Avery had managed to convince DeMain's mother that they were going a few cities over to a private school with in-house dorms and paid lunches. DeMain was packing now, heading down to meet Ethel so they could get taken to the train station. All in two days' time. DeMain was skeptical, his mother wasn't naive, at least not naive enough to buy a cheap story.
"How'd you manage to convince her so quickly with so few strings attached? My mom wouldn't let me go anywhere. She didn't at least case the idea a little bit first? My old school, my friends' houses, even some of the places I went after class were all things she had to review for a week before I went."
"I've been giving her dreams for a few weeks now about giving you independence."
DeMain stopped in his tracks.
"What?"
"I've been giving her dreams for a few weeks now about giving you independence."
"Yes, I know. I heard you the first time"
"…Why'd you ask me to repeat it then?"
"Do you not hear yourself?! That's awful, man. You shouldn't be doing that to her."
Avery stared at DeMain silently, crossing his arms.
"What would you have done?" He asked, challenging DeMain.
"Not that!"
"Oh, sorry. Please explain to me what glorious method Mr. Rich has thought up to let us sneak out and go miles and miles away with no warning."
"Couldn't we just explain the whole witch thing? I mean yeah, lie a little bit but… manipulating her dreams is kinda fucked, dude."
"I--ugh. So… you're angry I convinced your mom that giving you more independence would be a good thing?"
"Now you're making it sound all sweet."
"I'm trying to look out for you. Think of all the stuff you've learned since coming here. I went through that too, I knew nothing. I'm just trying to help you."
"You couldn't have asked her or set up something with a real school?"
"That would cost money. Besides, people don't listen to anything unless it comes from inside their own heads, especially adults."
"We had around 400$ between both of us."
"That's mostly travel fees and food coverage, not setting up a fake school identity because you're too afraid to lie to your mommy, dumbass."
Ethel wasn't around to stop them from fighting, and it was early enough that none of the house staff were up and about to notice. Without warning, DeMain dropped his bags on the floor and began to crack his knuckles. Sensing the tug of a mental muscle, he opened his eyes again to see Avery's soul in its tortured form. He'd been practicing his witch sight in small bursts since first utilizing it during his Awakening. It hurt to keep it up for too long, but he could maybe do about ten seconds of witchsight every few minutes. Still, he wondered if it would help during a fight.
As DeMain brought into play his spirit needles, they manifested differently than before. Rather than being thin and brittle, their strength seemed to have improved. The once thin shape and structure has given way to a long, flat blade of nearly invisible energy that stretches forward from his forearm. Avery could definitely see it though, his wry expression becoming one of disapproval.
"Oh what. You're going to kill me now? Fine. You win—"
He wasn't going to give Avery the chance to pull his usual schtick of dismissiveness towards his own feelings. His blades swept forth, striking… Avery's soul. The twisted mass of metal and scar flesh took the attack surprisingly well, as if his blades were blunt against its rubbery skin. The creature laughed dryly, hideously, superimposed over Avery's expressionless figure. With a wretched snap, the creature's arms slam downward and broke his blades in two, refusing to remove the leftover shrapnel embedded in its own body.
"Wow, you really did try to kill me." Avery said grayly, still unmoved by Demain's attempt on his life. Rather than be upset, he seemed more inclined to continue schooling DeMain. "Your blades are made from your own energies housed within you as a witch. Spirit energies, Witchlight, Chi, whatever you want to call it. They can affect spirits along with tangible things, which does put them higher on a scale of usefulness—"
DeMain didn't really care. Again he swung, his blades refusing to reform but rather sharpening themselves into two brutal points. Jamming his arm forward for an uppercut, he was able to get it nearly to Avery's chin before Avery's own spirit contorted in the way and absorbed the blow.
"—but you're still susceptible to them being affected by spirits, even if they're human spirits." He continued. "As a witch, it also means spirits can hurt you where a regular human might be totally immune."
DeMain choked back a gag as the writhing mass of scar tissue and wounds sent a fist straight to his stomach. It felt less physically painful and more as if his entire body just rubber-banded back to itself. Another fist was decked straight to his head, and his vision went white for a moment. He could faintly hear Avery on his nonstop ramble.
"You'd probably be a lot more effective if you were actually creative. The best you can think to do with this ability is just to make swords on your arms. This is fun though, I've never fought another witch before. Especially not one with such a pitiful talent."
Every word out of this fucker's mouth got on DeMain's nerves.
"Sorry, I didn't get to grow up in a cushy mansion watching the stars and sitting around all day!" DeMain shouted, his spirit blades becoming longer and sharper as he focused on his utter hatred for Avery in this moment. He rushed forward again, and faked out a slash from the side to jam one of his blades straight into Avery's spirit. The trick worked, and as the creature willfully writhed around to catch the blade, his puncturing movement penetrated its thick, strange skin to draw… maggots. Dozens of them which festered inside the creature. They coated his blade and ate away at the energies, doing the same to his hand until he felt numbness overtake his arm. His blade literally melted away, unable to sustain itself.
"You've got a lot to learn about this stuff. Maybe you should try again when you can think of a better strategy."
"Shut up! You're one of the most uncaring people I've ever met." DeMain slid his remaining blade through the spirit's wound, twisting it with a sickening pop as the spirit's flesh contorted around it to lock it in place. DeMain looked past the translucent spirit to see Avery was bleeding from his neck, but he remained still. The moment DeMain lapsed in concentration, Avery's spirit blasted him with a hot, rancid breath of smog. Before he knew what was happening, the smog filled his lungs and he could stand no longer. His eyes began to close, his last vision being that of Avery's spirit stitching itself together with the hooks and blades embedded in it.
DeMain awoke in a car (for the second time since meeting these people) with Ethel at the wheel and Avery sitting in the passenger seat. DeMain knew he would ordinarily be angry, but Avery's spirit was keeping him sedated with little puffs of its dark, dreamy mist straight to his face. He wasn't given much of a chance to protest, because Ethel immediately pulled into a parking spot. The mist's flow halted, with the two in the front of the car stepping out. DeMain gradually regained his senses and stumbled out after them, coming to grips almost as soon as Avery's substances left his system.
They were at a train station, later in the evening. The sky was cold and blue with the approach of winter. He didn't recognize any of the road names around though, and there wasn't another person in sight. Lucky him, nobody would see him beat Avery to a pulp.
DeMain approaches Avery, trying to imagine those same blades sprouting from his arms. DeMain assumed it was something like how it worked in the shows Avery watched, where he had to believe in himself or something. Still, his blades felt overextended and wobbly with his anger less intense than before. Ethel stands by and watches, turning her back.
"I'm not involved in this. I'm done watching you two bicker. Just… don't kill each other. Get it out of your systems before you're stuck on a train together for hours." She said, leaning against a lamppost. DeMain quickly honed back in on Avery, his eyes like those of a hawk's. He didn't have words for him anymore. This was the third time Avery had invaded whatever boundaries witch magic could cross for DeMain and his mother. Avery's tongue slid out of its hovel again, a snake eyeing up its prey.
"I didn't change your dreams, you know. Otherwise you wouldn't be angry."
"Oh, what a relief. You only roofied me." DeMain said, still marching towards Avery with both blades in formation. Avery's spirit slid in front of him like a meager shield of meat, protecting its uncaring host. Something clicked. DeMain's reception to the poetry of the world had been greatly highetened since his Awakening, and he realized now it wasn't a coincidence that a person's spirit would show their truest selves.
"You're pathetic." DeMain stated.
"What?" Avery stifled, his spirit's form immediately untensing. There. It was all right in front of him, DeMain had just been too hasty to see it.
"You think I'm stupid, huh?" The black teenager stated, slyly inspecting his blades as if being just as dismissive as Avery had been to him.
"A little, yeah."
"Yeah? Well I know your secret. You're all rotten inside. No wonder you're such a dick. I bet you're just one of those rich kids who thinks he can do whatever, right?"
"No—DeMain, I can't explain it. You wouldn't get it. Sometimes people just won't listen to reason, no matter what."
"And that gives you an excuse to just crawl inside their brain?"
"…Yes? What else am I supposed to do? Stick a needle in their skull? I don't have that option."
"Oh, I get it. So you can't just talk to them, or god forbid you let them decide things for themselves? I bet you my mom would have let me go even if you hadn't brainwashed her."
"It's easier this way. I explained it. Maybe she would have, but I can make that a guarantee so we don't have to take risks."
"How do I know you haven't been brainwashing me and crawling into my head since I got here? You told me about it the first time, and that was over me opening a door."
"That's such a dumb argument. There's no way for me to prove I haven't."
"Exactly. How can I trust you?"
Avery stood in silence, a solemn expression melded onto his face before it disappeared into the lifeless expression he so adored to put on.
"Fine. You don't. Yippee. Gonna slice me to ribbons now?" Avery's spirit retreated behind him entirely, leaving him perfectly open to DeMain. "Go ahead. All yours."
DeMain's arms were held in place. He didn't want to kill Avery, but now he wasn't sure if that was just Avery's witch powers at work. His mind settled on something his hands could follow, and Avery was given a nasty gash from his stomach to his shoulder. The teenager was sent onto the floor as he clutched the wound, his hair sprawled over himself and soaking up the blood like hospital rags.
"If I even think you've been playing with my head, I'm killing you on sight."
Avery meekly nodded in response, a diluted anger at the corners of his lips. A train whistle could be heard in the distance, and Ethel pushed DeMain to the station house so they could board. Strangely, DeMain was the only passenger out at this station to board in the first place. A few people got off, but only to head back into the nearest town.
"The last stop is by an old forest shrine site. Not many people know it exists, and fewer still have a reason to go there at all." Ethel said, answering his question for him. "I think you can handle walking onboard, I'm gonna patch Avery up."
"Why do you deal with him? He's such an asshole." DeMain probed. Surely a girl like Ethel had enough self respect not to fall for… someone… like Avery.
"It's not like he's… well, I…"
Oh no. Did she?
"…every witch—or at least a good portion of them—are like Avery at some point. The world doesn't like having us around, it's sort of a package deal to live a terrible life as long as you stick around here. Past the Veil you're allowed to be yourself, but the witch community isn't exactly a utopian metropolis. There's maybe a few dozen of us in each settlement, sometimes more if we're lucky. It can really mess some people up after a while. Avery is one of the better ones, truthfully."
"You're telling me the guy who twists people's heads around so they do what he wants is a shining example for witches?"
"I'm not saying he's perfect or anything, I'm just saying he could do a lot worse if he stopped caring. Same way you could murder anyone you wanted. You always have a weapon on you, and you can affect both spirit and body. You could get away with most of them too since witch magic doesn't work well as an accusation. Not that the world wouldn't shove karma down your throat for it, but…"
"You overestimate the justice system. They'd still find a way to can me, or at least someone who looks like me."
"…Yeah. Probably. Karma. Anyway, I should find… Avery…"
Ethel trailed off, and he saw why. Avery was completely gone, but his things were still neatly set in a suitcase near the car.
"Maybe he got on the train when we weren't looking?"
"Must have. I was pretty deep in thought. Here, I'll grab it and you can keep it until you both step off."
"Are you sure? Could always toss it out the window on the way."
"Hah hah. I'm sure you'd love him giving you nightmares about lost luggage for a year."
"True, I don't want to be haunted by flying pants or something." DeMain joked, pulling both his and Avery's suitcases aboard the train, Ethel walking back to her car with a curt wave after handing over the two tickets she'd held onto until now.
The train's inside was very pleasant. Cush viridian green seat cushions, a wooden interior, wide passenger rooms for overnight travel, and blinds for the windows that practically made it night on demand. DeMain noticed a small latch underneath one of the chairs, and pulling on it allowed the two opposite booth seats in the room to connect as a single queen-sized bed. Fancy. DeMain didn't really feel like putting the arrangement back, and although he wasn't tired he didn't feel like sitting in another chair for a while if he could help it.
Relaxing in his impromptu bedroom, the train began to kick off a few minutes after the hour. It was smoother than DeMain had expected, at least with the one movie he'd seen involving cowboys and a rickety wooden bridge being blown up. A movie to watch would be nice, but unfortunately the train didn't have anything in the way of onboard entertainment. He had snagged a few books for the trip, but they'd been grabbed from the shelf at random based on the titles. Guess he'd have to deal with it.
Halfway into the first page of Pride & Prejudice, a loud 'pst' distracted DeMain from what he felt must be a witch's spell to take away his intelligence. He looked around, but couldn't see anyone. All he could smell now was cigarettes, so someone else had to be nearby. He poked his head out of his room and saw nobody, but the whisper for attention rang out again—above him. A rush of anxiety filled him as he looked towards the ceiling of the train car.
A familiar figure was planted on the ceiling, her uneven horns a dead giveaway for… uh…
"…Hennesy, was it?"
She scoffed, taking a drag of a rather long and acrid-smelling cigar. Rather than hair and clothing, they descended into formless, dark-gray smoke that wove around her endlessly. The clouds she blew from her mouth after the cigar touched her pale lips only added back to their mass.
"It's Heressa. But I can't fault you for not knowing. You're young, and so, so innocent." She scowled, dispelling the cigar into yet more smoke that filled the roof of the passenger room. She seemed to be laying down in it, as if the ceiling were her own bed. DeMain didn't want to crane his neck, so he reciprocated, even if just to get his nose further away from the afterburn.
"Aren't you like a super messed up Witch God? I'm not listening to you, so get lost."
Heressa's hand flew to her featureless, marbled chest, feigning astonishment. "Well I never. We just met and you're already accusing me of such horrible things!" She said, her voice oozing with sarcasm before she let out a laugh like a high school girl who'd just called your haircut trashy. "You new witches are always so cute. You find out you have powers and BAM! You listen to whatever people tell you about them for the next few years. I still say they're dumb for not charging entry fees."
"Wouldn't that kind of defeat the purpose? We're all treated equally shitty, at least. I doubt most of us would have the money."
"But that's the fun part, kid. When people are desperate they'll do anything you want, especially if it's their only shot. Oh, the things I've seen in Vegas—can't get that on pay-per-view!" Heressa cackled.
"Aren't you supposed to be tucked behind the Veil or something if you're so powerful? Why are you here?" DeMain posed.
"Oh pish posh. I'm still behind the Veil. Us gods can use weaker, lesser spirits to act as uh… phones, I guess? Are you old enough to know what a telegram is? Nevermind. Right now I'm using the Cigarette Spirit. So many mixed feelings on that one, and there's not really many gray areas. Can't do much in the real world though, except maybe give you a nicotine craving. Too bad cigars don't have the same connotations, they're much classier."
"That's great. Can you leave? You're stinking up my room and I'm not sure if I can crack these windows."
"Ugh. You people are never any fun. Wouldn't it be interesting to imagine if you were a smoker? To bask in the smell and like it?"
"No. What kind of question is that?"
"Aw. Your loss, kid. Could have smoked packs a day and been dead by 25, would have spared you all the rest of your awful life. Hey, maybe if you kill yourself we can throw a party in the spirit world for you!"
"You're weird." DeMain said, turning over in his bed. He recalled how Ethel spoke about Heressa, like she was the worst aspects of the modern world thrown together. Initially he had pictured something a little different, not a cheerleader captain with all the social ingenuity of the color black.
"Aw c'mon. I didn't mean it. I'm here to give you something to do on your ride. Not like Avery is gonna talk to you, right?"
"Will you leave me alone after the train arrives?"
"No promises!" Heressa said, crossing her fingers with a smile. DeMain got the sense she didn't really know what the word 'promise' meant. That, and she probably wouldn't leave him alone if he asked her to. With a thought, one of his blades extended, and he swiped at the spirit housing her. The thing was small and agile, like trying to swat a gnat with a pencil. Heressa merely cackled again at his failure before DeMain retracted the blade into nothingness and gave up.
"Why do you even stick with needles and blades? That's so basic. You could do a lot more if you put your mind to it." Heressa began, now filing her obsidian-colored nails.
"I don't really think I'd want a giant fly swatter as a spirit weapon, or whatever it is."
"Well not like that. But do anything else before you embarrass yourself. Claws, a shield, I dunno, a spear even."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Just focus the energy elsewhere. Mold it. This is like, basic witch stuff. Kids figure it out within the first few months."
DeMain didn't really appreciate being compared to children, but he couldn't see the harm in trying. He focused the energy of his spirit to try and shape it, straining himself the same way as when he attempted to use his Witchsight for the first few times. Eventually, a rather crude, overly crooked spear appeared in his hands. It looked more like a very ineffective axe than a proper weapon from how bent and misshapen it was. Talking with this New Witch God was really testing the limits of his witchsight. Somehow it felt easier to focus on her for longer periods of time, but it still elicited the same pain of moving your eyes too far if he did it for too long. DeMain could care less about the accuracy of his weapon right now though.
Despite not being able to see her, he could still faintly hear Heressa. On top of this, the scent of cigarettes remained just prominent enough that he couldn't quite ignore it. It ebbed and flowed, as if any lack of attention to it made it smell stronger than before.
"Heressa, why are you talking to me?" DeMain asked, cutting her off from a ramble about how he'd probably take years to get anything done with his newfound witch-iness. She didn't take long to reply, easily segwaying into the topic like it was gossip at the lunch table.
"Oh why wouldn't I? You've got such a sad, interesting life! So much drama. I mean, if I could post it somewhere, it'd probably catch on pretty quickly. A sad little black boy, a dead daddy, and a—"
DeMain instinctively began to slash at her proxy of a spirit, though it was still far too small. At least it shut her up, but she didn't seem happy.
"How rude! I was talking! Anyway, your life is fun to watch."
"Fun? This is fun to you?"
"Well yeah. I started as a spirit of suicides. Do you have any idea how hard it was to really gain traction? Everyone knows the concept, but it didn't start to kick off until the human population began to boon. Strong spirits get strong emotions, and it's so, so easy to know someone who offs themselves nowadays. I'd call them pathetic, but honestly I'm grateful!"
"You're scum. Lemme guess. You like human suffering and you want to bring about the end of the world or something. Basic villain shit."
"Basic? No, no, no. I'm nothing like that. If everyone dies, who's going to serve my causes?"
"Killing themselves?!"
"Exactly!"
"Ugh… go annoy Avery if you're gonna act like this."
"Aw. Well, I would, but he's so far away, and he can defend himself from spirits—unlike you. It'd just be such a hassle for a girl like me. We wouldn't want cutesy old me to have to work too hard, right?" Heressa said, putting on a babyish voice. DeMain wouldn't describe her as 'cute' if there was a gun to his head.
"…I can give you a bit of my own power too, if you'd like." Heressa said, smoothing out the smoky plumes of her dress as she continued to sit on the train car ceiling.
"Nuh uh. I'm not taking a deal from a weird ghost girl that looks like she stepped out of the weird kid's sketchbook."
"Really? Not even if you could beat Avery…?" She dropped from the ceiling onto the end of DeMain's pullout bed, the smoke of her form swirling from the point of impact. "Would it help if I was prettier? You boys are so easy to control with a little blush."
To DeMain's horror, Heressa's face retreated into a plume of smoke, reemerging as that of a long, black-haired woman with blued, pale, bloated skin. Her cheeks were swollen, and her eyes were glassy and unmoving. When she spoke, water poured from her mouth before it devolved into Heressa's hideous cackle. DeMain kicked at her grotesque face until her normal, mismatched horns were revealed again.
"Oh my god, the look on your face!"
"Leave me alone. You're insane!"
"I can never pin down what men like. Oh well, I don't have to. You all come crawling to me anyway. Seeya round, DeMain. Maybe I'll arrange a date for you to meet your father."
DeMain didn't get a chance to respond, even as his witch blade nearly connected with the tiny remainder of her vessel spirit. All at once, she was gone. The door to his room received a knock, and he was forced to decide between snacks for the train ride rather than think about what just went on.