Jack stared down into his half-full pint of beer.

He was in Paddy’s Tavern, sitting at the end of the bar. Surrounding him was the dreary reality of a Monday evening; the aroma of beer tickled his nostrils, and the hushed murmurs of the few patrons rolled across his hearing.

Behind him, there was an irregular clacking, the sound of two young men playing pool who would have had better luck trying to sink an iceberg.

Halfway up the bar leaned Shifty Pete, a man of dubious origins with an oversized yellow mac and a pair of sunglasses he never removed. Nodding at Jack, he sipped from a bright red cocktail.

Jack nodded back, trying not to meet the gaze hiding beneath those shades.

A newscaster’s voice droned from the television on the far wall, prim and nasally and reptilian. “And in other news, Nightcorp has disavowed all involvement with the terrorist group known as the New Bloods-”

He stopped listening.

The things they had done had been unforgivable, he knew that. But that knowledge couldn’t erase the look on Crispley’s face from his memory; the final moment of contentment which had frozen in his eyes.

And he had a point.

But that was glossed over, as usual. It is, after all, exponentially easier to hate something than it is to understand it.

He sipped his beer, gagging on the flat bitterness.

“You’ve been nursing that for two hours,” said Russ, idly polishing a glass behind the bar. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

He slumped down onto the polished wood. “That home has been invaded. Why would a bloody magic princess wanna stick around in this shithole?”

Shrugging, Russ set down the glass. “It matches her personality?”

Jack sighed. “Right? And she’s rubbing off on Hannah in bad ways. The kid harrumphed at me the other day; can you believe that? That’s not a normal thing people do, that’s a Lydia thing Lydia does.”

“That’s rough, buddy.”

“My girlfriend didn't turn into the moon, thank you.”

Giving him a flat stare, Russ threw the towel over his shoulder. “Like you’d have a girlfriend.”

“Yep,” he said, throwing back the rest of his drink, “that’ll be the day. Another one, please.”

The Shifter’s eye twitched. “You know your tab’s not infinite, right?”

“Well, what about the free ones for taking care of the cat problem?”

“You went through them in two nights!”

He nodded sagely. “At least I got two nights out of it.”

Clenching his jaw, Russ said, “don’t be so blasé about this, you owe me money!”

“Eh, we’ll get there in the end.”

“The end of what, your life? ‘Cause it’s coming soon, at this rate.”

“I was thinking more the end of the universe.”

“Now, listen here, you…” Stomping over, Russ grabbed Jack by the collar of his jacket, suspending him above his stool. It was about as comfortable.

Before Russ could say anything else, an enormous thump rang through the pub, a door scraping and a woman panting in the doorway.

“Jack,” said Hannah, marching over to him.

“Hannah,” he said, failing to wiggle free. “Please tell me it’s important.”

She nodded vigorously. “We got a call.”

His body went slack, his jaw tumbling to the beer-stained floor. “Are you serious? Like, a proper call, and not just another Cease & Desist?”

“Yep! An actual, real, honest-to-Dragula client; I wrote the address down.” Pulling a scrap of paper from the front of her shirt, handed it to Jack.

He took it, wincing. “Where have you been keeping this?”

“I can’t help it, I don’t have pockets!”

“Well, buy a bag then.”

“Well, pay me then.”

“Well, do some work then!”

Harrumphing, she crossed her arms. “I’d like to, but we’re still here.”

“You see?” said Jack, turning to face Russ. “Right there, she just did it!”

Russ just glared at him.

Finally slithering free, Jack gave the barman a quick wave before trotting out of the doors.

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A bellow followed after him. “I know where you live!”

Choo-chooin was on the kerb, precisely where he shouldn’t have been. But who cared about parking laws?

The rest of the street was quiet, a soft smell of grilling burgers overlapping with the salty air. A couple of bars had their lights on, but more out of hope than anything.

As they climbed onto the turtle, he checked the paper.

He groaned.

It had to be them, didn’t it?

Typing the address into the disc’s navigation system, he heard a bestial growl come from beside Choo-chooin.

He turned to see Barry, his landlord, with a face like a tomato.

“Am I seeing this right?” he said, fire igniting in his eyes. “If you can afford to go out drinking, then pay me my rent!”

He waved his hand by his ear. “What’s that, Barry? I can’t hear you through the window, mate.”

Barry simmered. “There is no window; it’s a bloody turtle!”

“Well, bye.” Jack hit the enter key, sending Choo-chooin on a mad dash.

***

“Shouldn’t we pick up Lydia?” Hannah was leaning back on her hands as the turtle raced through the streets.

“No,” said Jack with a derisive chuckle. “She’s a bad influence.”

Frowning, Hannah said, “what are you, my dad? And she’s not that bad.”

His eyes bulged. “I never expected to hear that from you. Do you recall two chapters ago when she was stomping on my face?”

“You did charge at her with a sword.” She smirked. “Besides, a lot of men would have enjoyed that.”

He jammed his thumb into his chest. “Not this one. And she walked in without knocking!”

“Yeah, but-”

“And then there’s last chapter, when she made fun of you for being grey.”

“Um, that was just playful.” She furrowed her brow. “I think.”

Exhaling, he felt Choo-chooin slow down and dangled his legs over the disc’s edge. “Look, it’s okay to wanna be friends with everyone, but don’t give them anything they won’t give you.”

He met her gaze, holding it, and willing the words to reach her.

You don’t have to respect her.

Or defer to her.

Or engage in any kind of bonding.

Looking down, she shuffled over to the edge as the turtle stopped. “It’s not like I wanna be friends with everyone.”

Grunting, he descended from the disc. What was it that made this girl tick, then? What made Lydia so special?

It had been a week since she had barged into his office and read that ludicrous diary; every day had been another insight into how unpleasant she actually was.

She treated the place like she owned it, pilfering from his fridge and complaining about its emptiness. Well, he thought, why don’t you bring your own food?

And there was her insistence that everyone prostrate themselves to her: it was exhausting. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been stepped on, literally and figuratively.

All in all, she was a tyrant.

He was left with the gnawing feeling of his own home being more dangerous than a Travis Scott concert, and he didn’t need to take that out, as well.

And if it felt like something was missing at that moment? Well, it had been a while since he’d last eaten.

As the pair approached the door, he hung his head. Suppressing tears, he said, “what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” said Lydia, fidgeting in front of the door.

It was a white house, a two-storey detached with a neat garden and carved fenestrations.

“Why?” said Jack, rubbing his forehead.

“To help you, of course.”

“We don’t need it!”

“He’s lying,” said Hannah, smiling at her.

Smiling back, Lydia reached up and patted Hannah’s head. “Good girl.”

Wait, what had happened while he was gone? Was this the start of some kind of pseudo-sisterly bond, or had Hannah just readily submitted to evil?

It was her own business, he decided. She’d been adequately warned.

He sighed, gesturing at the door. “If you would, then, Ms. Blackwell.”

She stared at him with a smirk. “I thought you didn’t need my help?”

Wrinkling his nose, he huffed. “Well, since you’re here.”

“Charming. You do realise that this is breaking and entering, yes?”

He bristled. “You’ve been committing crimes since the moment you got here!”

“Like what?”

Adopting a thick Cockney accent, Hannah said, “I only told you to blow the bloody doors off!”

Jack nodded. “Strenuous, but what she said.”

“Those were all internal doors,” said Lydia.

“What about the warehouse?”

“Who lives in a warehouse?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Shaking her head, Hannah rapped on the door.

After a few seconds, a voice came through from behind it. “I’m sorry, adventurer, but you must first raise your level before you can enter this area.”

Jack sighed. He had expected as much.

Lydia started. “I’m sorry, what?”

“No,” said Whirling, “I am sorry, adventurer, but you-”

Her face lit up in fury. “Just who the bloody hell do you think you are? I’ll have you know that I’m not an adventurer, I’m a highly-respected magus, and a Doctor to boot-”

“I’m sorry, adventurer, but I’m afraid we didn’t order a time-travelling-”

Waving her hand, she blew the door open.

It slammed into the wall with a mighty thunk, as well as a peculiar squelching sound.

“Now do you understand?” said Jack, crossing the threshold.

“Very much,” said Lydia, following him with a sneer.

“You’re losing your touch,” said Hannah, examining the doorframe. “It’s still on its hinges.”

***

Jack stood across the coffee table, facing the Brady family all astride their couch. Lydia was sitting in the chair behind him like it was a throne, complete with the regal pose. Hannah perched on the arm next to her.

“Alright then,” he said. “So what’s the problem this time?”

Popcorn scowled. “Don’t say that like you don’t want to be here!”

“After last time, can you blame me?”

“Be kind, son,” chided Juniper, inbetween her husband and son. “He did save us from the polkageist.”

Lydia’s mouth went agape. “The what?”

“Long story,” said Jack. “You can find it on Moonquill.”

“It’s always at night,” said Whirling, looking remarkably two-dimensional. “Moaning, growling, and strange lights all around the house. It’s terrifying.”

Cupping his chin, Jack knit his brow. “Hmm.”

Eying Popcorn, Hannah said, “are you sure it has nothing to do with your son’s internet history?”

Jack palmed his face.

Popcorn grit his teeth. “Shut up! Who the hell even are you, and what do you know about my internet history?”

She gave him a serious expression. “I’m your FBI guy.”

He huffed. “What’s that, the Fantastic Bondage of Incest?”

Cringing, Lydia said, “no wonder your parents are terrified.”

Folding his arms, he looked away from them.

“Anyway,” said Juniper, her tone shaky, “do you think you can help us?”

“Maybe,” said Jack, scanning the room. It was the same as it had been on his first visit, save for one important, cooing detail in the corner. “But first, where did that baby come from?”

Beneath the bay window was a yellow cot, a mobile full of dinosaurs and spaceships and heroes suspended above it.

Pursing his lips, Whirling looked over. “You see, when a man and woman love each other very much-”

“Obviously not! What are you, wombats?”

Juniper stood, striding over to the cot and reaching in. With a lot of baby talk and kissy faces, she withdrew the child, presenting him to the trio.

“This is Anti, the newest member of our family.”

The baby in her hands was of a normal shape, but that was the only thing you could call normal.

Its head was too big for its body, its eye sockets filled with fire instead of balls. Hair was replaced by a clan of squirming maggots, and every mouth - it had them all over - was full to the brim of razor-sharp teeth. It was also green.

Faltering, Jack felt the sweat pour down his neck.

“I’ve found the problem.”