by Corey Edward
Now.
I stumbled upon a wide-open cell and sent the Fireflit soaring into its depths. Sitting on the floor beside a crumbling toilet was a girl who looked like she was about my age, or maybe slightly older. She was caked in shimmering black Darkon blood from head to toe.
But that wasn’t the worst part. Oh, no. The worst part of all were the symbols she had scrawled all over the wall of the cell… or symbol, rather, for there was just one repeated hundreds of times in blood.
A snake eating its tail.
An ouroboros again.
But what was it doing there, of all places, sitting in the middle of an empty jail? Was this symbol meant for my eyes alone? The thought spooked me. Who — or what — wanted me here?
“Amy?” I tried, taking care not to walk into the cell. “Amy, it’s me, Henry. Get up; we need to go.”
I expected her to turn and obey without hesitation, but she stayed put beside the toilet. Only her head moved, spinning all the way around on its neck to face me.
She wasn’t wrong about what they’d taken from her. Her eyes were gone, replaced with two bloody holes. And her toothless smile —
Was upside down.
And yet still, she smiled, her lips parting in opposite directions.
Smiling into the darkness, as if it were a big joke.
“Merlin help me,” I breathed.
I was too late.
No, I corrected myself: not too late. I was right on time.
Something had called me here. Something that wasn't named Amy.
And now I was right where it wanted me to be.
A low growl, animalistic and hungry, drifted at me from down the hall. I stumbled out of the cell and looked down in its direction, too scared even to speak.
Every last inch of my soul howled with horror when I saw the towering beast standing, not even a stone’s throw away. Its rounded ears and its snow-white fur conjured up the image of a giant, bipedal rabbit, but there was nothing cute or cuddly about it. This was a seven-foot-tall terror, its eyes glowing red, burning into my retinas. And the sulfuric stench was almost as unbearable as those massive claws, ready and eager to sink into my flesh.
I didn’t need the Dictionary Infernal to tell me the identity of this ferocious creature. It was the bane of every witch or wizard in the Cosmos, for very few magical folk ever survived an encounter with one.
This was a Predator. A Darkon that hunted Spellcrafters. It had no other purpose or reason to exist. It drained us of our Mana and its claws ripped through magic as well as flesh.
And that meant they would rip right through me, too.
“Henry Candle. Son of James Candle,” it hissed, more growl than voice. “It is time to die.”
Rusty whimpered, taking a few steps backward so that he was resting against my feet. I picked him up and held him close as we both trembled. If my bladder was full, it would’ve emptied right then and there.
“P-Pathetic Predator,” I started, but my mind went blank. “I banish you to… to...”
“Pathetic?” It seemed more amused than anything else. “It is you who are pathetic, little wizard. Pathetic like a tiny worm. Oh, but your magic… it smells so nice. So tasty.”
It opened its mouth wide enough to swallow me whole. The only thing I could see were its teeth, row upon row of them, crawling down its wide-open throat. The Mana left my veins like water evaporating off a summer street. My head spun. If I didn’t banish it now, I never would.
“Drinker of Mana, Drainer of souls,” I tried. “Your evil act is really getting… getting…”
Old?
Did that rhyme?
I was unable to finish. I didn’t even have enough Mana left to summon up so much as a pickle. With my magic gone, so, too, would be my one and only defense against the forces of darkness.
I could do nothing else to save myself. I couldn’t run because it would catch me with ease. I couldn’t fight because my fists would be like the bite of a gnat to it. I couldn’t cast because my Mana was too far gone.
It was either fight or flight, and without thinking, I chose the latter.
I turned away and ran. The voices were screaming now, all of them shouting with panic at the evil being which had kept them imprisoned for so long, ripening their twisted souls —
I didn’t make it more than five steps before it landed right in front of me and roared into my face. The force of its foul breath alone was enough to knock me onto my back. The beast raised its massive hands into the air, its claws sharper than any knives I’d ever seen, ready to snatch me up and take me with it.
There was no escape. Fighting back would just prolong the inevitable. I could only hope it would be quick and that the pain would be over soon. I feared for Rusty most of all. I couldn’t stand that I had put him in mortal danger.
First, there was a pause.
Then, a voice.
A male’s voice.
“Not today, you ugly-ass Easter bunny reject,” he said. “Not today.”
I knew that voice.
But no.
It couldn’t be.
It was another trick of the prison, just like the other voices.
And yet it wasn’t. I opened my eyes and sure enough, standing between myself and the Darkon was Frankie Kato, wielding a massive pair of hedge shears as if he were a samurai with a katana. Beside him was Enisa, who had a golf club in her hands, eyes wide with fear.
The Predator paused, looking just as confused as I felt. Confused and — dare I say it? — intimidated.
What the hell were Frankie and Enisa doing here?
“Meddling humans,” it said. “You will be perfect to whet my appetite with.”
“You can try,” Frankie replied, calm as a clam, “but I don’t go down easy. All that sodium.”
The Predator roared and swung its mighty claw at his head. Frankie jumped backward, dodging the claw, and then leaned forward and sunk the shears deep into its chest. Black blood sprayed from its open wound and it stumbled away, roaring in fury and in pain.
It charged again, but this time Enisa responded, swinging the golf club into the Predator’s face. It stumbled over, struggling to stay upright as Frankie again stabbed the beast in its stomach. By now, it was losing steam, wobbling around on its feet like a drunk in a bar.
The voices continued screaming into my head-
Henry-
Henry-
HENRY-
STAY WITH US
STAY
FOREVER
My shield was fading quickly, and I could do nothing else to stop them from burrowing into my soul. They were all around me, an endless stream of torment and terror, of rage and regrets. I fell to my knees, my head pounding, and begged for release.
“I shall relish eating your soul,” the Darkon snarled.
“Jokes on you,” Frankie retorted. “I hate relish.”
Again he buried the shears into the Darkon, sending it wobbling to the side. But it soon wobbled back, this time grabbing the shears out of Frankie’s hands and throwing them off to the side.
Henry-
Candle wizard-
That’s who I was.
And now, I had to show the Predator just what he was messing with.
I shoved Frankie out of the way and held up my hands so that my palms were facing the creature. I didn’t have much Mana left in me, but I should have had enough for this.
My friends made sure of that.
“Foul Predator, worse than the rest,” I shouted. “Return to the Nether Realm at my behest!”
There.
That one rhymed.
A flash of blue light filled the dark prison, temporarily washing out everything else around me. I couldn’t see my friends, Rusty or the Darkon as its angry roar echoed through the halls.
When the light faded away, the Predator was no more, flung back into the Nether Realm.
It felt as if the air left my lungs. My Mana was gone and my last bit of energy had left along with it. I
fell to the cold, hard ground, blind and gasping for air. Not even Rusty could put an end to the pain as he pawed at my arms and whimpered. Was this a panic attack? I was no stranger to them — I’d had one the night my father died — but they felt nothing like this.
“Hey, Henry,” Enisa said, bending over me. “Time to get up. We gotta go.”
She grabbed me and pulled me to my feet, which was a big mistake: my knees buckled and I almost hit the ground again. My barrier had fallen completely. Shutting out all the voices was now an impossibility. There were more of them, not all human, mixing in with the others and throwing my mind into a haze-
The
Ouroboros
Sees
And
The
Eye
KNOWS —
That was the last thing I heard before I sunk down into a deep pit of darkness.
Eight
A Covert Operation
I floated there in the darkness for what felt like an eternity. During that time, I forgot everything, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It took too much energy to think.
Too much energy to be.
There was a certain warmth in the knowledge that I could just drift, suspended in a state of purgatory: no more worries, no more monsters, no more duty.
Just me and my dreams.
Forever.
The darkness was suddenly too cold to bear. I needed warmth. I needed a memory that I could wrap myself up in like one of Grams’ chunky knit blankets.
So I thought of how Rusty and I found each other.
It happened three summers ago, back when I had just turned thirteen. I was riding my bike over a rusty old bridge when I heard the sound of a dog crying coming from below, and it instantly grabbed my attention. I made my way under the bridge and that’s when I saw him: a sad little pug puppy stuck in the mud, barking and crying and whining for help. His black eyes met mine and in that moment, I knew I was his only hope at survival. It’s tough for a human to comprehend, but it’s almost like I sensed his distress. Like we were destined to meet.
He was so starved that I could feel his ribs and covered in fleas and ticks. Who could ever abandon such an innocent, blameless creature to die alone and unloved? The thought stabbed at my heart like a dagger, then and now. I knew there was no way I could leave him there to die, so I put him in my bike basket and took him home to my grandparents. My dad told me all about Familiars — about how certain Spellcrafters could sometimes form a bond with an animal and spark the animal into producing their own Mana the same way a person does. The animal then became a companion for the Spellcrafter, helping them with their magical arts and providing support when needed. My grandparents let me keep him when they discovered what he was to me. I named him Rusty after the state of the bridge I found him under, and we were best friends ever since.
Now, something wet tickled my chin, lifting me out of the nothingness. I opened my eyes and found myself staring right into Rusty’s furry face as he licked my cheeks over and over again like they were covered in sugar.
No wonder I was dreaming of him.
“Ew, Rusty, gross,” I muttered, wiping the slobber off of my cheeks. “All right, all right, I’m up. You can stop now.”
He didn’t care one bit about my protests, though. I was awake, and the wagging of his stumpy little tail made it obvious just how happy he was about that fact. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I gave him a pleasant little pat on the head as thanks when I tried to sit up and shake the grogginess out of my head.
The fleece blanket draped over my body was comfortable. The sunken leather couch I was lying on? Not so much. But at least it was better than lying dead on the floor of a haunted prison. Then again, pretty much anything was better than that.
I collected my thoughts, rubbing my temples to silence the pounding in my head.
The prison.
The ghosts.
The Predator.
My friends.
It all felt like a fever dream, even though it really wasn’t. I had gone to Arkham and I would’ve died there if it hadn’t been for Enisa and Frankie. But where were they now?
More importantly: where was I?
I opened my eyes and sat up. Then I groaned loudly, struggling to banish the grogginess from my head. That’s when I noticed the Sigils on the wall, the bookshelves stuffed with dusty tomes, and the scent of old smoke mixed with lemon Lysol. Slowly but surely, piece by piece, I began to realize where I was.
I was back in Candle Paranormal Investigations. But how? One moment I was in Arkham Prison, and the next...
My gaze drifted over to my father’s desk. Frankie was sitting on top of it and Enisa was sitting in the swivel chair, both of them watching me like a soldier standing guard over their charge. Despite Frankie’s showdown with the monster, there wasn’t even a single scrape or a bruise on him. It was almost like he hadn’t fought anything at all.
“You're awake,” he said in an amused tone. “About time. I was ready to call the coroner.”
“Frankie,” I said. I tossed aside the blanket and sat up, planting my feet onto the ground. I was still too dizzy to stand, so I remained seated. “Enisa. How’d you two get in here?”
“The front door,” Enisa said. She picked up my keys, pinching the one that opened the office between her forefinger and thumb. “That text about a funeral really freaked us out, Henry. We thought you really were going to die, so we came to save you.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” I said.
“Oh ye of too much faith,” she retorted. “You would’ve been Darkon chow, if not for us.”
“Yeah,” added Frankie proudly, lifting up his blood-soaked clippers and cutting the air. “Good thing you’re friends with a grade-A Darkon slayer.”
“Whatever you say, Buffy.” She rolled her eyes then looked back to me. “Henry. Why did that monster attack you? And what happened to that girl you said you were going off to rescue?”
“She never existed in the first place,” I said. “Or maybe she did, at one point, but the Predator got to her and used her voice to reel me in and kill me.”
“Kill you? Who would want to...” Frankie jumped down from the desk and wandered around the office, his footsteps making creaks on the worn wooden floor as he moved. He looked deep in thought, which was unusual for someone who operated mostly in the moment. “Ah-ha, I think I’ve got it. Maybe the same person that killed your dad also hired that Predator to do you in, too.”
“Not hire. Summon. Darkcrafters do that; sometimes, they exchange little pieces of their soul for the servitude of a Darkon. This was a trap and I fell right into it. Thanks for pulling me out, even if it was crazy reckless of you both.”
“Do you remember what we told you the other day?” Enisa said. “We’re in this together, whether you like it or not. We can’t lose our best friend. That would be… well, unthinkable.”
“Yeah. Lesson learned.” I sighed and rubbed my temples, trying to calm the headache rattling away inside my skull. “Speaking of death… you remember the guy who first contacted my dad about the case? Gabriel O’Mackey?”
She nodded. “Yes, why?”
“He’s dead. I saw it on the news before I left.”
“What? Seriously? How?”
“Officially? They don’t know. But I’d be willing to bet he had an Ouroborus carved into his chest, too, same as my dad and same as the guy before him. Do you know what all three victims have in common so far?”
“They’re all dudes,” said Frankie, with the air of breathless revelation.
“Well, yeah,” I said. “But also, they’re all wizards.”
“You’re right,” said Enisa. “They are. And it all leads back to that Grimoire, which has caused the deaths of every wizard closely involved with it so far.”
“Except for one. Alexander Carter, the acquisitions director at the museum. He’s the one who found the Grimoire in the first place.”
“What’s he plan to do with it?”<
br />
“It’s part of an exhibit of magical artifacts and history he called Real Witchcraft. His ultimate goal is to reveal the existence of magic to the world on Halloween night, when this exhibit will take place.”
“The world?” Frankie said. “Like, the whole world? Me, you, and Asia?”
I nodded. “Which is insane.”
“But you told us,” said Enisa. “And Miss Delaney.”
“I didn’t tell you. All three of you found out for yourselves,” I said. “But she’s a nice old lady and you’re my two best friends. If the whole world knew about magic, it would change the fabric of reality. We’d be hunted down. Enslaved. People would either loathe us or use us to their own ends.”
Enisa nodded. “I get it.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s not the first one to try to reveal our secrets to the world. It wasn’t really a concern before the twentieth century, when doing so would get you murdered either by a lynch mob or by witch-hunters. But many have tried to get magic on tape and they’ve all failed. Magic causes recording devices to malfunction. Its existence has to travel exclusively by word of mouth and live demonstration.”
“And he thinks this demonstration will attract enough attention to make him the one to finally do it?”
“I guess so.”
“The Grimoire is going to be at this exhibit?”
I shook my head. “It was supposed to be. Before he died, Gabriel O’Mackey told me the Grimoire was stolen. And whoever stole it probably doesn’t plan on returning it anytime soon.”
“This is sounding worse and worse by the second,” said Frankie, who was still pacing. “Who do you think took it?”
“No clue.”
“Well, we need to find it. And we need to find out what that Carter weirdo is up to,” added Enisa. “He’s the one behind this exhibit. He probably knows more than he’s letting on.”
“We break into his house at sundown tomorrow and kidnap him,” Frankie exclaimed. “Then, we tie him up and threaten to cut his balls off.”
“Oh my god,” Enisa exclaimed. “Just stop.”
“What? At least it’ll get him to talk.”
“And it’ll get us landed in jail,” I said. “We have got to be more covert. Think like spies. Magical spies.”
