The Watcher

20. The Watcher

I'd never uncovered a supernatural being before, but I was fairly sure it was considered a big deal.

Someone needed to illuminate Atticus to this fact.

It had been just under twelve hours since our conversation in the bar, and he hadn't once thought to check up on me. Not that I needed checking up on, but I had half expected him to be lurking at the base of my bed or hovering in the shadows.

It was what people like him did, wasn't it?

Except he's not people, my mind reminded me and the truth behind the thought struck me like a bolt of lightning.

Last night I'd walked home floating on air, vindicated and victorious. I'd discovered what Atticus was and the feeling of knowing, after so long of being in the dark, had felt almost euphoric. The itch that had been tickling my brain for weeks on end was finally gone.

The issue was that there was a new one in its place. Like a mental version of whack-a-mole, I'd answered one question, but it had just spawned a hundred more. None of which would ever be answered if Atticus kept his distance.

I hadn't been able to sleep when I got home. Partly because of the high running through my veins, but the rest was down to the uneasiness I had felt in the flat over the past few days. The damage from the burglary had been fixed a couple days ago, but I still couldn't shake the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, or the urge to check over my shoulder when the room fell too silent.

To pass the time and attempt to lull myself to sleep, I'd tried looking for information about the Watchers on my phone. Between Buffy fanfiction and passages from the biblical Book of Daniel, I hadn't found much. Despite hours of scrolling. It was clear, whatever existence Atticus and his kind led, it had been done in secret. I wasn't entirely sure how, since Atticus had blabbed his secret like it was a piece of idle gossip. No more exciting than the antics the girl at 13A had been getting up to.

So why had he told me?

I growled and thrashed amongst my bed covers as another question added to the pile.

Looking longingly at my empty coffee cup, I heaved myself out of bed and went to the kitchen to make a fresh cup. The array of used teaspoons reminded me that by this point my blood was more caffeine than anything else, but the ache in my eyes begged for one more cup.

Just as my fingertip flicked on the kettle, I heard a soft thud out in the yard. I told myself it was probably just Nightmare coming back from a night prowling the streets, but my heart leapt in excitement regardless.

Next came a short sharp rap on my kitchen door.

I wrestled the door open and fought back a smile as I saw Atticus standing in front of me. Any fear that he'd vanished in the night subsided as he leant casually against the door frame.

"Hi," he said with a smile, the morning light making his eyes glitter. It was such a normal word yet this situation, this man, was anything but.

"Hi," I replied, as the kettle reached its climax behind me.