"Mark!" I yelled. "To your left!"
The Old Quarter was famous for its narrow streets. Named after its ancient history, legends said the Old Quarter was already built before the city even existed. As the stories go, its buildings appeared out of nowhere and the city arrived later. It's curious the city surrounds the block, keeping the old buildings in the middle like a makeshift heart. Whether that's true or not, I wouldn't dare to say, but the slanted houses and claustrophobic passages did really give the place a medieval feeling. I could almost imagine the peasants throwing dirty water, raw fish and rotten meat to the street as rats climbed the cobblestones carrying the Plague to whatever unfortunate soul dared cross their path.
Of course, times had changed. The filth limited itself to the overflowing bins, and the only stench that could knock you out cold could've been the urine of stray cats and dogs.
My lungs burned. I wasn't used to exercising, and I was tired. I had a suspicion some of my cuts were bleeding under the bandaids. To my right, Mark flashed by, chasing the thief.
Peter and John were close by, although I couldn't pinpoint where, and Lily had abandoned the pursuit the moment she had seen where we were headed. I refused to give up, which was a rather bold promise because I'd soon vomit my own intestines if I didn't stop, and I wasn't the quickest of the lot, either.
"Fucking idiot," I told myself as I panted.
I wondered what fucking valuable information the case file would have that a demon and a human would almost simultaneously try to keep us from reading it. Did it contain the nuclear codes to launch a massive attack? Mark's job was getting more interesting by the minute, and more dangerous...
My feet tapped furiously on the stones. The polished surface where thousands of feet had left their print was slippery, and the first few raindrops predicted it would get worse.
I had lost contact with the group, but I kept moving out of habit, without a destination nor a lead. Over my head, the clotheslines were full and cast a shadow on me.
"Little fucker," an old man exclaimed when I sped by his lemonade cart.
"Sorry!"
I pushed through my exhaustion, frantically looking for anyone familiar, but I slowed to a stop. Although once a lowly block, the Old Quartier was intricate in its design, and it almost felt like it was a carefully meditated choice: as if it lured in reckless people like me, as if it was meant to trap and disorient. Sabela used to say narrow streets serve another purpose than daily travelling. Not to trap someone—something—, but to keep it out. It was usual for healers and exorcists to live in overcrowded corners of the city because they believed the Great Demon was too wide to pass through. I wouldn't bet my ass on it. The Devil is in the details, and details tend to be small and insignificant.
In the intersection where two alleys cross, I spun around. The four ways elongated beyond my vision to finally get swallowed by the houses and shops. There was a market in one of the streets, packed with people and carts, and a few dogs, and a group of tourists riding vintage bicycles.
It's then that I felt the presence of the thief, that I knew he was hiding inside the sea of faces. It's not like I saw him, I couldn't. It would've been like locating a needle in a haystack. But I could feel him the same way I could feel other things that normal people couldn't. The same way I had known the thief was the stalker that liked to wait by my window at night.
I checked my phone, but the signal was low at best and nonexistent at worst. I still tried to unsuccessfully call Mark. As much as I needed to confirm he was okay, I couldn't forsake my guts.
It called me. As I let my body be swallowed by the crowd, a variety of aromas and sights hit my senses, numbing the instinctual awareness that pulled me towards the right path. I smelled cumin. Cheese. Leather. I saw clothes of brilliant colors and lamps that reflected the light in disparate rainbows. The bustling filled my ear as it filled my heart. Wooden toys, bracelets, pendants and "magic" objects that could make a variety of things for you—from forcing a crush to love you to raining hellfire on your enemy.
An old man with a crystal eye offered me a voodoo doll. I politely reclined, unable to touch the cursed object. It had belonged to a witch that had killed a village. I felt the famine decimating the population, I saw the witch being buried face down. The ring of gold and emerald displayed on another shop had been the cause of a duel that had ended the lives of two heirs. They loved the same woman. That forgotten chain by the side had been used to imprison a spy.
I placed a hand on my temple, discovering a sticky layer of sweat dampening my hair. Although the winter got violently cold in the city, this corner seemed to run by other rules, as if it belonged to another universe. I took my jacket off when the heat threatened to suffocate me.
He had to be somewhere. The thief. It wasn't easy to sense his existence when there were another thirty things competing for my attention. Where were the others? I pushed forward, opening a path by force. He had to be somewhere.
"I can heal ya!"
I jumped, surprised at the deep voice. It was a short woman with alabaster black hair that reached her waist. Her eyes a cold grey, I noticed a triskel tattoo under her right eye. She bunched up her dress to jump over the step that frontiered her shop from the street. "I see ya have a lot of wounds, little boy." She smiled, showing me two gilded canines. "Wanna come inside." She winked one inked eye at me.
"Ma'am. Have you seen by any chance a boy this size?" I put my hand up three inches above my head. "With dark hair, and clothed like he's going to a fancy party? Blue eyes?"
"The cursed one, you say?" She pointed the finger to her right. The black lacker in her pointy fingernail shined under the lamp over her entrance. "You'll find him that way."
"Did you see him?"
The woman tutted her head. "I said you'll find him that way, seer. I didn't say when. Here, take this. I've been waiting for you." She took my hand by surprise, placing a key that read 1084 engraved in the metal.
"Have you seen the thief, then?" Of course she'd know who I was talking about.
She nodded. "You continue your journey. You'll find him, given that you choose the right path when it comes to making a decision. "Now, go. Mitchell, grandson of Sabela. Something is waiting for you."
Being part of another seer's prophecy can be a weird, unsettling experience. Us seers can be the worst of communicators, especially when our mind is a dynamic net of things yet to happen, things sure to happen, and things in the past. Although we can be more knowledgeable at breaking through the communicative barriers, finding myself the focus of a prophecy always makes me wonder how many people I'm not even acquainted with have dreamt about me. At that moment, I understood Mark's confusion a little better because I was confused at the woman's words. Isn't that ironic?
I kept walking the direction she'd pointed to, trying to keep her exact words in my mind. Soon enough, the street market gave way to the narrow street, and the shops became scarcer and scarcer. I guessed I was approaching the center of the block, as the houses became smaller and increasingly old. I wondered how many of them were originally there when it was first built, and if so, how many stories their walls would've seen.
I trusted the woman's prophecy, but I didn't entirely trust I'd be able to live up to it. I'd try, though. The street split into two. Right or left. Left. Right. I watched the two openings. I hadn't felt the existence of the thief since I had entered the market, and my senses were still too numb by the overwhelming ambiance to discern anything. I had no water to try the location ritual. I looked up at the grey sky. It'd be too long to wait for the rain to fill the bowl. I might as well go home and complete the ritual—it would probably be quicker. I scratched my head, considering different possibilities.
"Eeeny meeny miny moe..." My finger stopped on the street to the left. I narrowed my eyes as suspicion awakened in the bottom of my stomach. Provided I took the correct exit, I'd find what I was looking for. Mark awaited me, I'd be able to locate the thief. "Is it the correct path, though?"
I took a few steps toward the left, then stopped. Then I continued a few more steps, and stopped. There was no wall before me, but my body refused to fully cooperate. No, that wasn't it. "The right path. I have to take the right path."
I laughed out loud like a maniac. A curtain closed suddenly, but I didn't care. I continued towards the right one. A rush of wind tussled my wet hair, cooling my burning skin. I was promptly developing a fever, but it wasn't accompanied by the usual dizziness of a fever. I would've said it was quite the opposite: for flickering moments of clarity, I saw the ending to my story. But let's not talk about endings, for this story is just beginning.
That was pretty cool, I remember thinking. I have a weak spot for easy challenges. I like when things are simple and straightforward. I should've learned by then easy things are lies we tell to ourselves.
The echo of my footsteps was unnaturally quiet, like the thud of a candelabra falling on the carpet. I should've known then. But I was young and reckless, and I believed the lies I told myself.