Alister
The dust settles slowly, curling through the air. The bodies of the men who attacked lie sprawled across the ground—some unconscious, others whimpering and broken.
Clara stares at Zach, as she truly sees the violence coiled under his skin. How easily he could tear a person apart if he had to. Meanwhile, those two stare back—seeing her for the first time too.
No one's bothering to hide what they are anymore. The masks have slipped clean off.
Stephanie grins first. "I guess you're not so boring after all, huh, hunter's daughter?"
Clara doesn't answer her. She's staring at Zach, desperate for something in his face—approval maybe, I don't know.
"It's for self-defense!" Clara blurts out, like she's on trial.
Zach gives her this awkward smile. "I didn't say anything."
A wet groan cuts through the air. We turn to see a small cluster of the men Stephanie had slashed struggling to move, clutching their wounds. Blood slicks the ground beneath them.
Stephanie's smile darkens into something wicked.
She walks over to them, blade still in her hand. "You boys are in trouble. See this blade I used? It's laced with a slow-acting poison."
The men's faces twisted into masks of panic. One tried to pull himself backward. Another whimpered something about a hospital.
I click my tongue in irritation. Why are we wasting time?
Clara looks unnerved, one hand half-raised to her mouth. I don't think it makes sense to ask someone who stabbed a dart into one's neck and shot the others hand off if they are alright. Zach's already moving towards Stephanie, his face pulled into a hard frown.
Stephanie pulls out a small white bottle and dangles it lazily.
"This is the antidote," she says. "Not much left. Only one of you can have it. Better start narrowing down the numbers."
I squint at the bottle, and it hits me.
It's my damn eyedropper with the missing label. She must've stolen the empty bottle from my apartment for a joke like this.
The wounded men glanced at each other with raw fear in their eyes.
Zach comes up behind Stephanie and clamps a hand over her mouth, dragging her back a step.
"Enough," he yells. "She's lying. There's no poison." He yanks the fake antidote out of her hand. "It's an empty eyedropper."
They hesitate. Some believed him. Some didn't. Fear's a tricky thing—it doesn't listen to reason.
"Let's go!" I say, looking at the three. "Now."
Stephanie tears free of Zach's grip, shooting me a glare. She's pissed I ended her game early.
"Okay! Now that everyone's alright, we keep going," Zach said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. It was almost jarring—the whiplash between the person he was a minute ago and the one grinning at us now. Does he have DID or something?
We all follow him, with Stephanie walking at the back of the group, still pouting.
"Sooner or later they're going to be a hindrance." Helena says as she floats beside me.
"Who knows?" I mumble, glancing at Clara, who looks like she's ready for more danger. Why is she so worried when I could handle everything? "I suppose we'll have to wait and see."
After awhile, we turn a corner, and a burst of vibrant color catches my eye. The walls are a riot of purple and red, swirling patterns. The sign above the door reads "Madam Reeze's Mystical Corner" in glittering golden letters.
The whole thing screamed over-the-top, carnival sideshow, promising cheap fortunes while slipping your wallet out of your pocket.
"This is it." Zach says, with his hands to his sides. "Man, it hasn't changed abit."
As we stepped inside, the air seemed thick with the tang of incense and something sweeter underneath, something syrupy and cloying that clung to the back of my throat.
"This is so cool." Clara says, probably to herself, as she looks around with sparkling eyes and wonder. The same wonder that was in her eyes when she saw the flower field. A look I didn't know I missed seeing.
"Too superstitious in my opinion." I say while watching her brush her fingers over a crystal ball.
At the far end of the shop, a person sits behind a counter, watching us approach. It's a young man with a shaved head and a friendly smile. He's dressed in a flowing white shirt and a silver chain.
"He seems like a nice guy." Clara whispers. "Let me and Zach do the talking."
I frown. "Why?"
Zach looks at me with an awkward grin. "Well, not that there's anything wrong with you, it's just...that you..." He struggles to find the right words so as to not hurt me.
"You intimidate people." Clara finishes bluntly, stepping closer.
Before I could argue, she reaches and slightly pulls my glasses up, peering into my eyes like she was diagnosing a problem.
"It's definitely those cold, intense eyes." She says, lightly, almost teasing.
I swat her hand away as I swallow hard. "Whatever," I mutter, looking off to the side.
"Welcome!" The guy at the counter says as we arrive, his voice annoyingly cheery. "I'm Asher, Madam Reeze's assistant. How may I help you?"
Clara smiles politely. "We're here to see Madam Reeze. Is she available?"
Asher's smile falters. "Ah, I'm afraid she is quite busy today. There's an important customer with her at the moment, and some other errands to run after that. She won't be accepting any new customers until 7p.m. You'll have to come back later."
"We have important business to discuss with her. I'm sure if she sees us, she'll know it." Zach insists. He seems to have an unwavering trust in her extraordinary abilities.
"I'm afraid that's not possible," he says, his tone hardening like he was quoting a script he'd memorized under duress. "Madam Reeze is not to be disturbed. I'm strictly told not to interrupt her."
Something about my expression, for some reason, makes his smile drop, and he glances nervously toward a glass case at the side of the counter, where an old hunting rifle rests.
"I—I have the right to refuse service," he stammers. "P-please leave and come back after 7p.m."
Ugh, threatening him is way easier.
It seems Clara read my mind because she shoots me a sharp, warning look. And of course, I comply. Because watching her fail and realize I was right is its own kind of entertainment.
"Look, how—" She begins until Steph interrupts her.
"For goodness sake! The door's right there! Just walk over, you pushovers!" She exclaims after being silent the entire way that I almost forgot she was still with us.
The curtain of beads clatters and sways as she pushes through them, revealing a dimly lit corridor. Asher's eyes widen in alarm as he rushes and grabs her arm in a bid to stop her.
For a moment, it seems like Steph's about to lash out at him, using her sword to threaten him, but then Asher's face goes bright red. He hastily lets go of her arm. "I can't allow you to go in." He says in a flustered tone.
Her expression changes in an instant too, a sultry smirk spreading across her face. Her new idea clear as day.
"Zach," I call out, making her stop in her tracks. "You still have blood on your hands. You didn't wipe it off?"
Zach catches onto what I'm trying to do as he holds up his red-stained hands up into the light. "I did, it's just kind of hard to clean them without soap."
"I agree." I say, pulling out my blood-soaked knife. "Wet wipes don't work either."
Asher's gaze falls from Zach's hands to my knife, and sweat drips from his forehead.
"Um...excuse me. I think I forgot something in the back." He says, hurriedly walking away.
"Was that really necessary?" Steph says with a raised brow.
"What you were about to do was unnecessary," I remark bluntly as I slide the knife back into my coat. "Keep it appropriate. There's a creep here who would have enjoyed watching."
Clara stomps ahead, arms crossed. I follow after her, Zach and Stephanie trailing behind me.
"What is it?" I run up to her, watching her pout deepen as she picks up her pace toward the door at the end of the corridor.
"Nothing," she mutters, speeding up like she's trying to outrun me.
The room we enter is heavy with scented candles and something sweeter, like dried flowers.
Seated in the center is, I'm guessing, Madam Reeze. Her presence commanding attention. She's an imposing figure, with long, curly black hair, wrinkled golden-brown skin, and tired, piercing green eyes that seem to see right through us.
She is seated behind a low ornate table, her hands clasped together. Two customers are seated across from her. One is a young woman with short, spiky hair and a nose ring, her eyes fixed intently on the fortune teller. The other is an older man with a gaunt face and sunken eyes.
Their eyes drift towards us as we enter. A hint of annoyance flashes across Madam Reeze's face. "What's the point of buying a gun when he doesn't even have a spine." She sighs.
"Madam, we're—" I begin, only for her to raise her hand sharply in a silent command to wait.
"Don't interrupt me," she says sternly.
This trip better be worth it. No way any of this nonsense is real. Honestly, I wouldn't even have come here if Clara hadn't insisted.
"Relax, it'll only be for a second," Zach whispers behind me, trying to sound reassuring. I grunt but stay put, watching the fortune teller work.
"Is she using some artifact?" I whisper to Helena. Who I know is always listening.
"No. I don't see any in here." Her voice reaches my ears even if I don't see her infront of me. "Although there is a lot of stuff, I wouldn't be surprised if she was."
I sigh and glance at Clara and by the way she's biting her blue thumbnail, she's stressing out or overthinking again.
I shift my attention to Zach before I start staring again. He's watching Madam Reeze a little too closely, leaning forward ever so slightly like he doesn't want to miss a single thing.
"Zach, How did the writing in that book remind you of her?"
He looks at me, as if pulled from a trance. Then, his eyes drift toward the far wall, landing on a painting hung by the window. It's hard to miss. The words in the painting are the same patterns I remember seeing in the book he mentioned.
"When I was here last time... I kept staring at it. Thought maybe the patterns would move, like some kind of visual illusion."
"I can't believe you still remember that."
He flashes me a grin. "What can I say? Kids notice the weirdest things. Strange stuff is easiest to remember."
As Madam Reeze finishes speaking, the candles on the table flicker wildly, casting the room in a dizzying dance of shadows.
"Madam!" Clara suddenly bursts out. We all flinch at her abruptness. "We have something important to discuss with you!"
The old woman glares at her with annoyance. But then she shifts her gaze to her customers, her expression softening into one of practiced politeness. "That'll be all. You may leave now."
The two customers look at each other uneasily before rising and walking out of the room. Madam Reeze doesn't even wait for the door to close before she turns back to us.
"Now, speak, you impatient brats," she says, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "What do you want solved first?"
I smirk. "Shouldn't you already know that? Aren't you a fortune teller?"
The corners of her lips curl upward ever so slightly. "All of you have many needs and desires. I charge based on the predicament."
Clara steps forward and holds out the book. "Can you read anything in this book?"
Looking intrigued, she reaches out and inspects the cover. But as soon as she opens the book, her expression shifts dramatically. Her eyes widen, her breath hitches in surprise, and then—almost as if the book has physically burned her—she drops it.
"Where did you get this?" she asks, her eyes darting towards us.
"What do you know about this?" I persist.
Her eyes linger on the book for a moment before she bends down to pick it up. "Follow me," she commands as she moves out of the room.
As we walk out of the corridor and through the beaded curtain, she pauses to speak to Asher, who's still sitting behind the counter. He cowers as he looks at me. "Get Rebecca. Tell her to come upstairs. And close the shop early today, Asher." She instructs.
He nods, still looking a bit shocked and runs out of the shop.
She leads us to a spiral staircase in the corner. After we move upstairs, she unlocks a door and gestures us to enter as it creaks open, revealing a decorated corridor.
We find ourselves in a charming, eclectic space, with colorful tapestries and rugs adorning the walls and floor. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, like stepping into a beloved grandmother's home.
But the mood is far from that, as she looks at us with a stern gaze. "I want you kids to tell me exactly what's going on. And how you got this book."
Clara begins to speak, recounting our tale. Her eyes dart towards me occasionally, making sure the things she's saying aren't the ones we're not supposed to reveal. I give her a subtle nod, and she continues.
And so, as we drank her homemade herbal tea, which was absolutely delicious regardless of the faces Steph was making, we told her about what happened so far. I'm careful to omit certain details—the dead body, the fights between Clara and me. Some things are best kept hidden, and these obviously don't need to be mentioned.
Helena has been silently staring at everything from the side of the room, listening intently and with interest to what Reeze will say.
As we finish our story, Madam Reeze sets her cup down. "I see," she says.
"So, can you help us or not?" I ask, leaning forward.
Before she can respond, a knock at the door breaks the tension, and she quickly rises from her seat to answer it.
Her purple skirt swishes as she moves briskly to the door. Moments later, a tall, gaunt woman emerges from the hallway. She's haunting—pale as snow, with brittle silver hair that falls straight down her back. She clutches a lace-edged shawl around her bony shoulders, her black dress hanging loosely from her frame.
But it's her eyes that truly catch my attention. They're a deep, inky black, like two dark pools that seem to draw everything in.
"I got the feeling you had something important to tell me." She says in a husky voice.
I notice that the air around her seems to vibrate with an eerie energy. It's as if she's bringing a dark and foreboding presence into the room. Whoever she is, she knows a thing or two about dark magic. I'm sure of it.
Her eyes scan the room, lingering on each of us before coming to rest on the book lying on the table.
"Open it, Rubecca." Madam Reeze urges.
When she does, she has the same astonished expression that that other woman had.
"Is this...?" She asks, her eyes widening in surprise as she flips the pages.
"I think so," Reeze says. "To think we'd ever see the great Leora's work in person."
Rubecca straightens up slowly, her gaze cutting back to me.
"It seems authentic," she says, voice sharper now. "But I must ask. How did this come into your possession? This book was said to have been destroyed. Burned to ash."
Her eyes are intimidating, I won't deny. But I'm tired of being the one answering every question without getting anything real in return.
"I'll first need you to tell me what this is," I say calmly, "and what it has to do with the curse."
"Curse?"
I stretch down the neckline of my shirt and observe her expression carefully. Can she see the gem? Will she try to hide the fact that she can see it? If she can, doesn't that mean she's an artifact user and might be connected to those hunters? I wonder if we made the right choice coming here.
Her gaze moves from my face to my chest, staring in confusion. It appears she genuinely can't see it.
Without warning, she reaches out and places a hand over my chest. It's like she's trying to connect with it, to feel the magic pulsing underneath my skin. Her touch is cold, sending a shiver up my spine. I want to pull away but force myself to stay still. I don't like being touched—especially by strangers. There are only two exceptions.
"A powerful binding spell. One that's sucking the life out of you and seems to be regaining magic." She mutters. Her gaze then shifts to Clara, and she does the same to her.
"A curse only the caster can remove." She says grimly as she pulls back. "There's nothing I can do about it."
My heart sinks. "How do we find the caster?"
She gives a small shrug. "It would be like finding a needle in a haystack."
"What if they're dead?" Steph asks.
Rubecca shakes her head. "I'm not familiar with this specific curse. According to the ones I know of, if it's connected to the caster and if that person dies, the curse dies with it."
"Who are you, though, if you don't mind me asking?" Zach asks curiously as he nibbles on a biscuit.
"A pharmacist." She looks at him and smiles. "But I'm also a witch doctor if you need some spiritual assistance."
"What about this?" I ask, holding the book up.
She takes it from my hands. "Ahh, yes," she breathes, flipping it open with careful fingers. "The book of Leora. I never thought I'd see it with my own eyes. My mother used to tell me stories about it when I was a little girl. Her mother too. It's a legend among our family."
I'm about to ask something when Clara beats me to it. "Who's this Leora you keep talking about? Some famous witch?"
At the question, Madam Reeze—who had been quietly sipping her tea—perks up.
"Tell them," she urges, her eyes gleaming. "Tell them like you told me. Maybe they'll become her followers too."
Rubecca chuckles softly before settling into the couch like a grandmother preparing to tell a bedtime story.
"Leora was indeed a powerful witch. A true sorceress who had a cult following. She was known to make pacts with demons. What she gave in return or how those contracts worked, only she knew. This book was a result of one of the pacts she made with a higher-ranked demon."
Stephanie smirks proudly at us, crossing her arms like she's just won a bet.
"It's said to consist of recipes and rituals for making powerful enchanted artifacts that, according to the tales, she distributed among her closest followers. And so—" Rubecca continues, but I cut in, leaning forward.
"Wait. Are you saying some people might actually have them in real life?" I ask, feigning surprise. "Does that mean you have them too?"
"This one loves to interrupt," Madam Reeze says, pointing a sharp-nailed finger at me. I just roll my eyes and sink back into the couch.
"No, I don't have any for myself, sadly," she says disappointingly. "I'd like to believe our ancestors might have been granted some, but they either got lost... or were destroyed." She gives a small shrug, her face falling slightly.
Good. At least she doesn't seem tied to the hunters. Or know anything about them.
"But you're right," she continues, waving the book lightly in one hand. "I do believe there are artifacts that survived all these years and are kept hidden by certain people. This book," she taps it, "was said to have been destroyed in a fire. But here it is."
"Excuse me." Clara says politely, not wanting to rudely interrupt like me. "Did you say fire? It didn't happen to be a house fire, did it?"
My eyes widen as I make the same connection.
Rubecca blinks. "Yes, actually, according to what I've been told. How'd you know?"
"So Leora died in that house fire too?" I ask eagerly, ignoring her question to Clara.
She thinks for a second. "I don't remember. All I know is that there was no contact with her and then her whole village died in a week. Something about contaminated water. Upon investigation of her house, it was burned to the ground. Her family was nowhere to be found. Nor was she and the book."
"Why...do you know all that?" Zach asks.
"My family has been an avid follower of her for generations. Our ancestor was one of her students and passed down the knowledge."
"Wait, so the whole village died? And her house was burned? Seems like a good revenge story." Stephanie says, liking that the witch shared her thirst for vengeance.
"Why do you say that?" Madam Reeze says with a frown. "How would she have done it? If she possibly died in the fire or maybe ran away with her family when she knew what was going to happen to her."
"The gemstone that got broken into two. What does this book say about it?" I say uneasily.
Rubecca's fingers flip through the pages until she finally stops. "The soul-swapping stone," she reads carefully.
It's like getting punched straight in the gut. Every unanswered question, every doubt, suddenly clicks into place. Even the nightmares, the ones where the girls give the name of the next person to die... or, more accurately, their own names.
Beside me, Clara stiffens. She's come to the same horrifying conclusion.
Rubecca skims quickly past the detailed recipe, landing on the description. "Holding one close to the chest and saying these incan—" she stops. Her face pales as her gaze snaps up to meet mine, then Clara's.
"Which... which one of you is Leora?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.
Madam Reeze's expression mirrors her shock. "The dream you had. The burning house," she breathes, realization dawning on her.
We should've hidden more... said less.
"It's nothing like that," I say, trying to make them see reason. "That witch may have escaped her death in that fire using the stone. She could've survived that way for who knows how long. But think about it—something must've happened to her, right? Something made her lose the gems. Why would she curse her own stones to be bound to random people? And why would they be broken?"
The two women are quiet for a moment, their faces shifting as they process. The shock and suspicion begins to fade, replaced by contemplation.
"Where did they get this book?" Rubecca asks.
"From an abandoned house. They broke in," Madam Reeze replies, not missing a beat.
"Whose house was it, and where is it?"
I lean forward, irritation bubbling up. "How is that relevant to the curse?"
She smirks. "You're hiding something." She stands up from her seat. "Don't act so high and mighty when you're the ones who need our help. Everything is a transaction, boy. If you want me to find a solution in the book, I'm going to need you kids to be honest with me. And tell me the truth."
I glare at her, doing my best to suppress the urge to take out my knife and slash that smugness right off her face.
"He was dead." Clara blurts out. "When we got to his house, he was hanging by the fan. We stole the book and ran away."
She gets up, ignoring the shocked stares around us, looking straight at Rubecca. "That's the honest truth. We don't know why he was dead, all we know is that he had the book." she adds, wisely leaving out the details about the pentagrams. No need to complicate things further by answering more questions we don't want to get into.
"Just tell us a way to get rid of the curse," I insist. "We'll even give you the gems after the spell breaks."
At the mention of the stones, I see their eyes flicker with something like desire or greed, though they try to remain composed.
"Child, I'm willing to help you if you can do one thing for me." Rubecca says, trying to sound sympathetic but just seeming more irritating to me. "It's not that big. Just a small favor. Being a Leora devotee, you must understand that this is very important to me. I can't rest until I know what happened to her."
Clara exhales a heavy sigh. "Fine. Tell us what you want."
Rubecca smiles and flips a few pages. "This is a memory transfer ritual." She says. "The way it works is you ingest a part of a dead person's body, chant the spell written here, and you receive their memories."
I immediately stand up, looking at her in disbelief. "Are you serious? Do you even know what you're saying?"
She simply blinks at me. "I'm dead serious, child."
A stifled snort erupts from Zach and Steph. I shoot them a look. The last thing I need right now is for them to burst out laughing and turn this into an even bigger joke.
"Come on," Zach says, struggling to hold back his laughter. "You really expect them to eat a dead man's body part? That's beyond gross, and not to mention, unethical."
Well...not like the stuff we've done till now would be considered ethical.
Madam Reeze shrugs, unbothered. "We don't care how you kids do it. We only care about the results. Just break into the house again. Or if the body's been found, break into the morgue."
"The more you speak, the more my instincts tell me you shouldn't be trusted. You expect us to break into the morgue just because a stranger told us?" Steph says, crossing her arms.
Clara then speaks up. "Is there an object that can break curses?"
Rubecca she flips some more pages. "Unfortunately there isn't. But...there is this."
She holds out a text-filled page with three tiny objects in a corner and a pentagram at the end of the second page. "This is a curse‐breaking ritual. If you do what I said, I'll explain what's written here and how it works."
"I'll do it." I declare.
I get why these two are reluctant to do it themselves even though they want to know what happened. The spell could go wrong. They might be thinking the guy we stole the book from killed himself because a spell might not have gone right. They are being careful. I doubt that's the reason for his suicide, though.
Still, even if they did want to do the ritual themselves, I was ready to volunteer myself for it. I would have insisted. Because now there are suspicions I want to confirm.
I feel Clara tug on my arm and turn to face her. Her blue eyes are icy slits.
"Why you?" she questions.
Before I can respond, she reaches up, grabbing my face and pulling me down so she can whisper in my ear.
"Being a hero doesn't suit you, Alister Wyatt."
Her breath brushes my ear, and I swallow hard. I hate it when she does this.
"Why not?" I ask, pulling away before her touch burns any deeper. "Are you comfortable with cannibalism?"
I can see that subtle smirk fall from her face as she frowns at me.
"Yeah, Clara, are you?" Zach chimes in, smirking, intending to creep her out. "Do you know how squishy eyeballs are? Or how soft lips taste like?"
My eyes accidentally flicker to her pink lips for a second too long to be innocent, watching them twist in disgust as he continue. "How a brain tastes after being cooked? Grilled thighs?"
"Stop grossing everyone out, Zach. We know you're not a cannibal." Steph says, rolling her eyes.
Clara huffs, crossing her arms and looking away in annoyance.
Technically, body parts can include hair and nails, so there's no real need to ingest any organs.
"Zach," I call out. "How fast is your bike?"
He grins. "Do you need to ask?"
"Perfect," I reply. "I need you to go to my apartment. Get that brown satchel, you saw yesterday from my closet and bring it here."
I turn back to Clara, and I see the disbelief etched on her features.
"I was right," she says, shaking her head in resignation. "You really are gross."