"Alright you sorry bastards," the boatswain spat, running the tails of The Cat through his fist, "as promised, one night's shore leave."

He sniffed, allowing the tails to slap gently against his legs. They arched through the air again to land on the leather palm of his glove with a definitive slap. Luke fidgeted. Isaac looked back at him warily from the deck of the ship, eyeing the terrier beside him with obvious dislike. Slowly, minutely, Luke shook his head, Isaac's ears twitched, and the boatswain continued, marching along the line.

"Go get drunk, fuck a girl, fuck a boy, dig up some funny mushrooms in the forest, however it is you get your rocks off."

He stopped in front of Luke and leered up at him through yellow teeth, stained with black. His breath reeked. "But be back here by sunrise in the morning, or you familiars pay the price, got it?"

"Yes Sir," they chorused, facing front in their neatly ordered line.

The boatswain sniffed again. "Bugger off then," he said.

They didn't need telling twice. Luke fell into step with a group of his fellow oarsmen, his hands in his pockets. Their talk was rowdy, bawdy, as they discussed everything they planned to do with their night of freedom. It was easy enough to fall in with them, he'd done it a thousand times before, but tonight was different. He felt disconnected from their chatter, from the crude jokes and the cursing. He had something more important to do.

Tonight was his birthday.

Their group grew as they neared the Stone Dragon, as the individual groups who had left the docks together merged back together again. Luke took the opportunity to slip away into the darkness, leaving a copy of himself behind. His mirror-self continued into the tavern, and Luke disappeared amongst the trees.

When he was sure no one was following him, he ran.

If there was one good thing to come from an adolescence spent rowing in the belly of a ship, it was that if kept you fit. He managed to keep up a steady pace, following the familiar route around the edge of the forest, until the wooden rooves of the village loomed into view, chimney pots smoking in the cold. Luke left the forest floor behind him, and stepped onto the cobbles. The streets were busier than he remembered from his last visit. Men and women spilled out from one of the nearest buildings; The Belladonna, proclaimed the sign above the door. Luke glanced inside as he passed. A blast of heat spilled over the threshold, combined with the scent of liquor and warm spices. One to tell the boys about, if he ever saw them again.

It was tempting. But not why he had come. Luke kept walking along the street, ignoring everyone he saw and keeping his eyes fixed on the road. Right up until he ran out of street. The cobbles fell away and became moorland. Luke kept walking. The holes in his boots were letting in water, he could barely feel his toes, but he kept walking. He was heading for the peaks.

Esther's mansion looked out of place on the hillside. It was more civilised than most of the other buildings in Shaman. Castle excluded, they were little more than wooden cabins or thatched cottages. The sight was enough to send a shiver down his spine. It had nothing to do with the cold. The first time he'd seen it, he'd been fighting. The man, whoever he had been, had been strong, and kept an iron grip on his forearm. He'd found him sitting on the beach, only a few steps away from his father's lifeless body. Gauge had already faded by then, his dark body and bright eyes dissolved to dust and carried away on the wind. Luke had cried until he'd had nothing left, and then he'd just sat there, slumped in the sand. When the man first took him, he'd barely had the energy to resist. But there was something about the mansion that had set him screaming.

And it had been every inch the nightmare he'd expected.

There was something satisfying about forcing the window. He'd hidden the crowbar nearby on his last day of shore leave, buried it amongst the roots of an old tree. When the pane swung inwards he smiled, and hopped up onto the sill. Quietly, he dropped to the ground on the other side and straightened up. It was dark and silent. Nothing moved. Luke headed for the door and hurried along the corridor.

It was easy enough to find the steps down into the basement. He took them a few at a time until the floor opened up at the bottom. The shelves were lined with boxes, each one marked with a name and pain-stakingly alphabetised. Luke moved along the line, checking the name plates, until...ah ha! Climbing up onto the counter top he lifted down his box, freezing as his eyes settled on the thing behind it; an old guitar case covered in dust. A lump caught in his throat. Tucking the box firmly under his arm he climbed down, taking the case with him, and set both down on the floor.

Crouching in the darkness, he threw back the lids. Memories washed over him. His hands shook as he ran his fingers over the cracked surface of his Dad's guitar. It had been ruined beyond repair by the flood water, the wood had bloated and split, it was a wonder it was still recognisable. He breathed out slow and steady, fighting for calm. He found his mum's locket in the bottom of the box, hidden beneath his Dad's leather motorcycle jacket. The chain had become tangled around the wooden paw of the panther carving he had played with when he was small.

"Welcome home, Luke," and all too familiar voice said.

"Fuck you," he grunted. Luke pushed the locket into his pockets along with the rest of the debris in the bottom of the box, all of it precious. Turning to face Esther, he stood up and shrugged on his Dad's jacket. "You don't own me no more."

"Oh honey," she smiled back, her old face contorting into a smile, "my children never stop being mine, not really. You think my hold on you ends tonight?" He glanced over at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "In the next seven minutes, in fact."

"I'm going to make sure it does, you haggered old cow," Luke told her, closing the guitar case with a snap.

All she did was laugh.

"You've been out of the world a long time, Lukey," she teased him, "no family, no friends, and apparently," she made a show of looking around the room, "no familiar. There's nothing to go back to."

"Back was not the direction I had in mind," Luke told her.

Esther's smile became a grin. "And I'll haunt you, every day of the rest of your wretched life."

"I ain't ever been scared of ghosts, bitch."

---

The moon was reaching its zenith as Luke staggered into the village. His eyelids felt as heavy as his limbs as he staggered between the houses. A woman passed by him, a washing basket on her hip, and threw him a disapproving look, thinking him drunk. Luke ignored her and leaned up against the wall of the nearest house. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers he pulled out a folded piece of paper and unfurled it. 'The Underground Eye' it declared at the top, and a little further down was an address. Yes, he was nearly there.

The world swam around him, drifting in and out of focus. It took every ounce of concentration he had just to read the door numbers. And then, finally, finally he found it. The flats of his hands slammed against the wood as he lurched. He took a deep breath, and tried to push himself back into a standing position. It didn't work. He leaned against the door to stop himself from toppling forwards and hammered on the door with his fists. Shuffling noises sounded on the other side, and then a voice, a woman's said something he didn't have the presence of mind to understand.

She pulled open the door.

"I need your help..." Luke managed, as darkness pressed in on him from the edges of his eyes. He pitched forwards, landing in a heap at her feet.