Disclaimer: Paton and all associated fiction unfortunately still do not belong to me. It's never too early for a nice Christmas present, though, if anyone wants to know what to get for me...
So, I couldn't allow Halloween to pass by unnoticed, could I? This is just a silly one-shot I started ages ago and dug out today to finish, partly on my own initiative and partly as a result of AustralianWallaby111's motivational message. I must admit, it's quite flattering to have people hound me to update/post new stories. Now, I'm making no promises, but for my readers who have been wanting something more risque, I may have another Halloween-themed bit popping up in the next day or two...it won't be M, because I'm saving that for a non-seasonal story, but it will be on the stronger end of T. So, keep your eyes out, and in the meantime, read and enjoy this delightful little blurb! Oh, and review! Reviews are lovely!
There could be no doubt that the seasons had changed. Gone were the blisteringly hot days of late July and August, the mild, sun-filled afternoons of September. Now, the air had a tang to it, a distinct lack of heat and addition of something else that declared to the world that autumn had come in all of its glory. Even the full force of the sun could not provide quite enough heat to cause days to qualify as "warm".
Nights in particular bespoke of the season, the darkness laced with the delectable scent of burning leaves, crisp clarity, and that distinctly urban aroma that accompanies any city. The dark cobblestones were bathed in leaves of every color from the line of trees dispersed along the road, and even the hardiest of souls would have turned up his collar as a shield to the season's bite. A frigid gust of wind stirred the cool autumn air, turning up debris and sending a frenzy of leaves tumbling down the street. The leaves skittered along the pavement in fiery groups of red and yellow, catching on stray twigs and litter and glinting silver in the glow of the bright moon nestled high above in the shadowy cloak of night.
The wind rustled through trees and rooftops, its fervor sporadically swelling and diminishing at its whim. Shutters banged against windows, rapping out harsh beats against the dark glass. Festive fall wreaths—some of leaves and flowers, others more festively adorned with grinning skulls and spider webs—shook in the gale, wavering back and forth on their meager hangings and appearing likely to snap off in the shortest of instants. The night itself was dark despite the moonlight, shadows black as pitch creeping along the ground.
Paton strode along the lonely cobblestoned street with purpose, even footsteps echoing dully as his heels pounded out their measured pace. Every now and then he pinned down a wayward leaf, catching it as it cart wheeled through the air and crunching it beneath the heel of his shoe, but for the most part his passage through this part of town went silently and unnoticed.
In keeping with the wind, Paton kept his head down and buried in the scarf around his neck, angling the brim of his fedora against the biting gale. He had long since shoved his hands into the pockets of his long coat, seeking whatever warmth they could find. He shivered and expelled his breath in a warm whoosh, wryly observing the cloud that formed. The warmer months of August and September had long since gone, leaving a brisk October in their stead. Strands of his dark hair stuck up in every direction, propelled this way and that by the blustery weather.
Paton allowed the tempo of his feet to slow as he neared the bookshop, casting a longing glance at the darkened cathedral and thinking of how easy it would be for him to simply duck inside and disappear for the evening. The massive edifice loomed over the courtyard, casting all before it even further into shadow. Paton took a great step toward the building, then restrained himself, sighing and resolving himself to his present course of action.
Eyes closing briefly, he wondered for the fiftieth time what had possessed him to do this. He forced himself to turn and make his way to the bookshop—an endeavor that usually required the majority of his willpower to prevent rather than initiate—and approached the thick wooden door. The sign in the wide display case was turned to open, and the warm golden glow of candlelight was evident through the window in the door. Paton extended a hand to the knob, fingers poised to grasp the ancient brass, but paused, withdrawing his hand a few inches. Behind him, the cathedral loomed over the lane, its imposing presence felt even while out of sight, calling to him to come and hide, to put this evening out of his mind and seek serenity in its darkened interior.
Grimacing, Paton burned away his hesitation, grasped the frosty metal door knob, and twisted, pushing open the heavy wooden door. The bell set over the frame tinkled, cheerfully announcing his arrival. There could be no going back now.
Any hopes that his arrival might pass unnoticed—that he could just slip inside for a few minutes and leave, claiming he had done his duty—were immediately quashed. "Ah, Paton!" Julia swept over to him as he stepped through the door, beaming and radiant as always. "Glad to see you could make it." She grinned widely, the gleam in her eye telling him she knew exactly how close he had come into turning back. "Honestly, I doubted that you would make an appearance."
Despite his discomfort, Paton allowed himself a small smile. They knew each other far too well. "If honesty is the theme of the night, Julia, I have to say that I seriously considered avoiding the premises. Only for the sight your lovely self would I risk such a potentially embarrassing endeavor." He shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with the top button of his long black coat.
Julia scoffed. "Embarrassing? Hardly. The point of a costume party, Paton, is for everyone to come in costume. It's not like you will stick out."
"I know." He grinned down at her sheepishly. "And I'm normally all for festivities, but you invited so many people…and a monster theme, Julia?" He closed his eyes for a moment, pained. "How cliché." Cliché, and leaving him with only one possible costume.
"Oh, shush. It's fun to dress up every now and then, and I know Emma and her friends are enjoying it. Amy and Maisie looked thrilled as well when they showed up with Charlie an hour ago." With a few carefully calculated steps, Julia was directly in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his long black duster. "Besides," she said slyly, trailing a finger up his chest to hook it under his top button, this look suits you. She undid the buttons on his coat one by one, slowly unveiling his evening attire. With each button she undid, she placed a light kiss on his cheek, each one progressively closer to his lips. Finally, only one button was left, and Paton, enjoying himself despite the imminent humiliation, captured her lips in his before she could free the last button.
Julia sighed into his mouth, her quest momentarily forgotten as Paton caressed her mouth with his, moving his lips against hers with a passion that should have been illegal. One white-gloved hand curled about her neck, toying with an errant chestnut curl that had slipped from her carefully-constructed bun, while the other grasped her waist, pulling her closer to him.
The need for oxygen finally overcame them both, and Paton drew back, panting lightly and looking at her through darkened, half-lidded eyes. Julia let out a small murmur of regret at the loss of contact, suddenly cold with Paton's retreat. Blinking and blushing slightly, she regained her sense of propriety and fixed her hair, then undid the final button of his duster with the flick of a finger. Deftly slipping his coat off of his shoulders, Julia deposited it on the coat rack.
Turning to survey him with a raised eyebrow, she smiled appreciatively. "I'm glad to see that you did wear a costume, despite your threats to do otherwise."
Gloved hands raised in defense, Paton offered a half-shrug and a slight, embarrassed cough. "What can I say?" he asked. "I do enjoy dressing up every now and then."
She eyed him speculatively, nodding in satisfaction. "I approve," she said, straightening his cravat and running a hand along the red interior of the otherwise pitch-black cloak that fell from his shoulders. "Very nice costume, if not overdone. You're certainly one to talk about clichés."
He laughed, catching her hands in his. "You have me there, my dear. I decided that since I already fit most of the stereotypes, I may as well just complete the ensemble." Deciding to shift topics, he considered her appearance. "You are looking very nice this evening, by the way." He stepped back and narrowed his eyes, critiquing her attire. "Black robes, long red nails, pointed hat—you, my dear, are the most beautiful witch that I've ever seen."
Julia's teeth flashed as she smiled. "Thank you, Paton. Although, I don't believe beauty and witches—or at least evil witches—are supposed to coincide."
"As if you could ever be evil, Julia."
She laughed outright and ushered him into the back room. "It's time for you to join the party, Paton."
This was the part Paton had been trying to avoid; as a rule, he tended to avoid parties, get-togethers, and pretty much any social gathering whatsoever on principle. Too many people packed into a room made him anxious, reminded him of too many light bulb encounters gone wrong. The more people there were, the more accidents were possible.
This was a party of friends and family though, so his unease was exponentially less than it typically was when he found himself forced into similar situations. As it stood, the majority of his reluctance to enter the room was derived from his self-consciousness in regards to the costume. It was with no small amount of trepidation that he allowed Julia to lead him to the door to the back room, her hand resting comfortingly over his. "Paton," she said, a slight tinge of amusement laced into her words, "it is only a costume party. You'll be fine."
He looked down at her walking beside him and was suddenly overcome by the urge to break the status quo, to violate his every instinct of self-preservation and anonymity that yelled in his ear to make the most unobtrusive, quiet entrance as possible. In a split second, Paton decided that since he was there, since he had made the effort to adorn himself in such a festive manner, he was going to make the most of the moment.
He had taken great pains to make his costume as accurate and intimidating as possible—more for Julia's reaction than accuracy, though a personal love of intricate historical details did contribute—and in that split second, he decided to play it up. Besides, it would make Charlie—and Julia's—night.
Just before Julia could pull him through to the back room and the party, Paton placed an arm on her shoulder, halting her mid-stride. "You go on ahead," he told her, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I have to prepare one final aspect of my costume, and then I will enter." As she hesitated, he rolled his eyes obnoxiously and pushed her toward the party. "I promise I'm not running away."
Julia laughed, the sound a joyful peal that rang through the empty store. "I wouldn't believe it of you, love," she said, tapping his chin. She paused just before passing out of his line of sight and raised an eyebrow, looking back at him. "It had better be a good addition," she warned.
Paton's only reply was a raised eyebrow of his own.
Once Julia had disappeared into the party beyond, he dug around carefully in the pocket of his crisp black trousers, finally pulling out the two small fangs that had been such a pain in the neck for him to accrue. Placing the smallest amount of cosmetic glue on them, he sealed them to his canines, using a nearby glass bookcase as a surrogate mirror, baring his teeth in a gleaming, grimacing grin.
"Perfect." Even his speech was in character now, the words hissing out from between the fangs with the slightest Balkan accent. Certainly, the majority of his travels were for research purposes, but the cultural idiosyncrasies that he picked up along the way had proven useful on more than one account. He ran his hand through his dark hair and flexed his hands in their gloves, then raised them to straighten the high collar of his sable coat and to adjust the ruby brooch at his throat that held his cloak affixed over his jacket. The slightest flash of white could be seen between the glinting, blood-red jewel and the top button of his jacket in the form of a crisp, white shirt.
He taped his fingers together and placed them to his lips, mentally running over his ensemble. Everything seemed to be in place. With a glint in his dark eyes, he flung back the festive, gossamer sheet that covered the doorway and stepped into the party, head held high and teeth bared.
The cozy living room had been transformed, the couch, end tables, and numerous piles of books that usually bedecked the floor carefully pushed over to the wall and stacked in a corner. Small tables stood in front of Julia's own, personal bookshelves, covered with an assortment of delectable-looking food and drink that Paton had no doubt Julia had a hand in creating, their aroma calling to him even from across the room. The center of the room remained clear for people to mingle, and candles sat on every available surface, their molten wax sliding down to be carefully collected in a series of macabre, wrought-iron candlesticks. Faux spider web spread across the ceiling from one side of the room to the next, and was strung out across the room in a series of intricate patterns, twining about shelves and lamps with a subtle finesse that caused Paton to respect Julia's eye for décor even further than he already did.
Some of the candlelight came from a series of jack-o-lanterns that sat around the room, giving the room's occupants alternating fanged smiles and leering frowns and turning their respective corners slightly orange with their ghostly glow. Paton smiled, his fangs flashing in the light. Julia had truly gone all out; he could not have asked for a more perfect ambiance.
As far as guests were concerned, attendance was mostly restricted to their standard circle of acquaintances: Billy, Charlie, and his parents, the boys as truly convincing zombies and Lyell and Amy—very fittingly, Paton thought—a knight and his princess; Olivia and her parents, bedecked in true Vertigo fashion as Frankenstein's monster (Olivia) and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Mrs. Vertigo, it appeared, had won the role of Hyde); Fidelio, as Beethoven; Maisie, whom it appeared had chosen to be a chef; Emma, as a farmer; and an assorted rabble of other school and local friends and acquaintances.
The time Paton took to observe the room did not pass unnoticed by its other occupants, and more than one individual ceased their movement to stare in awe at the tall figure that stood silhouetted in the doorway.
Paton took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of the room fall upon him. This was it—time to play his part. He bared his teeth in a flashing, fanged smile and leveled the room with a dark stare. "Good evening," he said softly, the words floating through the room to each of its occupants, his affected accent lending his words a heady weight that they normally lacked. Everyone found themselves falling silent, drawn to his presence like flies to honey.
His smile broadened, seeing all of their eyes on him; it seemed he had captured their attention merely with his arrival. Speaking no further words, he gave a deep, flourishing bow, sweeping his cloak back behind him with a flare of red, then rose and crossed the room to the drink table and poured himself a glass of a ruby wine. He raised the glass in a silent toast to the room and placed the glass to his lips, slowly allowing the cool liquid to trickle down his throat. His mouth gleamed red in the candlelight, and he smiled once more as he lowered the glass, fangs glinting a brilliant white.
A loud, appreciative whoop cut through the silence that held the room in thrall as Charlie, grinning broadly through his zombie war paint, jogged over to peer up at his uncle in awe. "Uncle P," he declared, looking Paton up and down with a speculative eye, "that is the coolest costume you could ever have."
With Charlie's words, Paton's spell over the room broke, and one-by-one the other guests began to echo Charlie's sentiments, some even going so far as to offer applause. Paton accepted it all stoically, the faintest pink tinge to his deathly white pallor the only indication that he was feeling slightly outside his comfort zone. He inclined his head. "Thank you." Still in character, the words were laced with that impeccably accurate accent.
A bright laugh cut through the conversation that had begun to buzz throughout the room once more, and Julia strode over to Paton's side, her eyes alight with amusement. "Paton, that was absolutely perfect," she declared, grasping his hand in hers. She drew him over to the side and peered up in his face, drawing back his upper lip with one finger to examine his elongated canines. "I particularly like the fangs!"
He smiled and pressed a light kiss to the tip of her finger. "I'm glad," he said, giving her a mischievous smirk. "It wouldn't have been complete without them." He ran his tongue over their pointed tips. "You know, I rather like them," he mused. "Perhaps I shall just leave them in."
Julia quirked an eyebrow. "Forever, love?" She pondered the idea for a moment, not willing to admit that the idea of a fanged Paton was rather intriguing. "What if you bite your tongue?" she teased.
His eyes darkened and he drew her close, pressing his mouth to her neck. "I can think of other things to bite," he murmured, lips tickling her skin.
Julia inhaled sharply through her nose, fighting the inclination to all but fall into his embrace. "Paton," she managed to stammer, "we're in the middle of a party, for heaven's sake!" She felt him stiffen and move away, and noted with no small amount of amusement that his vampiric pallor had all but disappeared behind an embarrassed pink flush.
"Ahem," he coughed, passing a hand through his hair. "Right." He shook his head, regaining his bearings, slipping back into his affected role of aloof mysticism. "I believe I shall go investigate the food," he declared, turning toward the tables that sat across the room. He turned, eyes darkening for a brief moment once more. "However, about the fangs…"
Julia felt her heart flutter. "Yes?"
He curled his lips in a toothy smile. "Well, the answer lies with you—trick, or treat?"
Watching him stride away, regal and imposing in his gothic attire, Julia believed she had her answer.