I'm sitting in the living room of Carla's apartment, controller in hand, playing a fighting game.
Luck's beside me, showing off his newest combo.
You might be wondering—where's the dad?
The truth is, I don't know.
Carla never talks about him. Neither does Luck. It's like there's an unspoken rule: don't bring him up. So, I don't.
Given how young Carla is, and how old Luck already, I get the feeling that whatever happened isn't something they want to remember. Or relive.
"That's a pretty solid combo," I say, nodding at the screen.
"Argh! I still lose!" Luck groans, gripping the controller so hard it gives a worrying creak.
"Don't let it get to you. You managed to land a clean hit on me, didn't you?"
"You think it was good?"
"Definitely. Not many people could pull that off."
To be honest, I was impressed. As a magician, my mind runs like a built-in supercomputer. And even with that edge, Luck still managed to tag me a few times.
"Hey, it's getting late. How about we take a break?"
Luck stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the TV screen.
"Mr. Briar… Mom's going to be okay, right? Nothing bad's going to happen to her?"
He's still worried about that…
I leaned forward, my voice steady. "Yeah. I'll make sure she's safe. You can trust me."
He looked up at me, eyes searching.
"Okay… I trust you, Mr. Briar. I'll head to bed now."
Luck gets up and heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
I stretch a little, then start pacing around the living room. When we got back earlier, Carla was already in her room. Honestly, I'd been waiting—half-distracted with the game—expecting the demon inside her to stir. But… nothing. No movement.
I wander slowly, taking in the apartment's quiet atmosphere. On the shelf by the wall, I notice some framed photos. One shows Carla holding a tiny Luck on his first day of elementary school. Another captures him beaming with a medal in hand—some kind of racing competition, I think. There are more like it, scattered along the shelf.
I find myself smiling, just a little.
I've known Carla for over a year now. As for Luck, I only met him about three months ago, back when Carla and I were both in the hospital.
You might be wondering—why would I need to be in a hospital? Someone like me could heal a fatal wound in seconds.
Simple. It's not normal for someone to walk away from a car crash without a scratch. I explained that to Carla, too. We needed to make sure our injuries looked real, felt real, and came with proper medical records. Just in case.
To sell it, I even reshaped the landscape at the scene of the accident. Everything had to match up—blood, debris, and damage. Carla was scared of getting hurt, but I assured her: the wounds were illusions, nothing more. Pain-free but convincing enough to fool a doctor.
Why go through all that trouble?
Because I didn't want to deal with the police—not the regular ones, but the special police.
The ones tasked with handling supernatural anomalies.
Yeah. They're real. And good at what they do. But I hated them.
It's a long story. Let's just say even in the world of the supernatural, the right amount of money can still buy silence.
***
Luck stood in the bathroom, quietly brushing his teeth.
'Will Mom be okay…?'
The worry lingered in his chest.
Luck wasn't the best at talking to people—never had been. Most days at school, he kept to himself. But he was used to that. Loneliness didn't bother him much.
He still had his mom. She was all he needed.
'And now there's Mr. Briar too…'
Even though they'd only met recently, something about Mr. Briar felt different. Trustworthy. Steady. Strong. Someone you could rely on without question.
Even back at the hospital—bruised, bandaged, bleeding—Mr. Briar had carried himself like nothing could shake him.
'I want to be like him when I grow up.'
Luck didn't show it, but when Mr. Briar praised him earlier, it meant a lot. More than he wanted to admit. His teachers often complimented him for his athleticism and sharp mind. His mom, too. But somehow, praise from Mr. Briar felt… heavier.
He rinsed his mouth and glanced down at his toothbrush.
'Already worn out again?'
He sighed. This was the fifth time this month he'd need a new one.
'Maybe I'll ask Mr. Briar if he has any recommendations.'
With that, he stepped out of the bathroom. From the hallway, he spotted Mr. Briar standing outside his mom's room, watching over it in silence.
'It'll be fine. Mr. Briar's here.'
Feeling a bit lighter, Luck walked to his room. He crawled into bed, tugged the blanket up to his chin, and let his eyes close. Sleep came quickly.
But in the quiet that followed, something stirred.
A hand reached out from beneath Luck's bed.
A figure emerged—slowly, silently—and stood beside him.
.
***
I stood quietly in front of Carla's bedroom door, hand resting against my chin, lost in thought. My mind was still on the demon currently possessing her.
Demonic possession isn't easy to detect—and it's even harder to remove. It's like trying to separate ink from a glass of water. You can't take the ink out without disturbing the water itself.
To extract the ink, you need to draw it to the surface first—make it gather where it's most visible, most vulnerable. That's why I used a sleep spell on Carla earlier. Nothing aggressive. Just a basic enchantment to lull her into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. When the host is unconscious, the demon tends to surface—taking brief control of the body.
While I was with Luck earlier outside, I confirmed from a distance that the demon had, in fact, taken over. That's why I'm here now—waiting.
Waiting for the demon to do what it always does.
A demon doesn't have full, fluid control. Its influence is clumsy—limited to a few pre-recorded actions each time it manifests. From what I heard from Luck, the first action it always performs is leaving Carla's room.
So now I wait, expecting to hear the door open. Expecting to see Carla—no, the demon—step out and move toward Luck's room.
Why not go in and cleanse it now?
Simple: respect. It's out of consideration for Carla. I'm not a creep—and if I remember right, she prefers to sleep without pajamas.
'The demon sure is taking its time.'
Still, I'm not worried. Even when a demon takes over, it can't force the body to do real harm. Not to the host. Not to anyone else.
Its control is limited—like it's bound by unwritten rules.
Suddenly, a scream echoed from the hall.
Luck's voice.
'What? Already?'
So the demon had made its move after all.
I was caught off guard for a moment—but not panicked. Like I said, the demon can't actually hurt anyone.
'Luck must've just been startled—probably saw Carla standing there, blank-faced in the dark.'
I straightened up, ready to act.
'It was time.'
I walked toward Luck's room. As I approached, I heard it—soft, broken sobs.
Luck was crying.
'Poor kid. I'll talk to him later.'
I reached his door and tried the handle.
'Locked.'
I knocked gently.
"Luck? Is Carla in there? Can you open the door?"
The crying stopped.
Silence stretched for several seconds. The door remained shut.
"…Luck?"
A cold discomfort began to settle in my chest. Something felt wrong.
"Luck, open the door."
Still nothing.
That uneasy feeling sharpened into something urgent.
Without waiting any longer, I cast a simple unlocking spell. A quiet 'click' followed.
I pushed the door open.
What I saw froze me in place.
Carla lay face-down on the floor—but her head was twisted completely around, facing upward. Her eyes were open, twitching. The rest of her body hadn't moved.
And beside her sat Luck.
But not the Luck I knew.
His eyes glowed a deep, unnatural red, faintly lighting the dark room. His fingers had turned to claws, nails black and curved. Fangs peeked out from his trembling lips. He covered his mouth with shaking hands as tears streamed down his glowing eyes.
He looked up at me, terrified.
"M-Mr. Briar… you have to believe me… I-I didn't… I was just…"
His voice cracked, breaking off into a sob.
So that's what it is.
'Luck was never human.'