds began rolling in hours ago, he was looking for any excuse to talk to someone else in that moment.

  “Henry! Got a couple of refills for the tables here!”

  So when Layla stopped by like a guardian angel, he nodded towards the more cognizant of his two patrons, who nodded back in understanding. Mr. Donahue nearly hit his head on the countertop.

  He walked down to the far end of the bar, where she was waiting with the empty pint glasses near the taps. For a moment, their eyes met, but broke away just as quickly as he grabbed the first glass. Attempting to play it off like he was focusing on the job.

  “So, um…”, he started, but trailed off shortly after. As the he waited for the foam in the glass to die down, he cleared his throat and made a second attempt.

  “About, uh… about yesterday.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well – well I guess nothing about it really, but, uh…”

  He glanced over at Randall, who was briefly manning the cash register, before continuing.

  “You didn’t mention anything of it to your dad, did you?”

  Layla returned a quizzical expression. “No…? No, I didn’t. Why do you ask?”

  “Just seemed like he was in a bit of a sour mood, earlier, was all.”

  “Oh… that’d be because that street mage from yesterday visited.”

  Henry winced. “Poor guy,” was all he could think to say for him. “I can totally see him pushing all the wrong buttons on accident.”

  “Mm,” she nodded in confirmation.

  A beat of silence passed as the second glass was filled. This time, Layla was the one to speak up.

  “Well… while we’re on the topic…”

  Henry looked up from what he was doing to focus on what she had to say.

  “I…” She spoke haltingly, choosing her words carefully. “It just feels a little strange to me, is all…”

  Henry nodded along, and she pressed on with a bit more confidence.

  “I mean, we took you in unofficially for years to keep you from freezing to death, right? Where does that put us? Adoptive family? Long term housemates? I just-”

  She let out a frustrated huff. “I don’t know...”

  Layla went quiet after that, evidence of her remaining unsure plastered all over her face. It was the reaction Henry had been dreading the most, but at the same time expected to hear.

  “Hey, look…” he swallowed a lump in his throat, eyes locking with hers as he set the third, unfinished glass to the side for the moment. “If you decide the best move is that we both forget about it and move on, I get it.”

  He gestured towards his ragtag ensemble.

  “I mean, look at me.” He held up his fingers one by one, rattling off points against himself.

  “I live in an apartment alone, I can’t take care of my own life to save myself, and right now my prospects seem to be standing at this bar until the day I die. You could reject me to my face right here and now, and to be honest I’d probably agree somewhat that it’s the right decision.”

  Henry sighed to himself and finished filling up the last glass. Layla’s expression softened, as she saw him put himself down about as far as he could.

  “Go on,” he slid the pint glass over towards her. “Don’t keep the customers waiting.”

  “Henry…”

  But he’d already turned around. Layla stared at his back as he left, worried for her… friend? Something a little more than that, maybe? She wasn’t sure… but she was worried for his well being, all the same.

  < -|- -|- >

  < 5 minutes remain

  Closing hours crept closer with little fanfare. Music from the jukebox played soft melodies, as several of the late night patrons swayed in their seats from a gathering for the ages. Henry chipped ice for tomorrow, using a handheld ice pick slightly larger than his outstretched palm. A handy tool, made out of a wrought iron bar, pointed at one end and a bottle opener on the other, with the center twisted around on itself to form a textured grip. He topped up Mrs. Donahue’s mixed drink with fresh ice, still dutifully watching over her more free-spirited other half.

  The sun had well and truly set for some time now, and the telltale signs of a summer fog were beginning to form in the streets, little more than a slight haze near the window for now. Must’ve been rolling in off the Thames. The bar wasn’t too far from the river, and the weather had been dry otherwise recently.

  Randall had begun making the rounds five minutes ago, as usual. Checking in to ensure people had rides or could walk home, or, in the case of the inebriated elvish big spender, calling a cab. The old barkeep had a tendency to be gruff… but once you got to know him he was a real softie. His hospitality is what kept locals coming back time and again, after all.

  He cared for Henry too, truthfully. Wanted to see him succeed as much as his daughter, and all.

  How he was going to break the news to him about Liverpool, he had no idea.

  Layla finished wiping down the empty tables and joined him behind the bar to help clean the remaining dirty glasses. The silence between the two of them dragged on.

  Randall spared a glance out the window. “Bloody hell, fog’s really getting thick out there…”

  Some of the patrons in the bar nodded in agreement, commenting on the sudden change in weather as well.

  “Good timing that we leave now then, isn’t it?”

  “Wouldn’t want to walk alone through that… It’s starting to get rather thick…”

  “Was there rain in the forecast? I didn’t think it was wet enough for fog…”

  “Eh, well, that’s London for ya. What can ye do?”

  Chairs scraped as folks made for the door, a queue forming at the cash register as tabs were paid off for the night. A few started making plans to visit again some time next week, but compared to those who were in need of a tall glass of water and bed rest, they were few and far between.

  One man in particular looked rather worse for wear. A factory worker, if Henry’s memory served, and an old one at that. ‘Swinging in the gale’ didn’t even begin to describe it. He looked about ready to fall over at any moment.

  And then, he did. With a loud crash, the man landed on his side, unconscious.

  The attention of everyone quickly snapped to the fallen gentleman. A blanket of silence quickly enveloped the room, matching the blanket of fog outside now thick enough that any attempts of looking out the window were rendered impossible. Randall rushed over to the fallen man as fast as he could, hurriedly turning him over onto his back and checking his vitals.

  Tension hung in the air as the barkeep held two fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Randall’s brow furrowed in concentration for much longer than was comfortable.

  Eventually, he breathed a sigh of relief, and Henry let out a breath of his own that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “Thank the Lord,” Randall breathed. “He’s still with us.”

  He turned his head to look at his daughter, with an expression that indicated now was the time for action.

  “Layla. Go get my first aid supplies from upstairs.”

  She nodded, turning quickly to do as he asked. Her footsteps could be heard in the staircase behind the bar, and moving about on the floor above.

  Henry snuck a quick peek around the silenced crowd. Thankfully, nobody had panicked at the fright. That would've just made this situation that much worse than it already was.

  Though, admittedly, the whole scene had a bit of a creepy air about it. The kind of mood you got from those old radio talk shows that did on-the-air murder mysteries. The dim ambient lighting, fog as thick as pea soup just outside the window, a sullen crowd gathered around a lone fallen man and his caretaker... The whole scene simply bled with unease.

  Of course, as if reading his mind, the first bell chime rang out through the air.

  Talk about bad timing. It was like the world was out to unsettle them all. A few more chimes continued, before one of the patrons spoke up.

  "Isn't that the sound of Big Ben?"

  He had to wait for a few more tolls of the bell to be sure. Unfortunately for them all, the observation was actually an astute one. Astute, and correct.

  It also shouldn't have been possible. Big Ben was over in London City proper, about 6 miles away from where they stood. One mile further than they should have been able to hear it from. The chime sounded like it came from just outside. Or perhaps even just above.

  The composure of the crowd was downright rattled, now. Even that thin sense of decorum escaped them all, because not long after, the electricity died.

  For a moment, the whole pub entered near pitch blackness. Some shouts and stumbles could be heard around Henry, but the only sense he could work off of was the commotion. He had no idea what was going on or how. It wasn't until the end of the last chime that he could make out what had happened.

  As the echoing gong of Big Ben faded into the mist, it began to clear up and the light of the full moon shone in. Several people were still standing, but many more had fallen to the ground in a sprawl.

  Thankfully, nobody appeared to have been hurt in the tumble. Randall, being able to see what was going on around him well enough again, began to take charge of the situation once more.

  "Now then, while I'm in agreement with all of you that this feels like some poorly timed Halloween prank, please take the time to look around you and see if anyone's been- *hurk*-"

  A hand the size of an oven mitt wrapped around Randall’s neck, snapping upwards from the ground at his feet. From the faint light shining in from outdoors, the limb responsible was set into stark relief.

  Where the factory worker once lay, an arm packed with muscle well past what Henry had thought humanly possible – including athletes using steroids – clamped down in an iron grip. There was the faintest outline of the man’s form, on the floor. At least, he had to assume it was the man, but the size of it was easily twice as large in both height and width.

  It was hard to make out exactly what he was looking at on the ground. The light was reflecting around in strange ways on the floor, almost like there were a bunch of little hairs-

  Henry didn't get a chance to finish the thought. Randall was tossed bodily across the room, falling into the crowd in a tangle of limbs with what looked to be some serious bruising around his neck. The attacker rolled over onto all fours, before lifting itself up to a height where it could be seen marginally better in the moonlight.

  A bestial growl rumbled from its throat. Bassier than any wild animal Henry had ever had the misfortune of encountering before. Humanoid, but certainly not human, silver patches of what appeared to be fur bounced light from what few moonbeams passed through the glass panes. The shadow of its head appeared elongated horizontally, misshapen as well as covered in the same, silvery surface. Two yellow eyes devoid of pupils shone brighter than even the light from the window outside.

  Then the power came back on, and removed all doubt on what they were up against.

  Henry thought he’d been used to magic. Had a pretty good handle on what it was capable of. Studied in detail what was known to be possible with Domains. But as he and the crowd stared at the creature before them, he wondered just how many of them were re-evaluating their sense of magical knowledge like he was right now.

  Because in their midst, was an honest-to-God rendition of a legendary beast, taken straight from the pages of the minds of the Brothers Grimm.

  As the first screams of panic rose into the midnight air, the… werewolf growled once more, fibrous bands of pure muscle coiling tight as it prepared to strike down its first victim.

  And Henry sincerely prayed that it wouldn’t be him.