DeMain woke up a bit stiff in the back from the roughness of the cheap motel beds. Avery's home had such soft sheets and covers that it felt like floating on clouds. Here though, the beds were so hard and uneven it was like they'd been packed with styrofoam. Styrofoam and rocks. He hadn't even bothered to change his clothes, he'd slept the night in them with how airy the sheets were. The place was well-ventilated, he'd give it that.
DeMain sat up and prepared to go back to the main lobby after some remembering of where it was. Rather, where he was. He was going to go fetch Avery so they could head back to Ethel's. The entire… experience… had given him a lot to chew on. Even if it was just a drug trip, some things about it bugged him too much for it to be made up. Especially now, since if he focused hard he could still see the needles of energy that formed from his arms. Come to think of it…
DeMain skidded to a halt in front of his room's bathroom mirror. The others could always have seen his soul if they were able to focus, right? He only needed to concentrate and…
It was the equivalent of lifting a 300lb weight after breaking your arm, an intense ache that ran through his brain after it forcibly adjusted itself. The vision was brief, but it was definitely something real he'd caught a glimpse of. DeMain was underwhelmed by what he saw, and honestly a little disappointed his form wasn't as detailed as the other two had been.
DeMain's mirror image looked relatively similar, with only a few differences. His hair was pulled back more tightly than it actually was, his skin was grayed like stone. The only noticeable difference besides these was the single, perfect hole that'd been blown through the leftmost side of his forehead. DeMain brought his hand to the wound and felt nothing amiss, yet he still recoiled mentally as if the hole in his head were really there. It was a beyond weird sensation. He'd need to ask Ethel what it meant, but he was deadly sure of its origins the second he saw the size of the hole and where it was placed. DeMain hadn't been shot though, so why…?
He knew intrinsically it wasn't as simple as a 'who got shot'. DeMain wished it was, but he suspected even that wishful thinking was part of why his soul was revealed the way it was.
Carrying on with the envisioning was starting to give him a headache, so DeMain merely dropped the effort. All at once, things went back to normal—how they always had been.
The lobby was well-lit even now, in the early morning. DeMain wasn't sure if he'd slept for only a few hours or if the seasons were changing enough that it looked earlier. A very randy couple passed him on the way through the room doors he entered through, and he spotted Avery sitting on a couch. He didn't seem very enthusiastic, DeMain could guess he hadn't been able to sleep well either. The beds weren't great for good sleep, his back could only stand them for a few hours at most. Most of this motel had such a drab feel to it he was pretty sure it was meant to encourage people staying even less time than he and Avery had.
DeMain sat next to Avery on a different couch as they both stared at the early morning news. Quietly, Avery offered him a bag marked 'Del Sol Tacos' in a fun green print.
"I got hungry, so I grabbed some for you too. It's pretty good."
"Thanks." DeMain said, peeling the burlap sack of a bag open to find about twenty small soft tacos waiting to be devoured. He couldn't refuse, and started unwrapping and eating them as quickly as his empty stomach could take each taco. "Should we check out with the guy first?"
"I uh, already did. We're allowed in the lobby, just not back in our rooms."
"Gotcha. Do you wanna head back now?"
"I doubt Ethel is awake. We should wait a little while, but I don't wanna stick around here."
"Yeah, I agree. The chairs and beds are so uncomfortable I don't think I could stay if I wanted to. My ass would hurt all day." DeMain caught a wince from Avery, although he wasn't sure what it was he said. Probably the uncomfortable mattresses and an all too soon reminder of the havoc they wrought on backs everywhere.
The two of them sat watching the news for a long time. With DeMain devouring the pocket-sized tacos one by one until none remained in the bag. He was almost set to sink into a trance of bliss and fullness before a news segment caught his attention. Slowly, he opened his eyes to receive the gospel of 'Morning News Today'.
"…That's right Jan. Our very own Officer Brandt is being investigated for 'corruption' within the police force. What an atrocious thing to do. Not even our sacred protectors are safe from doing their job."
"Exactly, Don. Police nowadays have a duty to uphold, and it's their fault whenever things go off the rails? Are we supposed to jail them when they have to kill psychotic, gun-toting murderers who go to visit schools, too?"
DeMain gripped his chair as the news segment continued. What the hell were they talking about? Shooting and murdering a cripple was just as bad as killing a threat to society?
He wanted to get madder, but Avery shut the TV off before either of them could listen further.
"He's being investigated for corruption. Don't listen to the hate they're trying to spin."
"They're saying my dad's death was just 'doing their job'. Are you even fucking listening to that?!"
"My stepfather is probably investing some money into a lawyer for your mother's sake. You're lucky anything at all is happening."
DeMain was at a loss for words. He wanted to punch Avery and send him flying across the room for saying DeMain was 'lucky' in any way at all, but he knew that Avery was right. Still, the feeling of tightness in his balled fist lingered.
"You oughta watch your mouth man. One of these days I won't have to be nice to you anymore."
DeMain could see a part of Avery wither away and die, but it simply melded into the grave expression his face already had. Avery's jaw shifted to the side before he spoke, like a snake assessing a threat.
"Do you think… DeMain, how do you think your mom managed to snag a rich guy to take care of her son even though she doesn't have any income?"
"You better not be saying what I think you're saying."
"I'm not saying anything. I'm asking you a question."
"That's still saying something, dumbass."
"Maybe it is! Do you think your mom just waltzed in and found a spare babydaddy lying around? That all she had to do was smile and look nice for him? That's not how the world works!"
DeMain closed the distance between the two of them, flinging himself over a chair to connect his fist with Avery's face. The older teenager shrieked, no mark visible yet but the pain still clearly evident. Avery's grim expression didn't change, and with a jab at his liver DeMain was forced to double over. Avery's punches weren't strong, but he could take a hit.
"Feel better now?" Avery said, backing off and rubbing his cheek while his face contorted to hold back a tear. DeMain was still reeling from the connected punch. A single long, straight-edge needle of witch-energy formed from between his knuckles in preparation for his next move.
The both of them were interrupted by Ethel's shouting, deep and intimidating like a viking warmother.
"It's too EARLY for this! Get outside! Now." She ordered staunchly. DeMain looked to Avery, yet their expressions were the same now. Fear.
"I walk in and you two are having a fistfight? Are you nuts? Is this just a thing you guys do nowadays?"
Avery remained silent, but DeMain also couldn't really sum up anything worthwhile.
"He… called my mom a whore."
"I did not!" Avery snapped. Ethel waved him off.
"Is she one?"
"I… I don't know. I don't think so. She would never do that! She's an honest, respectable woman."
Ethel shot Avery another glare, perhaps the dozenth or so since DeMain had seen the two of them together. "I think Avery is trying to get you to consider some realities. Unfortunately, Avery is a dumbass who isn't good at subtlety."
"No shit." DeMain agreed. Avery gave him an unamused frown.
"I'm not saying your mother is a prostitute, neither is Avery, hopefully." Ethel continued. "What we're nicely asking you to consider is that your mother is a respectable woman who would do anything to make a good life for her son, right?"
"…Yeah. I guess."
"Okay. We're going to leave it at that, and if I catch either of you talking about it again, I'm going to beat your behinds until they're purple, got it?"
DeMain caught a mischievous glint in Avery's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came. He merely uttered in agreeance and began walking to Ethel's shop ahead of the other two in total silence.
DeMain seated himself at Ethel's shop table while she searched around for some infographics. She groaned as paper after paper was tossed aside, cursing herself for her disorganized hovel. Finally, an old dusty book with no name was placed in front of DeMain. Avery had excused himself to take a long walk outside, leaving he and Ethel to talk more about what was really going on. Ethel began by opening the hefty book up to a few diagrams and glyphs he couldn't make heads or tails of, some seeming familiar and others closer to what a teenager might come up with.
"You've had your Witch's Wake. Have you noticed anything weird or new since then?"
"Witch's Wake?"
"It's a term we use to define the point at which a witch begins to… see differently, I suppose. Sometimes it's called opening your third eye, glimpsing the horrors, ascending, etcetera. We usually just refer to it as an Awakening, though."
"Well I definitely feel like one of those things happened. So what, you just gave me some magic tea and now I'm 'awake'?"
"It's not the same for everyone, DeMain. Some witches experience their Awakening after contact with spirits, immense trauma, or by ascension through spiritual means."
"Spiritual means like… praying too hard?" DeMain asked. He knew his mom was pretty devout to The Book, but even she didn't strike him as that ingrained in her prayers.
"It can happen that way, yes." Ethel answered, flipping through the pages while she explained. She was very clearly looking for something to show him specifically. "There are too many factors to give any one-hundred percent fullproof way of awakening. Some people are able to do it fairly easily because they're already receptive to it, others have to be essentially forced to. Fasting and starvation can be two sides of the same coin, and they can both lead to the same place."
"Glad I didn't have to starve myself then."
"Yeah, I wouldn't really recommend it. From what I've heard though, you already lived a pretty lackluster life. Being detached from the world and its shiny things makes ascending easier."
"What about for people who aren't 'detached'?" Ko
"It's always harder, but still possible. The worst trait to have is a closed or fearful mind."
"What do you mean?"
"How do I… okay. Imagine you're really, really devoted to a code of ethics or a set of beliefs. Doesn't really matter what kind. Now let's say something comes along that challenges those views, or plunges you into being forced to cope with things you've never had to before."
DeMain knew that feeling all too well. His core beliefs hadn't exactly been skewered, but being forced to deal with new, more awful things was becoming an unfortunate staple. Still though, DeMain had needed to adjust to all of this witch stuff in a pretty timely manner compared to what most people probably needed to deal with life-altering changes. He nodded, and Ethel resumed.
"The worst thing you could possibly do is double down. It'd be different if you examined things about yourself after the fact, but flat out refusing a possible Awakening lands you in very treacherous waters."
"What would have happened if I had refused—however I would have done that?"
"Sometimes you can get away with it if it's a very weak calling. More often than not though, refusing to change anything about yourself when presented with new knowledge attracts spirits who know you're easy to manipulate."
"How would being less open to change make me easier to manipulate?"
Ethel sighed and took a second to breathe. "I appreciate that you're asking questions, DeMain. Sorry, I just haven't had to explain this much since Avery came along."
She took a moment to grab a glass of water from the back kitchen before sitting back down at the table, offering one to DeMain. He drank as he stewed with his thoughts, with Ethel chugging half of her portion before finishing her tangent.
"Being unable to change is a huge indicator of naivety and being easily manipulated. Disregarding spirits or planar interlopers, you can see it sometimes in the real world too. Imagine you're in a committed relationship, then one day you come home and find they've cheated on you, or that they've started abusing you. Most people wouldn't stand for it and would leave or take some other action, but there are still a good chunk of people who'd excuse this behavior. They might even say it was a fluke, or that it means nothing. Nothing changes about them, even though the world is clearly changed. If they do nothing to stop it or make change in return, then it'll happen again. And again. And again. You can see how a spirit with abilities above that of the everyman might take advantage of that."
"How would a spirit even do that? Also, why are you so intent on telling me about all of this? Shouldn't it be a secret or something?"
"No, dummy." Ethel teased. "Being a witch isn't something you can help or change. Plus, it's sort of in my job description to help people like you."
"Your job is to pick up sad kids?"
"Hah. No. I'm a medium in more ways than just communing with spirits for my clients. I also guide newcomer witches to safe places where they can explore themselves. To answer your question though, every spirit is different. One might decide to put thoughts in an undefended mind, or influence the people around them to point someone where they want them to go. My personal rule of thumb is just to not trust spirits at all."
"So… are spirits all just like ghosts then? They don't sound all that threatening if you don't listen to them."
"Most aren't. Actually, I'd say around eighty percent are harmless if you follow that exact rule."
"Are the other twenty percent like poltergeists then?"
"It varies a lot. Here…"
Ethel opened a page to a sketchy depiction of many hands attempting to tear through some kind of invisible wall. The largest ones were held back completely, but the smallest ones could widen and slip through the minute tears made in the substance.
"This is one of the earliest depictions of what we call The Veil. Tacky name, I know."
"What does it do?"
"It's a bit like a filter. A good example would be like a pasta strainer, but that doesn't really do it justice. It's a massive combination of faiths, beliefs, and plain natural order that holds back some of the worst spirits from being able to affect the world we inhabit. They're welcome in their own, but they can't do damage there."
"What about the smaller ones that get through?"
"Like I said, pasta strainer doesn't do its duty justice. Someone else can hopefully explain it in a more intelligent way. Think of them like the hot water that you need to filter out. They're essentially harmless compared to the others, but they still make up a good bulk of what exists. Maybe they make you have a bad thought, or trip on your own foot. At worst you might get really sick for a while, but they generally never affect you in ways that matter. Most witches can safely ignore them or easily dispose of them."
"What do they look like then? I haven't really seen any."
"Oh! That's another thing. You'll need to practice using your new sight before you get good at using it for long periods of time. The mind has to adjust."
"I figured. I tried to use it in the bathroom to look at myself, but I could only keep it on for maybe a second."
"That's fine for starters. I was worried you might be Witchblind. Witchblind people are technically witchblooded, but they either haven't had a strong enough Awakening to see anything new or they lack the ability completely. For future reference though, weak spirits actually look a lot like they do in most folklore. Imps, goblins, fairies, some even appear as animals."
"Not to sound stupid, but where do spirits come from then? Avery's game said goblins are born from mud pits or… something, I think."
"No. Spirits are actually born of mortals more often than not. There are a few that are born of natural energies and such, but with so many people and so much going on in the world they're typically overshadowed by those born of hatred, repressed desires, and so on. Some spirits can be good, but I'd still stand by my point of not trusting them if I could help it."
DeMain could sense she was tired of babying his knowledgeable mind.
"You know, you could just write a book or a pamphlet if you don't like explaining this stuff. It must suck to do it all the time for every new person." DeMain suggested. Quietly, he wondered how she must have felt with Avery.
"I would write a book, but honestly some things are easier to talk about in conversation face to face. Most witches don't like writing these things down for fear of attracting some of the stronger spirits, but I'm not going to try it out for the fun of it if I can just answer your questions as we go. As far as historical learning goes, most witches rely on oral tradition to avoid attracting any unwanted spiritual attention."
"Oh. So much for an information handout. Well, how would I know if I met a dangerous spirit?"
"They don't typically get to cross over because of the Veil, but the most dangerous spirits tend to resemble people in some ways, actually. Either they're humanoid, they've got faces, or maybe they're some mix of human parts. The height gives it away most of the time. Why, have you seen one?"
"I… don't know. During my uh… 'Awakening', I saw this weird lady, I think. She was pretty humanoid-ish, skinny. I don't actually know if it was a girl, but she sounded like it."
Ethel began slowly flipping through a few of the pages, following along with DeMain's description.
"Anything else you remember?" Ethel inquired. "Don't worry, if they're not here now I doubt they care enough to try and stop you from talking about it."
DeMain sifted through his memories.
"Yeah, actually. She didn't have a face. Well, she did kind of, but she didn't have eyes or a nose or anything. It was just these two black… horns? They weren't even either, one was sorta placed under the other and they were crooked."
"You saw Heressa during your Awakening?!" Ethel shouted, mouth agape and her eyes wide.
"Uh… who?"
With a flash, the pages of the book were torn through to reveal a figure that almost perfectly matched DeMain's description. The only difference was that she was rendered in a bit of a regal manner, as if she'd been painted onto stained glass rather than sketched out.
"Yeah, that's her." DeMain confirmed.
"I can't believe you saw a New Witch God and I didn't even notice. I doubt she would have wanted me to notice though." Ethel huffed, bringing the book back to her own angle and reading through the section. Her eyes skimmed so fast it seemed more like she was checking to make sure she missed anything than to learn something new.
"Well, who is she? And what's a New Witch God? Are there Old Witch Gods?"
"She's a New Witch God, one of the youngest. She represents a lot of things, but none of them are very… good."
With the way Ethel hesitated, DeMain could only take guesses about the scale of just how horrible things were.
"Can you elaborate on that…?"
"Yes. She's sort of like if you bundled up everything wrong with the world, but only things that have jumped from the last century or so. Hence, being a 'New' Witch God. Suicide, mockery, self-centrism, superficiality, you get the idea."
"Disease, death?"
"No, that's the domain of older Witch Gods. Primal forces like death or natural events aren't really because of humanity, but humanity has its own sets of problems it can create that spawns New Witch Gods."
"So they're like demons, in a way?"
"Not all Witch Gods are bad, but yeah. Give enough of something power and it's bound to spawn a spirit. It's not a new idea either, you see it sometimes in the media where enough fear or hatred towards a certain subject can spawn a personified entity for it, but it goes the other way too. Most people really like the idea of birth and more children, the same could be said for uh… I don't know…" Ethel trailed off, thinking of other examples.
"In Avery's books I read one about these things called Devils that are born and given power based on how much they're feared, but practically anything could be a Devil. Even things like events in history." DeMain replied. He also vaguely remembered the concept from the games he'd played recently, with some of the bosses being literal concepts given flesh.
"Yeah, that does sum it up fairly well. I would say most spirits who have nothing to propel them will die off soon after. I doubt anyone has strong enough feelings about Pompeii to make any spirits born from it linger around."
"What creates a spirit then?"
"A lot of things, but honestly it depends on the intensity of the feeling around something. People really like dogs, but some are also scared of them. Either way, there are generally very intense emotions around it, so I'd wager there's a dog spirit out there somewhere."
"What if there are two spirits with the same related thing?"
"They'd just gradually merge over time, or maybe one would die off and the other would take the reins."
DeMain thought for a while as he studied the pages of the book. Flipping through them, most were left unpictured but still filled with information. Ethel had mentioned being a spirit medium, so he knew she probably talked to these spirits directly and got her information that way. Though…
"You said you were a medium in more ways than one. What does that mean?"
"Well, I do commune with spirits. Like I said though, I also ferry new witches through a sort of Underground Railroad to get somewhere safe."
"Are witches slaves or something?" DeMain asked, his expression immediately soured.
"No, but most don't live comfy lives. Abusive homes, dangerous living spaces, or debts that they can't repay. They might as well be stuck the same way, so we work to sneak them out. The 'Railroad' part is just because the train tickets are pretty cheap around here."
"Who's 'we'? Are there others who do the same thing you do?"
"Yes. Not as many as we'd like, but still a good sum. There's at least one in every major city. A medium, I mean."
"Where do you send everyone?"
"Past the Veil."
"What? How?"
"Do you remember those small tears and gaps in the Veil that I spoke of? Witchblooded people can walk through them like spirits, which sends us to the other side. There, we can use our abilities without fear of consequences. The world loves to punish witches when we don't stick by its rules, so in the other side we can make our own."
"There's a whole spirit world that we can just… go to? What's it like?"
"You'll probably find out—uh, assuming you want to go. You'd be far away from your home and anyone you love, and I don't just mean after you cross over the Veil. The train ride is a few states away."
"I have to go that far?"
"Sizable tears in the Veil aren't supposed to be common, so yeah. If they were everywhere the world would be a lot worse off, trust me."
DeMain remembered the depiction of the hands attempting to get through the barrier, Ethel's point was pretty clear. It wasn't just the spirits that concerned him though. He was just expected to leave everything behind?
He didn't have much, admittedly. His mom was maybe the only family member left he had contact with. The thought of leaving the world in one way or another had crossed his mind many, many times. Yet, here an opportunity was to do just that, and it felt like stepping into the seat of a rollercoaster. DeMain used to dream of being able to do something like what he could now, even if he was only special by a small margin. His hands shook in place on his knees as he sat in thought. There wasn't a dilemma, he could pretty easily lie with Avery and say they were going to a private school or something… but he knew his mother would be furious. Well, maybe? He could explain the situation to her as best he could and— no, that would just make it sound like he'd been abducted by a cult. Had he been?
DeMain summoned forth his spectral needle and poked a hole into a piece of paper from much further away than his hand could. His ability was indeed real. Ethel was staring at him with a mixture of annoyance and worry.
"DeMain, you just put a hole in my shopping list. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking."
"About…?"
"Well, I'd feel bad for leaving shit behind, but I don't have much of anything to leave behind anyway. Will my mom be safe if I leave?"
"I've heard she's got it pretty cushy at Avery's house. Unless she's known for getting into trouble, I doubt something would rear its head if it hasn't already happened by now. There's a good chance she never had an Awakening, which is… surprising, but welcome."
"Wouldn't all witches have to have an Awakening at some point?"
"Not all get the chance. There's a strange balance between inviting an Awakening by intense experiences and lying low. Some people are lucky enough to never be bothered by anything Witchblood forces you to deal with. If she's gotten this far in life without it, your worries are misplaced."
"So she'll be alright?"
"I can't speak for everything that happens in a normal person's life but yes, I think she would be safe from spirits or anything that tries to cross the Veil. Like I said before, the things that already come through barely affect anything in the first place. She's got a stable situation and a pretty safe day-to-day life if she just babysits."
DeMain sighed and looked through the pictures in the book one last time. He wondered to himself if all that Avery had given him was a sort of prep to what was going on now. If Ethel had asked him to comprehend anything before he moved out and started broadening his horizons, he doubted he would have understood anything as well as he had. DeMain's Awakening had certainly helped.
"Alright. I'll sort my things out and get ready."