When life spits in your face, spit back!
I walked into the kitchen, where Alex had, as usual, turned on the light instead of just raising the blinds. I flicked off the light bulb, and the room plunged into darkness. Alex sighed, his shoulders slumping in mock defeat, then made his way to the window to raise the blinds. He probably expected the usual scolding, but this time, it didn't come.
"Leave the blinds alone," I said, my voice steady.
Alex paused, surprise flickering across his face. Just then, Rolo entered the kitchen. In the dim light, his emerald eyes practically glowed, and he fixed his gaze on me, a knowing look passing between us. He knew I knew. I closed the door behind me and pulled out an empty chair at the table, my movements deliberate. Alex followed suit, and Rolo silently sat down beside us.
"They're watching the house," I said, cutting through the quiet. Then, I turned to Rolo. "Did you know about this?"
Rolo exhaled a heavy sigh, the weight of it filling the space. "I had a feeling," he murmured, his voice low. "I can sense their presence, to some extent."
"What are you talking about?" the wolf growled, his frustration clear.
He was tired of always being the last to know.
"There are wraiths in the mirrors, watching us," I explained, my voice steady. "I don't know how they know he's here, but they're searching for Rolo. I'm not sure if they can see through any reflective surfaces, so I told you to keep the blinds shut. Nothing reflects in the dark."
"What?!" The wolf's eyes widened. "In the mirrors?!"
Well, he got the gist of it.
"We can't delay, we have to start the plan," I declared. "We have a much better chance if we can at least choose the time and place to fight than if we are attacked because they accidentally spot Rolo."
"We can't waste any more time," I said, my tone firm. "We have a better shot if we can choose the time and place of the fight, instead of being caught off guard because they accidentally spot Rolo."
"You don't have to worry," Rolo said, his voice calm but laced with a hint of confidence. "They won't spot me."
"Safety's the priority," I shot back, making sure he understood. "At least we need to stay hidden while we finalize the plan."
Rolo nodded in agreement.
"So, if we use you as a decoy, is it enough just to stand in front of a mirror?" I asked, looking for confirmation.
Rolo nodded immediately. "That should work."
"I don't know how he managed it…" Rolo added, his voice tight. "But he seems to be able to control the wraiths."
"Great," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "That's just what we need."
"We'll have to think of a way to defend ourselves," Alex said, and the kid and I were both surprised that he was capable of a really sensible thought, "Maybe he'll suspect a trap."
We both nodded, a silent agreement passing between us.
"I've got a book with some basic spells in it," Rolo offered. "Even I might be able to manage a couple."
"Okay," I replied, feeling the plan start to come together.
"Where'd you get a book like that?" the wolf frowned, eyeing Rolo.
With a sly smile, Rolo met his gaze. "I stole it."
Alex didn't look pleased, but he didn't argue.
"But there's still one problem," I reminded them. "Where and when do we set the trap?"
"Tonight," Rolo suggested after a moment's thought. "The new moon is perfect for magic. As for the location…" He paused. "How about the old key house in the forest? It's close, but isolated enough to avoid drawing attention."
"Okay," I agreed, standing up. "Rolo, go gather the books and supplies you'll need for the prep. Alex, get a medium-sized mirror. Wrap it up tightly in some material so not even a sliver of it is exposed."
They both nodded.
"And what about you?" the wolf asked, his brow furrowed.
"I'm going to scout the area," I said, making my way toward the door. "I'll meet you at the key house in an hour."
(...)
By the time we had finished the preparations for the ceremony, it was nearly eight o'clock. First of all, there was minimal sweeping to be done so that Rolo could draw all sorts of symbols on the parquet floor.
He'd drawn a large circle with white chalk, filling it with intricate polygons and inscribing short words at each vertex. It looked like a summoning circle from some ancient ritual, the kind you'd expect to draw demons from the deepest pits of hell. The few black candles scattered around the corners of the room only enhanced the effect, casting flickering shadows that danced over the floor, adding an eerie glow to the space.
I picked up the book that Rolo had barely glanced at, flipping through its pages. I tried to read, but nothing made sense.
What language is this written in?" I asked, my frustration evident. "I can't make heads or tails of it."
"Mirror writing," Rolo explained, glancing up for just a second before returning to his work. "If you hold a mirror over the lines, you can read it. Provided you know Latin."
I pulled my lips back in a grimace. My knowledge of Latin was limited to one phrase: canis merda—a very intellectual way of swearing that I reserved for times when I wanted to sound scholarly while being crude.
"And how the hell do you read it without a mirror?" I asked, still confused.
"I've gotten the hang of it over time," he shrugged nonchalantly. "It was a bit tricky at first, but I can write it steadily now."
"Uh-huh," I muttered, not particularly interested. "How much longer is this gonna take?"
"A few minutes," he said, focused on perfecting the magic circle. He was certain it would trap his brother, rendering him paralyzed and immobile. After that, we'd just have to call in the Necromancer to handle the rest.
I had my doubts, though. Nothing ever went as smoothly.
Finally, we placed the mirror in the center of the circle, propping it up with bricks so it had the perfect angle to reflect the kid standing opposite.
I glanced at Rolo, who involuntarily swallowed, his nerves apparent as he nodded slowly.
Alex moved forward and tore the black cloth from the mirror. For a moment, nothing happened. Then all hell broke loose.
The candles flickered out, and before I could react, a powerful gust of wind knocked me off my feet. In the next breath, the acrid scent of smoke hit my nose. I looked up, my eyes widening as the flames licked at the roof's support beams, curling hungrily towards the rafters.
Then, I smelled it—blood. My own blood. A sharp pain cut through my hand, and it was only then that I realized a large shard of silvered glass had lodged itself deep into my palm. The mirror had shattered into a million pieces during the summoning, sending jagged shards flying.
A low, cruel laugh echoed through the room, and I turned just in time to see a dark figure rise from the center of the magic circle.
The figure before me looked hauntingly like Rolo, as if the image of his twenty-year-old self had stepped out of the shadows. Tall, slender, and cloaked in a thin, dark garment. He gave me a fleeting glance before his attention snapped back to Rolo, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. His right hand clutched his left shoulder—he must have been hurt by the wind or the shards of glass.
"My foolish brother," the figure murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and disdain. "Did you really think this little ritual could stop me?"
I froze. He was surrounded by an aura so dark and oppressive it reminded me of Gironde Mehisto's presence, a weight I could feel even from a distance.
The figure chuckled darkly, stepping forward and using his shoe to smudge away some of the chalk markings on the floor.
"How did you get out?" Rolo spat, his voice tight with disbelief. "I saw the Wraiths drag you in myself!"
The young man's expression hardened. "Oh, yes. It wasn't pleasant at all," he said with a grimace. "Tell me, can you imagine what it's like to be torn into atoms?" He spread his arms wide as if relishing the memory. "I became a Wraith, but I kept my consciousness. Slowly, I brought them under my control. After that, escaping wasn't so difficult. I only had to wait for someone to open the gate for me."
A cruel smile twisted his lips as he took a step closer to Rolo. His footsteps echoed as he advanced, his eyes narrowing. "Now, it's time to pay a visit."
I sprang to my feet, ready to face him when I heard a growl from the back of the throat. A massive golden-brown wolf lunged forward, sinking its fangs into the enemy's arm. The man recoiled, surprised by the sudden assault, and crashed to the ground.
"Alex?" I said, astonished.
His golden eyes met mine for a split second before he turned his attention back to the fight. I immediately recognized the gleam in those eyes.
The fire crackled around us, and with a deafening groan, the roof began to collapse. I didn't hesitate. I dashed toward Rolo, scooping him up and slinging him over my shoulder. The moment I did, the house gave way, the walls buckling under the force of the flames.
"Where's the card?" I muttered, eyes scanning the burning ruins.
Rolo pulled the card from his pocket with trembling hands and tore it in half. But nothing happened.
"Damn it!" I cursed, barely dodging a small explosion that sent a flaming beam hurtling toward us.
I yanked Rolo away just in time, feeling the heat of the flames lick at my back. He was shaking violently, his face pale. Amidst the smoke, a figure rose, unscathed, his laughter cutting through the chaos like a knife.
"We're going to die..." Rolo whispered, his voice breaking.
"Fucking hell!", There are moments when words fail, when all you can do is curse.
Alex attacked again, his body moving with brutal force. But the man anticipated the strike and rewarded him with a brutal punch that sent the wolf crashing into a nearby tree with a sickening thud.
I wanted to move, but I knew that if I rushed to Alex's aid, the enemy would kill Rolo in an instant. The necromancer appeared in front of me without warning, his eyes locked on Rolo. Without even sparing me a glance, he knocked me out of his way, intent on reaching the boy.
Alex staggered to his feet, limping but determined. He positioned himself in front of Rolo.
The boy looked up at the beautiful, noble animal, trembling. Rolo stared up at the massive wolf, trembling. Alex was no ordinary wolf—larger than any of his kind, with glossy fur and fangs that gleamed like polished ivory. But when the necromancer took a step toward him, Alex recoiled.
Instinct surged in shifters when they transformed, and every fiber of Alex's being screamed to flee. Only his willpower was keeping him there, we all knew that. We all felt it. We all felt it—the icy chill creeping along our spines, the terror clawing at our nerves, gripping our hearts.
The smoke swirling around the necromancer seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, an essence of death itself. It was a presence that all living things instinctively feared, a primal dread that gnawed at our souls.
Alex took another step back.
"And now," Dorian Vincze said, his voice dripping with malice, "it's time for you both to take an eternal journey into the world of mirrors."
The puddle in front of them froze, the ice capturing their terrified reflections in perfect clarity. Rolo could see his own shattered face, his features twisted in fear, his eyes wide with terror. The paralyzing cold of unseen fingers crept over his skin, draining the warmth from his body. He couldn't move, couldn't resist. His gaze flicked to the wolf. Alex was no better off—he could only whimper softly, the same helplessness etched across his face.
Then, the cold fingers released their grip.
I stepped into the icy puddle, and instantly, the spell shattered. The grin on my opponent's lips faded, replaced by a look of confusion.
"I thought a punch like that would at least break your neck," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment.
"It'll take more than that," I replied evenly.
He narrowed his eyes, clearly not expecting the defiance. "Who are you?"
"My name is Shaytan," I introduced myself, sweeping my hand toward my friends. "And these are my famiglia. Now, could you kindly leave them alone?"
"Unfortunately, that's not in the cards," he smirked.
"I thought as much," I muttered, then turned to my companions. "Show him that he cannot break you!"
Alex was the first to spring to his feet, nudging Rolo gently with his snout. Rolo, though slow and shaky, managed to rise, his body protesting every movement.
"I'll finish you first," my opponent sneered, reaching for my neck.
I smiled, and it clearly unsettled him. "What's so funny?" he demanded, clearly thrown off.
I took a deep breath, preparing to scream. "GIRONDE MEHISTO, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SHOW YOUR FACE BEFORE I SMASH IT!"
Before he could react, my opponent was forced to leap back, narrowly avoiding having his hand severed by the giant scythe that appeared from the shadows. A few strands of my black hair drifted to the ground in the aftermath.
"Whoops!" Gironde's voice came from the darkness, his tone light and almost amused.
I glared at him, fury simmering beneath my words. "When this is over, I'll kill you for sure."
The Necromancer chuckled, unfazed by my threat. "We'll see about that."
He darted after his opponent with deadly precision. The black smoke swirling around the two necromancers collided in a chaotic dance, and though the ethereal magic appeared as delicate as a wisp of air, I felt the intense pressure against my skin as they clashed.
Gironde's movements were a mesmerizing blend of speed and grace, as if he were performing an intricate dance rather than fighting. Yet, the scythe in his hands inflicted a flurry of wounds on his enemy, so swift and numerous I could barely keep count. The Necromancer resembled the embodiment of death from a tarot card, haunting and inevitable.
The blade of Gironde's black scythe was adorned with circular holes of varying sizes, perhaps decorative but giving it a sinister elegance. His long red hair streamed behind him like a crimson cloak, mirroring his every fluid movement. With each strike that landed, his smile broadened ever so slightly, a chilling testament to the enjoyment he took in this one-sided battle. Though his opponent attempted a few feeble attacks, Gironde parried each effortlessly, his prowess unmatched.
I watched in awe as Gironde Mehisto wielded the scythe with an innate mastery, as if it were an extension of his very being. In that moment, I was profoundly grateful not to be the one facing him.
Gironde's magic overwhelmed the other necromancer's dark essence with ease, consuming it entirely. The battle was decisively over, and as Dorian Vincze turned to flee, exposing his back for a fleeting second, Gironde's scythe struck with ruthless efficiency, cutting him down.
Dorian's body crumpled to the ground, and with a nudge from the scythe's end, Gironde flipped him onto his back. The fallen necromancer gasped for breath, a grimace of pain contorting his face. He clung to life by the thinnest thread.
"Any last wishes?" Gironde asked, his tone laced with amusement.
"Die, you wretch!" Dorián spat, his defiance punctuated by a violent cough that brought up blood.
Gironde's laughter was devoid of warmth, a hollow sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Knowing what was coming, I reached out and gently covered Rolo's eyes. He didn't resist.
"I, Gironde Mehisto, first of my name, lord and master of a thousand dead, hereby accuse you, Dorian Vincze," he declared, his voice echoing with authority, "of violating the three sacred laws of necromancy: taking possession of a body without a contract, failing to maintain the balance we hold sacred, and seeking to alter Fate for your selfish desires. Your punishment: death."
With those final words, Gironde delivered justice, a somber and absolute end to the condemned necromancer.
I watched as Gironde's scythe slashed through both the young man's chest and the amulet around his neck in one fluid motion. Blood sprayed everywhere, the metallic scent thick in the air, sharp and nauseating.
For a moment, Gironde Mehisto seemed less like a man and more like a demon from the depths of hell. I was so done with everything that I finally gave up trying to knock out every last tooth of the Necromancer.
As Gironde stepped back from the lifeless body, it was no longer Dorian Vincze that lay there but a different boy—one whose features were unfamiliar. This must have been the original owner of the body Dorian had possessed.
Gironde approached me, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. I met his gaze, my eyes sharp and unforgiving.
"If you're worried about your hair..." he began.
"Why didn't you come sooner?!" I cut him off, frustration flaring. "We could have died!"
"But you're alive," he replied, that infuriating grin widening.
I resisted the urge to wipe that grin off his face with something heavy.
"Screw you," I muttered under my breath.
Gironde, uncharacteristically serious, glanced at Rolo, whose glassy, vacant eyes spoke of a mind still trapped in terror. Though I had released him, he appeared far from present.
"Take him home, give him some tea," Gironde said softly. "He should be better by tomorrow."
He placed a hand on my shoulder, a surprising gesture of comfort.
"And you could use some tea too," he added.
It was then I noticed the trembling in my hands. I clicked my tongue in irritation, turning my head away in defiance.
"Shaytan," he called gently, drawing my gaze back to him, "I'm grateful for your help."
"Just go," I snapped, brushing his hand away. "And stop touching me. It's irritating."
He chuckled, unfazed, gave a playful wave, and then vanished into the mist that was beginning to settle over the forest. The quiet of the early morning returned, leaving me with the lingering echoes of battle and the fragile peace that followed.