Diaries are for writing down what should not be said.
Finally, the time came for our daily routine. The doctor gave Alex a vial of some foul-smelling concoction to treat his wounds. It smelled horrendous, but from the way it worked, we didn't complain. Instead, we opened the window for a little fresh air. Alex stripped off his shirt and turned his back to me, so I could treat the spots he couldn't reach.
Though wolves heal a bit quicker than humans, their regenerative abilities were nowhere near as impressive as mine. These were serious wounds, and even though they were slowly mending, Alex had to be careful with his movements. One wrong move and the wounds could tear.
He'd been pleading for a while, asking for some time outside. It was clear how much the confinement was getting to him, and I hated seeing him like that. So, I finally agreed to take him to the hospital yard for 15 minutes. I knew he'd appreciate it, and I wanted to make it easier for him. I grabbed the crutches from the corner of the room and helped the wolf to his feet.
The trip downstairs was slow and painful, even with the help of the lift. The process felt like an eternity, but when we finally stepped into the open air, the weight of it all seemed to melt away. Alex stopped for a moment, inhaling deeply as if to savor the freedom. He relished the fresh air, no longer tainted by the sterile smell of the hospital. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of distant birds chirping, people talking, and traffic hum in the background.
The late November weather was surprisingly mild. He turned to me, likely about to thank me for the brief respite when a familiar voice drifted over to us.
"Don't give my little brother those sideways looks!" Des snapped, yanking me away from Alex.
"Leave me alone, jerk," I muttered, swatting his hand away before he could wrap it around me protectively.
"Shay, never underestimate a horny werewolf!"
"I know you're seeing Alice," I declared flatly.
Des froze, his cocky smirk faltering for a moment. Seriously, there was hardly anything more satisfying than watching my always-calculating brother look utterly stupid.
"How did you—" he stammered, his words trailing off.
"Never underestimate the nose of a 'horny werewolf,' you idiot of a hunter," I shot back with a triumphant grin.
Des blinked at me, momentarily speechless, while Alex, unsurprisingly, didn't look too thrilled about the whole exchange. Still, Des lingered with us, evidently not ready to leave.
"Is your case progressing smoothly?" I asked, the tension in the air beginning to annoy me.
"Not really," Des shrugged. "I killed a couple of vampires dealing the stuff, but I didn't get much out of them. There's something big behind all this. These mindless bloodsuckers couldn't have come up with something this elaborate on their own."
"What do you mean?" I frowned, trying to piece together his words.
Des leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pondered the situation. "How long has it been since you've been off work?" he asked, as if the answer to that question would make everything clearer.
I thought for a moment. It had been a few weeks, ever since Hajnal had practically kicked me out of the pub, swearing under her breath that I couldn't come back until I had my head straight and Alex was in better shape.
"A few weeks," I replied, then added, "Why?"
Des's gaze sharpened. "You must not have heard about it, then," he muttered. "It's no coincidence I was sent to investigate. This drug business... it's spreading, all over Pécs, even to some of the surrounding towns. Killing a dealer? Pointless. Another will just take their place. The problem is much bigger than that."
I absorbed his words, my frown deepening. "I see."
Under the pretext of continuing his investigation, Des eventually took his leave, and I escorted Alex back to his room. Time was slipping away quickly; it was already getting close to seven p.m.
I exchanged a few more words with the doctor, who reassured me that Alex would be home in just a few days. That reassurance helped settle my mind as I made my way home, feeling a little calmer than before. But that peace didn't last long.
I managed to maintain this calm until someone woke me up in the night. First, there were three sharp knocks, and then the banging started—loud, frantic, as though the person intended to break the door down.
I stumbled toward the front door, my mind already set: whoever it was, this would be the last time they'd darken my doorstep. They wouldn't leave alive.
But when I opened the door, it wasn't the kind of visitor I had expected. Alice stood there, his usually composed demeanor shattered, his face a picture of frustration and anger. He didn't speak, but his presence said more than words ever could.
"What's the problem?" I asked, forcing the thought of ritual murder out of my mind.
He took a deep breath, a sigh escaping him, but still, he didn't answer. Instead, an almost desperate question slipped from his lips.
"Can I sleep at your place tonight?"
He didn't have to say anything more. I stepped aside without hesitation, and Alice hurried inside, away from the cold bite of the night. I led him to the kitchen and set a pot of tea on the stove, knowing the warmth and comfort of it might help settle whatever storm was brewing inside him.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, the words sounding almost out of place coming from my lips.
It felt strange, almost absurd, that I—of all people—was the one trying to comfort him. He shook his head, and I didn't press him any further. Somehow, I had the feeling that silently making him tea, sharing it together, would speak louder than any words of comfort I could offer.
I chose the decaf blend, thinking we both needed rest. For myself, I opted for my favorite mix of mango, honey, and ginger, and I made sure to grab the strawberry-flavored tea I knew Alice liked.
We drank in silence, the warmth of our cups mingling with the quiet understanding that passed between us. Both of us lost in our own thoughts, yet it didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt right, somehow, more fitting than forced conversations or clichés about crying together over something trivial.
Alice showered quickly while I changed the sheets on Alex's bed, setting the room in order before we settled down for the night. On the bedside table, I noticed a burgundy leather-covered notebook and a pen. When I asked about it, Alice's eyes flickered toward me, and he answered casually, "It's a diary."
"A diary?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, my future diary," he said, settling down in bed with a sigh.
I let the words roll around in my head. "A future diary?"
"It's common knowledge that most seers dream of the future, right?" he asked, and I nodded, waiting for him to continue. "Well, not all dreams are clear, and not all are remembered. Each of us keeps a future diary, where we jot down the things we see during our dreams."
"Oh," I murmured, a little puzzled. "I see."
But that didn't entirely add up. How could someone take notes while they were asleep?
Alice settled deeper into the bed, his expression softening with a quiet sense of finality. "Good night, Shay."
He sounded genuinely tired now, and I knew better than to push him any further.
"Good night," I replied, the uncertainty about his future diary still lingering in my thoughts.
I must have been asleep for about an hour when I woke to the soft sound of fidgeting. As a light sleeper—an old habit from my old life—I was attuned to even the smallest movements. I could hear the soft rustling of pages, the gentle scrape of a pen, and a low murmur from Alice. He was sitting up in bed, the tiny notebook and his busy scribbling filling the quiet room. That, in itself, wouldn't have been so remarkable.
What truly caught me off guard was the look in his eyes. He was staring straight ahead, but it was as if he wasn't seeing anything at all—not this world, not the room, not even the notebook in his lap. His gaze was distant, far-off, as though he were somewhere else entirely, trapped between wakefulness and dream. His eyes gleamed—almost unnaturally, like a cat's eyes when you shine a light on them, glowing back with an eerie reflection.
Speaking of cats, the little furball curled up next to me nearly had a heart attack at Alice's strange trance-like state. It bolted up with a startled yowl, fluffed out its fur dramatically, and, in true feline dignity, threw itself under the bed, continuing to growl menacingly.
Once Alice finished writing and the trance seemed to lift, he closed his eyes and placed the notebook back on the bedside table. Without missing a beat, he flopped back down on the bed, drifting into sleep as if nothing had happened—completely unaware that he had just displayed something utterly bizarre in front of me.
This was the moment where I should've just brushed it off and gone back to sleep. But let me tell you: the power of curiosity is something not even monsters like me can resist. And that curiosity? It wasn't letting me go back to sleep anytime soon.
I quietly got out of bed and moved silently toward the bedside table. I picked up the tiny notebook and slipped into the kitchen. I know, I know—most people would never snoop through someone else's diary. It's one of those unwritten rules. But I'm not exactly normal, so I decided to let that rule slide. No remorse.
I opened the notebook to a random page.
[There's blood, the stench of corpses, and a broken body lying on the ground. A vampire. Alex finds a cat. He takes it home. Shay and Alex have a fight...]
I raised an eyebrow. This was too familiar. I flipped a few more pages.
[Madame falls ill. Substitute teacher this week. Shay pulls Izzi aside at lunch. They talk about the Fifth. Alex is still mad about the cat. Johi writes down a new recipe on a napkin...]
I turned a few more pages.
[Deni appears before the Crosspherat judges. The judges threaten to suspend him, but he's unmoved. He gets a new job in Pécs. He finds me that day...]
So this was a diary of the future. A lopsided grin spread across my lips. Who wouldn't want a sneak peek into their future? I turned to the last entry, hoping Alice had written something about me.
[Deni in a bar. Kisses a girl. A vampire who sells blood. He tries to get something out of her but fails. He kills her. The investigation's not going well. Shay gets... BLOOD! KILL! KILL! CATCH HIM!]
I chose to ignore the part about my brother—his drama wasn't my concern—but the final words grabbed my attention. The capital letters were heavily crossed out, the lines thick and forceful. There was something off about it, as though this section had been scratched out in a hurry, with no trace of the neat handwriting I'd seen before. It felt like the prophecy had been interrupted—something I had never seen in any other entry.
[Shay gets...]
I stared at the unfinished sentence, heart racing. What did it mean? Do I get somewhere? Do I get angry? Or do I get killed? The capitalized words felt threatening, and my gut twisted as if the unfinished prophecy was aimed at me.
It couldn't be a coincidence that Alice's future vision broke off right at the point where my name was involved, could it? I pushed the thought away, forcing myself to calm down. It was just a coincidence. A simple, inconsequential coincidence.
The subject was closed.
I closed the notebook with a deep sigh, but the unease gnawed at me.
I'm not one to jump at every little noise, but the next moment, I nearly had a heart attack. A ghostly scratching sound came from the only window in the kitchen. I glanced over but saw nothing.
I shook my head, dismissing it. Cocoa, that's what I needed. I must still be half-asleep; it would wake me up. I convinced myself that I was overthinking, that the diary had gotten my imagination fired up. It was nothing.
Just as I was about to pop the mug in the microwave, I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye. I turned quickly, but when I looked again, the human-like figure had vanished.
Okay, now this was definitely not my imagination. I set the mug down on the table, the milk still steaming. Without a word, I headed for the hall, moving silently. I slipped on my shoes and jacket, grabbed the key from its holder, and walked to the front door.
I inserted the key into the lock. The click echoed through the eerie silence of the night. The door swung open, and the familiar sight greeted me. I stepped into the quiet night, my eyes scanning each shadow, alert to anything that might leap out.
But, of course, I found nothing.
The rain began to pour in steady, lazy drops from the ink-dark sky. On days like this, I always feel a pull to walk, to let my thoughts wander like the droplets. I'd done this so often as a child—sometimes sitting or lying in the damp grass, sometimes wandering aimlessly with no destination.
I love the rain. It's impartial, falling the same on the rich and the poor, on humans and every other creature alike. It teaches every flower to sway in its rhythm with the same delicate grace, yet it can crush tender buds underfoot with a harsh, unforgiving force. In loneliness, the rain is a faithful companion, its cool embrace a silent comfort if you allow it, or if you shut it out, it will tap anxiously at your window, persistent and patient.
The rain is a cruel tyrant, draining the warmth from your body, yet gently pressing an everlasting, dreamless sleep onto your closed eyes. At times it caresses your skin with a soft touch; at other times, its icy bite makes you shiver. It can be quiet, murmuring like a secret; or it can roar, deafening, unstoppable.
Capricious and unpredictable, the rain is both a comfort and a challenge, and yet, I love it. The rain is the only one who accepts me as I am. It sees no difference between the rich and poor, the human and the other. It does not judge. And the smell—the rain's scent—how could I describe it? Water, after all, is colorless, tasteless, and odorless, but there's something in the air. A familiar, bittersweet aroma that both soothes and unsettles me. What is this scent? What is it that clings to the air, as if the rain carries memories with it, pulling them from deep within the earth, reminding me of something lost?
When I walked in, Alice was sitting at the kitchen table, his gaze fixed on the notebook in front of him. Despite my best effort to be quiet, he somehow sensed me before I could even reach the door.
"Did you look?" he asked without lifting his eyes from the page.
I walked over and sat across from him. "Yes."
He didn't seem angry, or even upset—just worn out, as if the weight of his thoughts was too much to bear.
"Did you see the last line?" he asked, looking up at me with a trace of anxiety.
I nodded, my own unease growing.
"It's not my handwriting, Shay," he said, his voice low and tense. "I didn't write that."
"I thought so too, but I saw it when you wrote it down," I replied, trying to steady myself.
"Seers are very sensitive," Alice continued, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "I'm afraid someone might've taken control of me while I was in a trance."
"Is that possible?" I frowned, unable to hide my concern.
"Yes," he answered, nodding solemnly. "My grandmother was possessed during a trance once. She wasn't paying attention and lost control. She could never get it back."
His hands trembled as he spoke, though he didn't say it outright, I could feel it: Alice was terrified that the same thing might happen to him.
"What kind of things can possess a seer?" I asked, my voice quieter than usual.
Alice paused, deep in thought, his brow furrowed. "Maybe demons, or shadows... No one really knows. What we do know is that when it happens, whatever takes control can drain or crush the soul, stealing the body."
I processed his words in silence, the gravity of the situation settling heavily in my chest. Alice cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "It only took control for a moment and then left. That tells me it's a weak entity, but it's still a threat."
"I see." My voice barely escaped.
"However," Alice continued, tapping his pen against the notebook, "It's a message. A warning."
I swallowed hard.
"It's obvious," he added, his pen now poking nervously at the pages, the trembling in his hand more apparent.
"To get involved in matters like this... It's never a good sign," Alice muttered. "But now we're being openly threatened. I've never heard of something like this before. We need to be cautious."