Chapter 8
July, 1977
The door creaked open again and Jeff slipped inside—bags in one hand, an amp slung over his shoulder, fingers drumming along to some invisible rhythm. He wore an oversized Deep Purple T-shirt, round glasses perched on his nose, and his presence filled the room—not just metaphorically. The scent of weed clung to him like an extension of his personality.
“Well hey there, Hal, Cass,” he greeted with a lazy grin and dropped his stuff on the bar.
Then he noticed Argus and narrowed his eyes slightly, as if assessing whether the guy fit the evening’s vibe.
“And you are…?
“Argus,” Fawley replied curtly, still unsure what kind of scene Halcyon had dragged him into.
“Jeff,” he nodded and offered a hand. Argus accepted it after a brief hesitation.
“Friend of Halcyon?” Jeff smirked.
“Something like that,” Argus answered neutrally.
Jeff chuckled and turned back to Halcyon.
“So, who’s showing up tonight?”
He tilted his head casually and said with a smirk, “The guys from Quartz.”
Halcyon’s eyes went wide. “Ooooh…”
Quartz was a British rock band slowly but surely crawling out of the underground, backed by none other than Black Sabbath. They weren’t superstars yet, but among true fans, whispers had already begun—they were the next big thing.
Jeff just grinned, opened a case, and wordlessly pulled out an electric guitar. But not just any guitar—a stunning black-and-gold Gibson Les Paul Custom, flawless and gleaming under the bar lights like the holy grail of rock.
Halcyon felt her pupils dilate
“Cool!” she breathed, running her fingers along the fretboard like she was afraid the treasure might vanish at any second.
Jeff snorted. “Go on, pick it up—don’t just drool on it.”
Halcyon took it carefully, almost reverently, and strummed a few chords. The sound was perfectly tuned, deep and rich—exactly what she expected from a guitar of that caliber.
“By the way,” Jeff added with a lazy stretch, “I’ve got new records. If you wanna spin something…”
Halcyon lit up instantly. “Yes yes yes!”
She turned to Argus and waved him over excitedly. “Hey, come on! We’re picking music.”
Argus looked up from his drink with all the joy of someone being led to the gallows. “Me? Uh…”
“C’mon, we don’t bite,” Cassidy teased, tossing a rag onto the bar.
With visible reluctance, Argus stood and shuffled toward the mixing console like he was stepping through a minefield. He eyed the blinking lights and the messy stack of vinyls with careful suspicion.
Meanwhile, Jeff laid out a few records and picked one. “How about some Fleetwood Mac? Chill?”
Halcyon nodded eagerly. “Perfect.”
The first notes of Dreams started flowing from the turntable—gentle guitars, Stevie Nicks’s dreamy voice filling the space like silk fog. Halcyon swayed gently to the rhythm, and even Argus seemed to ease up.
But Jeff gave him a long, mischievous look, leaned toward Halcyon, and lifted one side of her headphones. “Now let’s give him something better…”
Halcyon burst out laughing. “Oh no, what are you up to?”
Jeff just winked, grabbed a Judas Priest vinyl, dropped it onto the second turntable, and switched the input.
Suddenly, a shrieking electric guitar ripped through the air, thunderous drums crashed in, and Rob Halford’s razor-sharp vocals exploded into the room.
Argus nearly jumped out of his skin. “WHAT THE—”
Halcyon almost collapsed laughing while Jeff, completely unfazed, kept smoking and watched Argus spiral into panic under the surprise metal assault.
“Welcome to the club, Fawley,” Halcyon giggled, giving him a pat on the back.
✷✷✷
Music still pulsed through the room. Fleetwood Mac had long since been replaced by other bands—Black Sabbath, UFO, a bit of The Doors. Halcyon leaned against the mixing console while Argus eyed the gear in front of him with quiet curiosity.
Meanwhile, Jeff pulled a little box from his pocket, fished out a hand-rolled joint, and calmly slid it between his lips. He flicked his lighter, and soon the air was filled with the thick, familiar scent.
Argus leaned slightly toward the console and squinted. “So… how does this all actually work?” he asked hesitantly.
Jeff exhaled a puff of smoke and nodded with a lazy grin. “Well, man, this is the new Allen & Heath Syncron A. Pure analog mixer, no crazy tech. These knobs here—see?—they’re for EQ. You tweak your highs, mids, and lows with those. And this,” he gestured toward a slider, “is your fader. You use it to transition between records, smooth as butter. No choppy cuts.”
Argus tilted his head a little. “So if I pull it down, the sound goes quiet?”
“Exactly. But with finesse, dude—don’t yank it like you’re pulling a train brake,” Jeff chuckled and gently slid the fader down. The sound of Black Sabbath faded, then swelled back up.
Argus watched his movements with growing interest. He’d never seen this kind of setup before, but for some reason, it captivated him.
“And… those speakers? Are they part of the whole system?” he asked, nodding toward the massive boxes on the edge of the room.
Jeff grinned. “Yeah, we got JBL 4311s. Fresh gear, total beasts. Three-way monitors, tons of power. Crank it up, and the glasses behind the bar start shaking.”
Argus stroked his chin. “And… why are the speakers set up like that? Usually I see them… closer to the floor?”
Jeff raised an eyebrow, surprised by the genuine interest. “Good question. Look—put ’em higher like this, and you get better sound spread. Plus, you don’t get that muddled bass from the floor.”
Argus nodded, clearly having no idea what Jeff was talking about, but fascinated all the same.
Halcyon chuckled to herself. Of course Argus was trying to make sense of something he didn’t understand at all. He probably thought if Jeff explained it just right, it would suddenly click. Ravenclaw, she thought with a smirk.
Meanwhile, she gave Jeff a look as he continued enjoying his joint with serene detachment. “And what about me?”
Jeff smirked, reached over, and passed her the joint. “What else would you want, Hal?”
She took it and inhaled wordlessly. The hot smoke burned down her throat, and she savored that familiar feeling of her thoughts beginning to melt. She leaned back, smiling, and blew a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
Then she noticed Argus watching them with a suspicious look.
“Oh, come on, Fawley,” she teased, waving the joint in front of his face. “Relax, your dad’s not here.”
Argus snorted. “He sure isn’t. But I don’t know…”
“Dude, it’s a one-off. No stress,” Jeff added, leaning back on the console. “It’s not gonna bite.”
Cassidy, who was wiping a glass behind the bar, raised an eyebrow and chimed in with a laugh, “Go on, Argus. Might help you loosen up a bit. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
Argus rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Halcyon, who was watching him with an amused grin. He got the feeling that if he said no, they’d never let him live it down.
“No one’s judging you here, bro,” Jeff said, holding the joint out.
There was a pause. Argus looked at them all, as if weighing whether this was some kind of elaborate trap.
Then he sighed, took the joint, and inhaled.
A beat of silence. Then he exhaled the smoke and shrugged.
“Not bad.”
Halcyon burst out laughing.
Jeff hummed along to the rhythm of the music, satisfied.
✷✷✷
The late afternoon air was cooler than Halcyon had expected, but after the heavy haze and smoke inside Electric Voodoo, it felt like a blessing. The breeze tousled her hair as she walked slowly beside Argus. Muffin trotted a little ahead of them, his tail wagging happily from side to side, occasionally bouncing with excitement to sniff something along the pavement.
Argus walked in silence next to her—and he looked… different. Not completely out of it, but his eyes had a soft, foggy look, as if he was turning each thought over in his head twice as long. His usually sharp reactions were dulled, and his steps more relaxed, unhurried.
Halcyon opened a bag of crisps and popped one into her mouth. “Mmmm,” she murmured with contentment.
Argus had his hands stuffed in his pockets and slowly scanned their surroundings. Then he looked at her—not the usual guarded glance or half-suspicious squint, but with a sort of quiet curiosity, like he was really seeing her for the first time instead of just listening to her talk.
“What’s it like having Gregory as a brother?” Halcyon asked casually. She’d originally meant to ask about Alfred, but… thought better of it.
Argus sighed and then—unexpectedly—laughed. Briefly, almost to himself. “He’s… well, obsessed. Always going on about Evans. He even tried to convince me to smuggle him—”
Then he stopped. “Wait… how do you know about him?” His attention sharpened slightly, even if his voice still carried that slowed edge.
Halcyon noticed how his posture shifted—tenser now, more alert.
“The ghosts told us,” she answered, a little more cautiously. She suddenly realized Argus had no idea she was friends with them. And that thanks to them, she knew a lot more about him than he probably wanted anyone to know. “You know them, right?” she added with a nervous chuckle.
Argus blinked. It was clear he was trying to piece things together in his head, but it was all coming a bit slow.
“So… they play cards with you guys at night?!”
“Yeah… but they suck at it,” she shrugged. “You mad?”
Argus looked thoughtful, not angry. More like someone who just found out their house had been listed in a travel guide. He was quiet for a moment.
“No…” he said at last. “Just… how?”
“People say your house is haunted, so Lily and I decided to check it out, and well… we kinda became friends with them. Mostly Lily, honestly—I was ready to bolt. Just—”
“Gryffindors,” he finished for her, shaking his head with a faint smile.
Halcyon figured that sober Argus might’ve sounded more irritated. But now he just shrugged and sighed. “I suppose they talked about my family, huh?”
“A bit,” Halcyon said innocently.
Argus shot her a look.
“Halcyon.”
“Okay… maybe a bit more than a bit. But not that much! And we haven’t told anyone, I swear…”
Argus nodded but didn’t say anything. He just stared ahead.
Halcyon felt the tension in the air and it unsettled her. She’d been happy thinking she’d made a new friend, and now she felt like she’d messed it up. Typical.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Argus looked up slowly. There was a softness in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Maybe it was the haze. Maybe it was the fact that—for once—he wasn’t holding everything at arm’s length.
“It’s okay,” he answered just as softly.
Halcyon sighed. She wanted to shift the mood.
“If you want, you can ask me something personal too,” she offered. “You know, so we’re even.”
Argus looked at her and was quiet for a moment.
Then he almost unconsciously bit his lip—and Halcyon noticed, just for a second, his gaze flicker to her scar.
No. Don’t ask about that.
But instead, he met her eyes and gave a faint smile.
“Right… are the Proudfoots your real family?” he asked. “Cause… sometimes it sounds like you talk about them as if you weren’t really one of them.”
The question knocked the breath out of her.
She hadn’t even realized she talked about them that way. But of course—Argus never missed a detail.
“You’re right,” she admitted. No point pretending. “My mum left me with Bruce. It was supposed to be temporary, but… things got complicated.”
A wave of sadness rolled over her at the thought of her real mother.
“Someone hurt her,” she continued softly. “She ended up at St. Mungo’s… because she lost her mind.” She took a deep breath. “And Bruce was kind enough to take care of me. I think I was about six at the time.”
Argus didn’t speak. But his silence wasn’t heavy.
It was a look of… understanding.
He gently reached out and gave her hand a soft squeeze.
And for the first time in a long time, Halcyon felt like someone truly understood her.