Skeletons in the family closet

Tommy officially stated that he was in deep shit. Tubbo had warned him that he should have done the final project beforehand! And now, the exams were only three days away, and he had nothing to show the examiners. He would definitely be left back at the witchers school for another year… If they didn’t kick him out after he’ll show them his empty hands. Tubbo took up his project literally three months before his exams, growing a real chimera out of shit and sticks as his final project. Okay, he was exaggerating, because his best friend created the chimera from plants and put a few dozen dryad charms into them, always more predisposed to “natural” magic. His boyfriend, Ranboo, managed to perform some kind of ritual on his body as a final project that allowed him to gain the ability to teleport without expending a single drop of magic, which was nearly a blowout because everyone knew that teleportation spells were incredibly expensive. The ritual had a side effect, it turned out, and now for some reason Ranboo felt pain from touching water and was trying to find a solution to the problem at the moment. But Tommy had no doubt that he would get his pass. Unlike himself. Yes, he too had a focus in magic, but it was biased toward destruction and fire, and Tommy didn’t have the brains to come up with new spells or rituals for those branches. Creation was out of his reach, and there were already enough destructive spells in the witch books to add more. So… well, yeah, he’s in the shit. He should have listened to his father and performed the ritual of summoning a familiar on the last full moon… Maybe that would’ve been good enough for the final project. “Oh, come on… There’s still time, maybe you can do something.” One of the seniors patted him on the shoulder after hearing him whine about the exam. Tommy turned around and saw that it was Wilbur — a witcher with the magical focus of a bard “Examiners make indulgences and turn a blind eye to a lot of things. I’m sure if you go and pick them some rare flowers for potions, they might give you a pass.” In his time, Wilbur passed the exam by presenting the jury with his own artifact — his guitar, which enhanced the musical magic tenfold. It was strange to hear such advice from him. “Yeah,” Eret, another senior, nodded his head in agreement “I heard Punz is collecting some kind of herbarium, too… It might actually work…” Tommy could barely contain his irritated snarks. He had a… a strained relationship with nature. He didn’t give a damn about it and usually ended up just burning everything they had to grow in herbology classes taught by Magister Niki. That’s why she kept him away from especially valuable plants, knowing full well how destructive his magic was, fueled by his fiery temper. Seeing his shoulders droop, Wilbur rubbed his neck awkwardly and said: “Well, don’t worry that much… It’s not the end of the world…” “It’s worse than that.” Tommy muttered, banging his head on the cafeteria table a couple of times. Tubbo, who was sitting across from him, feeding his chimera lettuce, looked at him almost reproachfully. “Well, if you can’t do it with vegetation, why don’t you try minerals? They’re valuable ingredients for potions and artifacts, too. Use your brains; there are a million ways to pass this exam, and you’re just sitting here bitching and moaning.” Tubbo accusingly pointed his fork at him and the chimera, thinking it was a treat, immediately snatched it from his hands, chewing on it with her wooden jaws. Ranboo rushed to help him, trying to snatch the fork away from his boyfriend’s creature and getting painfully bitten for his impertinence. “Why did you only make him fangs?” Ranboo asked pitifully, rubbing his bitten arm. “What question is this? What if he is attacked? He must be able to defend himself!” Tubbo pressed the chimera against him, cooing with it like a little child. Tommy sighed again. He had no ideas in his head. “If you don’t feel like digging in the ground, then you can try to get something organic… Just don’t get caught sawing off unicorn horns, you get three years in anti-magic collars for that.” Ereth suggested, spooning some of the stew on his plate. “Or, when you’re tearing the feathers off a phoenix… Not that you’d stand a chance anyway — you’d get fried.” “Wow,” Innit thought sarcastically, “how unexpected.” “Go to the library today and ask for a catalog of ingredients and materials derived from magical creatures.” Prompted Wilbur “Magister Alice, will give you the one you need, and you’ll see what you can easily get.” Tommy sighed, but nodded nonetheless, not lifting his head from the table. He had no choice, anyway. Either he’d try to pass off some vampire hair as his project, or he’d get kicked out of college and face certainly pissed off parents who might well send him to Bermuda School for training. It was literally a prison for students, and the place was surrounded by legends. There they completely re-educated and turned young witchers and witches into obedient puppets, almost brainwashed… He wouldn’t want to go there. So he’d have to go and rummage through old books. Eh… *** The catalog was thick enough that Tommy could barely pick it up, nearly dropping it on his feet under the stern gaze of Magister Alice. As the keeper of the archives, she had no tolerance for carelessness with books, and when she gave Innit the catalog, she visibly doubted her decision, knowing the tendency of one of the noisiest students in the college to burn something when it became too boring. So when she gave him the book, the Magister reminded him that if he ruined even one page he would have to purge the gryphon cost for the rest of the year and ominously walked away, letting him know she was watching him. And though his desire to spend time in the library was diminished after that, he had no choice, so he crawled to a distant desk and sat down on one of the poufs and began to leaf through a thick book, looking for his potential prey. As he scrolled to the section on valuable ingredients, Tommy glanced through the tiny print, figuring out in his head what he could get his hands on. He wouldn’t go to the Hellhounds for their flames from their mouths. He’s not suicidal, and he still has his life ahead of him. Where he could get an angel who would be absent-minded enough not to notice that his halo was missing, he had no idea, so that wasn’t an option either. He could have tried knocking out vampires' fangs, but they were fast enough, and he would probably end up without teeth himself. To get the skull of a wendigo, he had to face them first, and he feared these creatures to the core and he doubted very much that he would be able to defeat even one, given that they were many times more physically powerful than any human. A hydra would eat him up and not even notice. It would be better to stay away from demons in general. There were no manticores in their country, so the idea of their venom was off the table. The nymphs still hadn’t forgiven him for trying to slap one of them on the ass. The cursed Tengu feathers could have cursed him himself… most likely fatally. And the banshees… Innit frowned, going over the reasons in his head why he couldn’t try to collect the Grey Weepers' tears and found none. The Banshees had no particular speed, moving more smoothly through the air like ghosts, though they were not one of them. They were almost harmless creatures that foreshadowed another’s death, if you close your eyes to their screams quite capable of taking people’s magic at best, life at worst. But Tommy had bracelets that sealed the magic in his body and kept it out for a while (his parents often punished him that way when he was a kid), and he knew a spell against the banshees' cries. More importantly, he knew where one of them was. A plan began to take shape in his mind… *** Innit stood in front of the abandoned mansion, feeling the spells someone had left behind, warning him not to come in here. Yes, everyone knew that even the archmages themselves didn’t risk coming here, but no one knew why. His classmates had even invented a legend about it. Like, this banshee was the son of one of the archimages, and after they became the Grey Weeper, he could never bring himself to say goodbye to his child and did not have his soul put to peace, condemning him to eternal imprisonment in this house. There was probably not a shred of truth in this legend, but who could accuse teenagers of having too much imagination? That’s like blaming the ocean for being wet. Tommy drew a protection rune in the air, muttered a spell against the banshee’s screams, and put on his bracelets, checking several times to see if they were well secured. The vials with the spell of indestructibility were held firmly on his belt, the paired daggers were in their sheaths, and a couple of artifacts lay in his bag, ready to use at the first touch. He had never gone to a banshee before, and it was better to be safe than sorry. Who knew if the books didn’t say it all, and they might be more dangerous than the wendigos themselves? The thought of it made him shiver. As a boy he’d had the misfortune to see one wendigo, more like a skeleton wrapped in half-rotten skin, attack the gardener in their home. That day he showed his magical focus toward fire and destruction when he, out of fear, summoned the flames and burned the creature to the ground. But that wouldn’t work against a banshee. Fire doesn’t harm what’s left alive in an immaterial form. “Great Magic… I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Sighing and mentally begging the universe to help him, Tommy pushed open the door and cautiously stepped inside. The house reeked of… mustiness. It was damp and very dusty in here. Cobwebs dangled everywhere, and the floor creaked ominously under his every step, barely able to bear his weight. The walls were blackened with time, and the windows were so dirty that he could hardly see anything through them from the street. The heavy curtains, which must have looked nice and rich before, were hanging tattered, moth-eaten, blackened by dampness and dirt. Tommy carefully took a few more steps and shuddered as the door slammed shut behind him from the draught. He could barely keep himself from snorting. Exactly like the law of the genre. All that was missing was someone’s ominous laughter from around the corner. A blast of air kicked up a cloud of dust, and Tommy barely restrained himself from sneezing — he shouldn’t have attracted the banshee’s attention before he discovered it himself. It was a pity he couldn’t use magic with those bracelets. The cleansing spell was external, and the artifacts didn’t allow magic to leave the body, so the only spells he could use in this situation were the reinforcing ones that were created “inside” the body. Innit looked around. The mansion, even though it was nearly destroyed, still retained remnants of some of its grandeur. It was noticeable by the half-decayed broad staircase with carved banisters, by the high windows that stretched almost to the ceilings, and by the elaborate, but faded from time, huge chandelier in the central hall. This house had once breathed life. Light streamed in, and it smelled warm and cozy. The well-kept garden might once have been visible through the windows, and the tapestry patterns that hung on the walls could still be discerned. The maids must have been bustling around, lighting the many candles, or perhaps it was someone who wielded magic in the house, making them all light up at once. The secrets of the past could be felt here, and the house still held traces and fingerprints of the living when they still lived here. Now… everything seemed strangely empty. The smell of dampness wafted up to his nose, and many of the things that had once made up the mansion’s grandeur were ruined and hopelessly deteriorated. The carpets looked as ragged as the curtains, and the huge chandelier lay in the middle of the hall, broken and rusted — it looked as if the chain holding it had eventually become too weak to bear its weight and snapped. Dust hung in shreds on the thin threads of the cobwebs, and the floor beneath the chandelier was sinking in pieces somewhere down below. Tommy walked around it and, deciding not to go up to the second floor just yet, crawled slowly and carefully around the walls, peering into each room and feeling his body muscles tense. Somehow this was different from the times he’d sneaked into Magister George’s office, stealing ingredients for potions from him. (Well, what else was he supposed to do! He had no idea where he could get genie fire, which was one of the most important ingredients for an invisibility potion!) There was a feeling that if he was caught, he could hardly get away with merely clearing out the dusty archives, which no one cared about. It was not for nothing that even the Archimages were afraid to come here! It was dark in this place, unlike the school where the magical lights were always on, but Tommy made sure it wasn’t a nuisance by taking his brother’s lenses, enchanted to see in the dark. So at least he could walk without fear of tripping and breaking his neck in the ruins of the house. And it was… quiet. Too quiet. His own breathing seemed incredibly loud in the silence of the dead house. Innit shivered and kept walking, really hoping that at some point he would get lucky enough to see a banshee from behind. Anything is better than turning around and coming face to face with it… Besides, the banshees were something like spirits, which meant that they didn’t make breathing sounds and their footsteps couldn’t be heard. That fact alone made him spin his head like a madman, trying to make sure no one was behind him. He stepped on a rotten floorboard, and it creaked with a long sound, almost collapsing beneath his feet. Innit froze and held his breath. At first, he thought it had gone unnoticed in the silence of the dead house, but then he heard… this. Something was banging rhythmically against the floor and, from the sound of it, headed that way, which sent a cold shiver down Tommy’s spine as he frantically whirled his head around, trying to figure out what to do. Noticing the passageway to what appeared to be the kitchen ahead, and the little cupboards for the dishes below, Innit tried to make his way there as quickly and silently as possible, almost unable to hear anything over the deafeningly frightened heartbeat that was going on in his ears. When he reached the kitchen, he opened and closed the treacherous creaking cabinets, looking for a place where he could get in and hide, but everything was cluttered with rusty and half-broken dishes, and moving them was even riskier — they created a lot of noise and he had nowhere to put them. He knew he should have brought a bottomless backpack… Strange rhythmic knocks were coming from very close by, and with no other choice, Tommy threw himself under the table, hiding behind the dirty and tattered tablecloth that hung crookedly from it. His heart was beating like a frightened bird in his chest and his breathing was coming out very harsh, so he had to cover his mouth with a hand and pray that whatever was making that knocking sound would decide that no one was here and leave the room. The sound, by the way, was very strange. It didn’t sound like anyone’s footsteps, but it was still accompanied by something that was moving, which meant it could very well be another magical crap that could easily eat him up. The knocking began to echo through the kitchen and Tommy realized that whoever it was, was quite close by, looking for the troublemaker. Panic slowly crept up behind him, and he repeated to himself all the prayers he knew to the Mother Magic, feeling ready to jump out of his skin from the terror that gripped him as he stared at the dirty gray surface of the tablecloth from under the table. The knocking fell silent for a second, as if whoever was making it stopped and began to look around. Tommy saw someone’s shadow begin to cast across the tablecloth, entirely composed of some sharp angles and spikes. Great Magic, who had he run into already?! That it wasn’t a banshee was clear — banshees don’t cast shadows. But that was no relief in this knowledge at all. He knew what to expect from the Grey Wailers, and was prepared to meet them, but certainly not with what was adjacent to it in this mansion. It could be anyone, after all! How should he fight someone he hadn’t even seen? He could try to guess what kind of creature it was, but no thought occurred to him as to who might make such a sound as he moved. The shadow moved to the side and the knocking resumed, but much slower this time. It was as if the creature knew its prey was near, and it was only a matter of time before it found it… Tommy oriented himself to the sound and realized that the creature had made a circle around the kitchen as if on purpose, playing with the already strained nerves of an incompetent witcher. He kept his eyes open for any dark spots appearing on the tablecloth that would indicate the creature’s whereabouts, and still held his hands to his mouth, not letting himself make a single unnecessary sound. His frightened breathing would surely bring all the residents of this house to him… The banging became even slower, losing its rhythm, and Tommy opened his eyes wide as he realized that the shadow cast on the tablecloth had grown larger, indicating that the creature had moved closer to the table. At this point, he really began to regret wearing the antimagic bracelets. He felt completely helpless, knowing that the flames would not come to his aid at his call, as they usually did. He had daggers, a couple of potions, and a few artifacts, but not knowing who he would have to fight against, it all became almost useless. The knocking was repeated and the tablecloth trembled under someone’s touch. Tommy frantically withdrew one hand from his mouth and gripped the hilt of one of his daggers, ready to strike as soon as the unknown man tore the tablecloth from the table. He sat there waiting for an eternity while someone kept awkwardly tugging at a piece of dirty cloth, as if unsure of what they should do. The cloth rippled harder, and just as Tommy was about to yell and lunge forward with his daggers, a white little skull crawled under the fabric, peering curiously at the teenager with its empty eye sockets. It opened and closed its jaws, snapping it shut, and squeezed its carcass completely under the table, sitting down in front of Innit with a distinctive thud. The witcher almost cried, literally deflating from the amount of terror that had filled his body before. Because it turned out to be just a cat. A harmless fucking skeleton cat. It opened and closed its mouth again in a strange imitation of a meowing sound, and moved closer, knocking its bony paws on the floor and thrusting its skull into Tommy’s palm, still clenched on the hilt of its dagger. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, you parasite.” He hissed as quietly as possible to the animal, feeling his body shudder as his senses came back from the wave of adrenaline and the pure panic that had almost consumed his mind. The cat did not feel any remorse, continuing to rub his bony body against him and asking for strokes. Tommy gave in after all, and ran a single stroke over his smooth skull, climbing out from under the table on trembling legs, under the attentive gaze of his empty eye sockets. After following him for a moment, the cat snapped its jaw again and strode forward, tapping its limbs against the floor and heading somewhere toward the center room. Innit really hoped it wasn’t banshee’s pet, reporting everything that went on in the house. After waiting a few minutes for the shivers to pass, the witcher silently exhaled, taking control of his frightened breathing, and walked on, trying to keep close to the wall and this time look carefully at what was under his feet. Great Magic, with surprises like this you can go completely gray! Slowly exploring the first floor and finding nothing useful, exactly as well as the banshee itself, Tommy gathered all his remaining courage and headed for the stairs to the second floor. The cat was nowhere to be seen either, which suggested that he too must be upstairs somewhere. Carefully climbing the steps, Innit watched him disturb the smooth layer of dust with his footsteps, still looking around, expecting an attack from the back, and suddenly froze when he heard a distant howl from above. Well… Now at least he knew for sure that the banshee was in the house after all. Internally supporting himself, Tommy cautiously stepped onto the second floor and almost flew down the stairs back down, as someone’s pale silhouette floated by at the end of the hallway, disappearing into one of the rooms. Fortunately, the banshee didn’t seem to notice him and with his heart pounding frantically, he began to move slowly toward the door through which the silhouette had floated, holding his daggers so hard that his fingers were cramping. Now he must have been as pale as the banshee itself from fear. Never again would he forget his exams. Nothing could ever make him go to places like this again. Tommy was sure of that. He cautiously approached the doorway and held his breath as he peered inside. There it was. The creature whose tears he had come for. It looked human. At least from the back. The banshee was floating slowly through the air somewhere in the next room, dragging the dirty hem of his white torn dress. From his arms stretched the same dirty veil, in wide translucent ribbons, dragging across the floor — completely tattered from time and sloppy handling. Tommy saw a rim of wilted and withered flowers and scraps of a white bridal veil on his blond-haired head, which had turned gray from years gone by. It looked as if the banshee had run away from his own wedding and died that way, wandering afterwards for so long that his skin had turned gray, his attire had become ruined by dirt, and the flowers in his hair had died. On his shoulders and arms, just above his palms, were some metal jewelry, perhaps once gold, but now completely blackened and cracked, as if someone had beaten on it incessantly in an attempt to break it. He could not yet see his face, for the banshee floated back to him, occasionally uttering low, piteous howls. Tommy checked the bracelets on his hands once more, keeping the magic from leaving his body, and gripped the daggers more securely, running his fingers over the runes stamped on the blade that allowed him to damage something not quite tangible. The banshee might not exactly be a spirit, but you can’t harm it with ordinary weapons, either. As quietly as possible, he took a step forward, then another and another… He drew closer and closer to the creature as it, for some reason, stood at the window, looking out through the dirty windows and the tattered veil on its face. But as soon as he was close enough, there was a familiar clatter and snapping of jaws behind him and the banshee turned around. Tommy didn’t get a good look at his face, for as soon as he spotted the stranger, the creature flinched and immediately opened its mouth, screaming deafeningly and literally sending him crashing through the opposite wall of the room with the force of a sound wave. Still, it was a good thing he had put a lash of spells on his body, protecting against their screams, before entering the house… But that didn’t take away from the fact that the collision with the wall was still quite… painful. He exhaled, feeling his back crunch, but luckily nothing seemed to break, and he was sure he could get up and try again. While he was lying on the floor, banshee floated closer to him through the air, and Tommy, seeing the hem of a dirty white dress with some golden leaf pattern in front of it, slowly raised his head, looking up at the face of the magical creature. His face was as gray as his entire skin, smeared with the black streaks of his tears. And his eyes were inhuman. Absolutely black, like two abysses, they seemed to be empty eye sockets, just like his pet’s. Something resinous flowed from them, splitting the gray skin in dark streaks. He seemed to cry incessantly. Together with the sadly curved corners of his lips, it created a very sorrowful face, which at the moment looked at him with its hollowness instead of eyes, puzzlingly arching his eyebrows under the tattered veil. Tommy twitched, trying to get up and the banshee tilted his head to the side, making the wilted flowers in his blond hair sway. He opened his mouth again, but instead of the scream he expected, Tommy heard a much quieter howl, occasionally interrupted by some distorted sounds, that the magical creature in front of him was making. It then moved back a couple of steps, still floating through the air and dragging the hem of its dress behind it. It stood before him like a silent, sad statue, seemingly waiting for something. His cat came closer and happily began to rub itself against the edge of his dress, arching its bony back and snapping its jaw again in imitation of meowing and purring. Banshee looked at the cat and then back at Tommy, still making no sound. Innit, grunting, stood up, still holding the dagger firmly in his palm. “Look, I need your tears for the exam, so don’t be a bitch and let me have them.” The banshee didn’t change his face. Not giving him a chance to attack again, Tommy lunged forward, hoping to get the creature while it was, for some reason, treating him peacefully. This time the banshee frowned and floated a little farther away as if trying to give him a chance to stop. Needless to say, he never took it. He kept swinging his dagger, preparing to move away as soon as the creature opened its mouth, but for some reason it continued not to, merely dodging his blows, flying away a little farther each time. Its sad face didn’t change at all, except that a thick resin-like substance began to flow more profusely from its eyes, evaporating before it reached the floor. That was the main difficulty in collecting the banshee’s tears. They had to be collected in special small vials as soon as they flowed out of the hollows that replaced their eyes, because preservation charms that had been cast beforehand, prevented them from evaporating, preserving them in their original form. Only rarely any banshee agreed to give the tears voluntarily. Or rather, none of them would allow it. It was all the more surprising that the archmages were so afraid to come here, considering that definitely this guy wasn’t even trying to attack, and in general… acted almost calmly. The cat at his feet, arched its back, this time looking hostilely at its owner’s abuser and already preparing to lunge at him. Banshee stopped him from doing so, making a short strange sound. Then he looked at Tommy again and what he said was more like a wind howl, so otherworldly was the sound. Abruptly throwing himself forward, Innit still managed to hit him, scratching his forearm. Instead of bleeding from it, the scratch began to release thin streams of white smoke, and Tommy had to remember that… Yeah, it’s almost a spirit… It makes sense that it has no blood, per se. As he continued to attack the Grey Wailer and slowly pressed him against the wall, he somehow missed the moment when the guy managed to intercept his wrist, preventing him from swinging his dagger and ripped the weapon from his palms, tossing it aside somewhere. That really didn’t stop Tommy, and he reached for his second dagger. The banshee’s face grew even sadder, and he whispered something to him briefly, but the witcher had no idea what it was at all. Realizing that the teenager wasn’t going to stop, the creature raised his hand with blackened metal jewelry and his dainty palm glowed with a soft green light for some reason. It placed it against Tommy’s chest and slowly pushed him away, burning a magical mark on his skin even through his clothes. The banshee’s palm print didn’t really affect anything. It just stayed on his body like a brand and let him know that its bearer had met the Grey Wailer, who had given him a chance to leave by pushing him away. But the thing was, Innit wasn’t going anywhere. If anyone needed a chance to leave, it was the banshee herself. Realizing that the warning had gone ignored, the guy arched his eyebrows sadly under his tattered veil and opened his mouth, screaming at the full force of his non-existent lungs. Only Tommy was prepared for this, instantly going down and slamming the handle of his dagger into the banshee’s chin, causing him to slam his jaw shut with a barely audible clang. And though his ears were ringing with screams, he managed to put the dagger to the creature’s neck, narrowly slashing it and making the scratch smoke. Retrieving the vials from his bag with his other hand, the teenager suddenly noticed how the banshee looked somewhere behind him with his hollow eyes and smiled for some reason, almost glowing despite his gray skin. The mere sight of the SMILING Gray Wailer was already making him wary. Somehow Tommy had very strong doubts that what was behind him at the moment was as peaceful as this banshee. And his hunch was confirmed when a very… a very angry growl was heard from behind him, and the next moment he was abruptly pulled by the collar of his cloak and sent flying across the room. Again. What came into the room did not approach him as slowly as the banshee did, instantly appearing in front of him as soon as he slid down the wall to the floor and lifting him by his chest into the air. He was slammed hard against the wall, once, then twice, and when Tommy was already sure he was just about to have his head smashed in, he heard the banshee howl rapidly and saw a white blur flashed before his blurry vision. Whoever was trying to smash his brains into the wallpaper of this dead house had stopped beating, but was still holding him in the air like a rag doll. He heard growling and low howls again, and realized that the residents of the house were communicating with each other. Blinking away the blurriness in his eyes, Tommy suddenly wished he hadn’t, because then he wouldn’t have seen whoever had attacked him. Now it was clear why the archimages didn’t come here. Besides the banshee, there was a whole demon living here. And a bloody one to be precise. What can he say? He’s in the shit. And he didn’t think he’s gonna be able to get out of it now. The demon’s face was more like a lump of blood-red smoke with eyes flashing furiously. The demon’s body wasn’t exactly human either, more like a distorted silhouette woven entirely of tongues of flame and smoke. He could see the same smoky outline of his demon wings behind his back, a thin whip-like tail, and curved horns adorning his vaguely shaped head. His eyes seemed to try to burn into his face as he snarled angrily, narrowing them hostilely. He stood like that for a few more moments, and then asked distortedly but quite clearly: “ŴĥΔŦ ͳĥɚ ϝὕͼϏ α₹ɚ ϒøʉ ðõïɲğ ïñ øʉŘ ĥʘʉʂɚ” Banshee himself stood beside him, too, clutching his arm and looking at Tommy with his completely black eyes, from which his resin-like tears continued to flow. And he knew that only the intervention of the Grey Wailer, who had stopped the demon, had likely saved him in this situation, but he couldn’t quiet the strange irritation inside. It only felt as if the banshee, knowing he couldn’t handle the situation himself, had complained and sicced his friend on him. And no, there was absolutely no shame in him for attacking first himself. Not getting an answer, the demon growled angrily and shook him, exhaling blood-red smoke right in his face. “Ϗïð, ϒøʉ'Řɚ ʘɲłŸ Δłïvɚ βεςΔųšɚ Ðʁɚåɱ Åŝʞɚð ϝõʁϒøʉ.” Judging by the angry squint in his shining eyes, he was seriously thinking of banging his head against the wall a couple more times. Innit, like a true teenager with no self-preservation instinct, was about to spit in his face. This was prevented by the banshee again, gently pulling the demon’s arm and saying something to him. He was clearly unhappy with what the Gray Weeper was telling him, but nevertheless, he loosened his grip and made Tommy fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes, grunting in pain. “There’ll be a lot of bruises tomorrow…” he thought aloof as he looked up at the huge demon in front of him. He hadn’t noticed before that he was so tall… He hadn’t cared much for it when he was being shaken like some kind of toy. Banshee muttered something again, and the demon’s whole look told him that he didn’t like the request, but that he would only do it for the Weeper’s sake. The demon crouched in front of the witcher and exhaled a cloud of thick red smoke into his face. Innit coughed and closed his eyes, smelling ash and death, trying not to inhale for as long as possible. But he had no artifact that allowed him to hold his breath and finally he opened his mouth after all, gulping down the acrid smoke. That was it. Looks like this is where his life will end. He waited a few moments, then a full minute, then two… It wasn’t poison? What if… Oh Great Magic, what if he was cursed?! Demonic curses don’t lift that easily, he knows! “Does it take that long to work?” He heard someone’s soft voice and the rustling of cloth. “It would have been quicker if he’d opened his eyes,” someone else’s voice, much lower, said grudgingly. “Did you have to feel sorry for him?” Let’s be honest, Tommy was just a teenager. And a very proud one. So the moment he heard the word “sorry” he immediately became enraged. “Bitches, you only stopped because I almost killed you here! If I’d had a few seconds more…” “YOU…” the other voice began to distort into a furious snarl, but Tommy didn’t even think to take back his words “YOU MISERABLE HUMAN BRAT, I’LL GRIND YOU TO POWDER AND FEED YOUR REMAINS…” “Techno, shh, calm down… it’s okay.” “DREAM, THAT LITTLE BAG OF ROTTING FLESH AND BONES ALMOST…” Apparently the owner of the voice was on the verge of killing him and Tommy had the courage to open his eyes after all. But that didn’t mean he believed what he saw. There was a demon standing before him. It was indicated by the presence of curved horns, blood-red glowing eyes, and a thin tail whipping viciously across the floor. But at the same time, it was not like the demons in the magical creature books. Where is the smoky silhouette? Where was the face woven of flame? Wings, at least? No, he remembered being told that magical creatures usually lived on two planes of reality, but somehow he didn’t think that applied to demons either. Because that’s… well… demons? He looked at the long pink hair gathered into a thick braid, the face that looked like it had been carved out of stone by ancient sculptors, the tusks that slightly lifted his upper lip, the cloak padded with fur, the gold crown with even the sharpest looking spikes extending from the metal rim, the strong arms covered in scars… The demon looked powerful and bloodthirsty even in this appearance, which could not be said for his friend… Tommy looked at the banshee in surprise. Well… At what he had become. There was no more gray skin, it was now tanned and looked as smooth as those of witches advertising beauty potions. An entire veil, pinned in vivid and vibrant flowers to his blond hair, concealed the brightest green eyes Innit had ever seen, at the moment warily examining him. The dress, after all, turning out to be a wedding dress, was snow-white, with no trace of dirt or time on it, with golden patterns of some kind of foliage on the hem. The jewelry on the arms was no longer blackened and cracked, regaining its golden luster. The veil that hung from his arms in long airy ribbons was also whole, giving his image a kind of lightness, making him seem almost like a real nymph. This version of the banshee didn’t cry tar tears and didn’t have black hollows instead of eyes. And… he looked… Beautiful? Not the way the witch models looked now. He had no makeup on his face (witchers, and witches too, loved to paint their faces with dark colors, which could look rather vulgar at times) and he looked very delicate himself. For some reason, Innit thought that if they were in a different situation… and if the banshee had been human, he would certainly have tried to make a good impression on him and earn his attention. Not to say that he was able to make a good impression of himself right now… Attacking clearly isn’t considered a friendly enough action… Tommy twisted his head. The dead house, ruined, half-rotted, and covered in dust — it wasn’t there either. Now it looked lived in, bright, and very cozy. It seemed warm, breathed a feeling of family, and yet it looked like a small mansion belonging to one of the ancient magical clans. Innit even glimpsed someone’s portraits hanging in the hallway through the doorway, looking over the demon’s shoulder. Speaking of which. Tommy was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice that the banshee had managed to calm the demon down a bit and now they were both looking at him, seemingly waiting for him to come to his senses. The witcher heard a meow and lowered his head to look at the white cat with the ginger spots, snuggling with the banshee and glaring disgruntledly at the teenager who had dared to attack his owner. There was nothing to indicate that in reality… well, in human reality, it was just a living skeleton. Banshee leaned over and took the cat in his arms, which rumbled contentedly at the creature’s affectionate touch. “This is Patches.” he said softly and crouched down at Tommy’s level, showing him the cat. The demon grunted softly, keeping its bloodshot eyes on him. Tommy clapped his eyes incomprehensibly and tried to stand up, snarling toward the magical creatures. “Listen, you bastards. I don’t know what you’ve been conjuring up for me, but you’d better stop your jokes before…” Banshee looked surprised for some reason. He looked at the demon, then back at the teenager, and asked: “Aren’t you a descendant of Drista?” Innit swallowed what he was going to say. “What?” he squeaked, grabbing his bag and trying to remember if there was anything in it to protect him. The demon, seeing his movements, only growled aggressively at him and shoved the bag to another corner of the room, preventing Tommy from reaching for it. “Of Archimage Drista Wastaken?” The banshee clarified, staring intently into his face. And Tommy got scared for some reason. Because Drista was indeed on the tapestry of his family, introduced into his clan in the fourth generation. Only that was almost three hundred years ago, and she had long since died, at the age of eighty-two from a lingering curse that had become so firmly embedded in her magical channels that when they tried to pull it out, it literally ripped out her entire magical core. After that, she lived for another week and then faded away, though everyone knew that for a powerful witch like her to die at eighty-two was incredibly early. She could have lived another hundred years, maybe even more had it not been for the curse. Innit didn’t know too much about her. Only that she was known as the most adventurous witch, looting many ancient tombs and lifting dark curses from them. He also knew that she had been inducted into the clan because she had married one of his ancestors and… yes, he was her descendant. It is unclear just how the banshee himself got this information. “How…” he didn’t know what he wanted to ask. “Even though I’ve been here for an eternity, I still remember the trace of my sister’s magic.” Innit choked on his saliva. “Sister?!” Banshee frowned again and stood up, turning to the demon. “I don’t understand… She… Didn’t she…” The guy in the wedding dress’s breathing became ragged for some reason, and he trembled “She didn’t… Didn’t…” The demon walked right up to him, almost hiding him in his arms and whispering something into the golden top of his head. “Dream, calm down — see, this one is kind of an idiot, maybe he just doesn’t understand who you are, or maybe he hasn’t been told yet.” Tommy wanted to protest about being called a idiot, but he caught the demon’s angry look and wisely shut up. After getting his breath under control, the banshee turned to him again, looking at him through the veil of the white veil with wet and damnably impossible green eyes. “Come on, tell me you know who I am.” Seeing something on his face, the banshee looked more and more frightened with each passing second. Tommy blinked incomprehensibly “Dream Wastaken, of the vanished Essempi clan, the worthless son of Archmage Schlatt, the only one of the clan who didn’t have any magic! Come on! Say you know me!” he cried out toward the end, and his shoulders began to shudder in sobs again as the demon pulled him back into his arms. Innit was silent, mentally panicking and not knowing what to do. Great Magic, why hadn’t he thought of the exam sooner? “The exorcism ritual?” He continued to ask in a trembling voice, cocooned in the pink-haired demon’s arms and heavy cloak. “Special ritual? Written by Drista herself? Do you know anything about that?!” Of course not! They never even talked about this Drista in his family, so how would he know if she left behind a description of some special ritual?! And from the looks of it, Dream understood that. Because his face had grown incredibly sad, and the familiar black tar was streaming from under his clenched eyelids. His image charged and began to shimmer, back to the way Tommy had first seen him, and then back again, like an unstable illusion. “Dream, shh, that’s nothing, he’s just…” — the demon began, trying to wrap him more tightly in his cloak. But the banshee didn’t listen to him anymore. Fully unleashing his being, he looked at Tommy with the sad black abysses that were his eyes through his torn dirty veil again, and opened his mouth and howled heartbreakingly. Tommy realized two things at that moment. The first one was that he was about to go deaf. Innit could feel something warm beginning to flow from his right ear, but he dared not think of it as blood. The second was that the banshee hadn’t planned to hurt him the first time he’d screamed. Then he was only defending himself and not touching him, thinking he knew something, being a descendant of Drista. Now he didn’t seem to think so anymore. The howl made the windows shake and caused paintings to fall from the walls. Dream, released from the demon’s grasp, and in all his ghostly monstrosity, began to hover in the room, in one place, keeping his empty eyes on the teenager and continuing to scream, scream, scream… The dirty wedding dress fluttered in the air, just as his short hair with wilted flowers in it. Innit wanted to cry. He clamped his hands over his ears, wishing he hadn’t used that spell against the banshee’s screams. Without it, he’d just die from howling in a few moments, and now he’d go crazy and deaf, and then he’d just stay in this house. He just wouldn’t be able to get out of it because his brains would be a mess from the scream of a magical creature. Dream clenched his hands into fists, raising his head slowly as he continued his otherworldly, deafeningly loud howl. And then, in the best ghost tradition, he became a blurry gray-white silhouette and flew across the ceiling, still howling. Nevertheless, the scream grew quieter and soon subsided altogether, allowing Tommy to blink away the painful tears and move his hands away from his ears, which were still ringing. There was blood on his palms, but he tried hard not to look at it. Patches meowed sadly, causing Tommy to look up and immediately freeze when he saw the demon’s not-so-kind face, who was standing next to the cat. “You shouldn’t have upset my husband.” he started calmly, but Tommy knew he was about to be killed, judging by the way the demon’s hands, mouth, and eyes were starting to bleed. Blood demons were known for their strength and power, and for the fact that they only grew stronger by shedding the blood of others. Few could compete with them, and many witchers fell in battle with them. Perhaps that’s why the books described them as one of the most dangerous beings, to be avoided at all costs. The blood of such demons was incredibly poisonous to humans, but to the wearers themselves, it was their weapon, as these demons could manipulate it, make it into a weapon and shield, use it as they pleased. Oh yeah… How could he forget… As he watched the demon create a sword out of its own blood, Tommy suddenly remembered that these creatures are also incredibly bloodthirsty. His death would not be easy or painless. He would suffer, agonize, and scream for a… for a very long time. The demon will definitely take care of that. What happened next could only be explained by the adrenaline. Even though he was still weak from the banshee howling, the sight of the demon slowly approaching him with a bloody sword was so terrifying that Tommy jerked himself up and rushed to the window. Grabbing his bag, which had been thrown away earlier by the demon himself, Innit didn’t slow down and shattered the window glass with his body and hurled himself down from the second floor of the not-so-low house. The glass sliced his skin painfully and he broke his leg as he fell, making the entire banshee and demon territory hear his scream of pain, but that didn’t stop him from fighting for his life. With bleeding hands, he reached into his bag, pulling out a glass artifact with blue-green streams of magic fluttering inside, and squeezing it in his hand he broke it, triggering teleportation. But even at home, he could still see the blood-red eyes staring at him angrily out of the broken window. *** Tommy passed the exam. Even though he had no banshee tears, that his leg was broken, and he was still twitching from the loud noises, he passed. Except he felt absolutely nothing about it. Probably because all he could think about now was that at any moment, he could turn around, and behind him would be the smoky silhouette of a blood demon or the Gray Weeper, peering into his soul with abysses that were his eyes. He couldn’t sleep well after that visit to the mansion — he had nightmares. He kept thinking that as soon as he closed his eyes, the ominous silhouettes of the demon and the bride would hover over him. But that’s what got him through the exam. His fear, and the paranoia that had begun to develop, caused him to modify the signal spells. Whereas before they only warned of people, Innit was now able to develop them to the point where they picked up the slightest magical fluctuation in the plans of reality. He was aided in improving these spells by the imprint of a banshee’s palm on his chest, from which he had taken a cast of magic — he wanted to be sure that no one would get close to him. The examiners were surprised, shook their heads in approval, recognized the usefulness of the new spells, and praised him by giving him the highest score. And because of those stupid demon and banshee, he couldn’t even be happy about it! He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to see other’s creepy eyes. But despite his fear, Tommy was still a teenager — and a very curious one at that — so he set out to unravel the secret of his ancestors. He had little information. He knew that the banshee was the brother of Drista Wastaken. Who, in turn, had once been part of his family. Innit dug through all their home archives, but little was known about her. In fact, only what was written about her in history books. An adventurer, they said, breaking dark curses, plundering ancient tombs. Invented several spells for travelers that have been used to this day and found some priceless artifacts in tombs, bringing them back to witchers society. She was an incredibly powerful witch, and even participated in several interracial wars, fighting on the side of those who were against outlawing human and magical beings hybrids. It was said that it was because she got pregnant by a vampire, but eventually it turned out to be untrue and she was just fighting for her friends. Then she married one of his ancestors and finally interrupted her own bloodline by performing a blood-burning ritual. This meant that none of her descendants could claim the title of head of her clan anymore without her family’s blood. But this information was incredibly little! And nowhere was there even a mention that Drista had a brother. So Tommy decided to take another clue. Banshee had said that their clan was called Essempi. That was worth checking out. The information, oddly enough, he found in the school, where there happened to be a copy of an artifact book showing every clan that had ever existed. And then a few things came to light. At the time, the Essempi was one of, albeit not a very old, but still a respected clan, whose focus in magic was manifested in their ability to alter reality. And it was very strange because Tommy had never heard of anything like that ever having existed. The family tree ended at Dream and Drista, twins whose names were enclosed in a gray frame, indicating that both were dead. Tommy looked at the dates of death. If he calculated it correctly… Dream died when he was twenty-two years old. That was very, very early by witches' standards. But… “… the worthless son of Archmage Schlatt, the only one of the clan who didn’t have any magic!” Banshee said he had no magic… Tommy shifted his eyes a little higher to look at the frame with the name of the twins' father, the same Schlatt. He died five years after his son’s death, which was odd, too. So he only died when he was… fifty years old? Why did everyone in the Essempi clan die so early? Their mother died earlier, it seems, almost at their very birth. And as bad luck would have it, there was no more information to be gleaned from that book. Well, except that he learned that the Essempi bloodline was very small, with some freakishly rare focus of magic, and that almost everyone in it died too early by witchers' standards. There was nothing more the artifact could tell him. He had to look for other sources… Despite how much he disliked visiting libraries. During his own little investigation, he’d been tempted to burn a couple dozen books in outbursts of frustration when he hadn’t found any information. The only thing that stopped him was that if he did so, he would surely be kicked out and then he wouldn’t know anything. And curiosity wouldn’t let that secret go so easily. He asked librarians about Essempi, looked in the archives, in any books, but each time the information was repeated and he found nothing new. In those moments he wished the witches had adopted the habits of bureaucracy from the non-magical people who lived a separate society from them all, deciding that there were too many dangers and problems from magic and its carriers. But at least with their information was written down, not lost in time like with witchers and witches. And then it hit him. Drista was part of his family! His relatives must know something about her! His parents knew nothing, except that she was on the tapestry of their clan. But his grandmother still remembered the stories of her ancestors and was able to add a little information to his investigation. She spoke of how Drista, despite her adventurous spirit, was not too fond of leaving her family for long and was very attached to all of them. She rarely went anywhere without her husband, and if she had to, it was for a very short time, just a few days. Her husband only breathed a sigh of relief when they had children and Drista had to share her attention with two more, because sometimes she literally smothered them with it. Also, Grandma said one very interesting thing. It was Drista who discovered the useful properties of banshee tears in potions and artifactory. She was the first to think of trying them and made a great discovery with her experiments. And… In the early days, when it was new to everyone and no one had ever “harvested” banshee tears, she sold them, bringing good money to the family. Grandmother saw nothing wrong with it, but her words made Tommy realize a few things. For one thing, he was now certain that Drista knew her brother had become a banshee. He had had his doubts about it, but now he knew for sure. Two, she was taking advantage of the fact that he had become a magical being. But then why… Dream demanded some kind of ritual from him. A ritual of exorcism, that Drista herself should have left to her descendants. Could it be… that she had killed her brother herself? Innit grimaced. Along with new information came new questions, and there was no one to ask but Dream. And to his mansion, Tommy was going to be the last to go. “Why don’t you go to the ritual hall and try to summon her yourself?” Grandmother asked, and he froze “She was part of our clan, maybe the heart of the house will let you talk to her for a while.” Great Magic, he’s an idiot. What was stopping him from doing it in the first place! And so somehow, he found himself in the ritual hall, crawling on his hands and knees and drawing ritual circles and summoning symbols with white paint, diluted with his grits of magic. It hadn’t been easy-he’d had to start over a dozen times, because of the wrong runes and crooked circles, and he had to check the book every five seconds-but he was done by nightfall, and he was shivering with anticipation at the prospect of knowing all the answers to his questions. Tommy was about to begin reciting the call scripts, but he suddenly changed his mind, kneeling down again and drawing another circle that would force the summoned shadow to answer truthfully. If the heart of the house does allow her to be seen, it obviously won’t be for long, so it’s best to back it up and not let Drista get away with asking questions. “Animi memoria domi appello. Adiuva me et praeterita tangam. Aperio animam meam et intentionem ad te videndi et audiendi sententiam alicuius familiae nostrae. Peto conventum cum Drista Västaken.” (I call out to the memory of the heart of the house. Help and let me touch the past. I open to you my soul and intentions to see and hear the opinion of a member of our family. I ask to see Drista Wastaken). At first he thought nothing had happened and the heart of the house prevented him from seeing her. But then the shadows trembled and flowed toward the center of the ritual circles, slowly making out someone’s short figure, sitting on her knees and bowing her head. They carefully molded someone else’s body and then began to fade, taking on other colors. Drista raised her head and her blond hair flowed down her shoulders like a waterfall. It was not gathered up in any way, and of her clothes she wore a sort of white toga, which the very heart of the house must have created, for the dead could not carry material things beyond the fringe. Not even their images. She… She looked like her brother, even though she looked much older. She had the same soft features and the same green eyes, but unlike Dream they were hard and cold. Those were the eyes of people who had seen a lot, made a lot of mistakes, and were well aware of it. And she didn’t look as sad as her brother. More like… annoyed. Disgruntled about something. “Who are you?” she asked in an otherworldly, raspy voice that sounded like it was coming from under water. “I am your descendant. Tommy Innit.” he said as clearly as he could, wasting no time in the emotional outbursts of having it all worked out, knowing he had limited time “I want to know what happened to your family.” Drista cringed and looked at the circles that kept her from getting out of them, then at the circle that forced only the truth and opened her mouth: “What exactly do you want to know?” she asked, without rising from her knees. “How did your brother die?” Drista fell silent for a few moments, and when Tommy was already afraid she wouldn’t answer, she began to rustle her strange voice: “He died at his wedding. But I don’t know how. He was going to marry this… Fundy” the woman spat out contemptuously, clutching her palms in her lap “of the Kitsune clan. And just didn’t make it down the altar.” Tommy watched as the faded image of Drista sadly arched her eyebrows and covered his face with his hands. “He had been so beautiful that day… And so happy. And then he swayed and… and he fell. We couldn’t even figure out why.” What? She doesn’t know either? Why is this story so complicated?! “But… Why did he remain as a banshee? Drista removed her hands from her face and looked at him stiffly. “Because I wanted him to.” What? Well, either he really is an idiot for not understanding, or he misheard. “Explain.” “My clan, Essempi, have always had a focus for magic that allowed us to change reality. I did not allow my brother’s soul to be put to peace, and I bound it to our summer mansion, making him someone who could remain in our reality despite the fact that he was already dead. Dad was against it — he knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop me from doing it. So I did what I wanted to do.” “Wait, wait…” Tommy rubbed his temples, beginning to guess something “Did you lock his soul in the house?” Drista nodded, and a cold chill ran down Innit’s spine at the indifference with which she did so. “Dream didn’t like it. He wanted to leave. But I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t let him. No.” she continued to look at him with her hard green eyes, “I wouldn’t let him die, no matter how much he asked me to. He shouldn’t have left us.” “What about your parents? The fiancé? Who knew about that?” Innit asked, crawling to the floor. “Our mother wasn’t there — she died some time after giving birth to us. Her health was poor, and Dream and I drank all her energy while she was carrying us. Fundy didn’t know. I’d rather claw my own eyes out than let that lousy scum anywhere near my brother again.” Drista hissed contemptuously and angrily “Only Daddy knew. He loved Dream as much as I did — it was impossible not to love him, so I let him find out.” “From what did he die? And why did you dislike this Fundy so much?” There were more and more questions, and Tommy could feel his head puffing up. “From grief. Dream didn’t like it here. He wanted to leave.” Drista repeated “And Schclatt couldn’t stand to see it. What about Fundy… I knew he wasn’t worthy of my brother. And I felt he couldn’t give him what he promised when he asked for his hand. Fundy wouldn’t give him the family that Dream deserved. But my stupid… stupid brother wouldn’t even listen to me. He was so in love that he didn’t notice anything around him. And their clan had always been pretty… nasty. My dad used to berate me for thinking they were all liars.” she paused for a moment as if to catch her breath “but they were liars! They had a focus for illusion magic! What could they give to Dream? Illusions like that instead of a good family?!” Drista got angry and snapped into a scream. Tommy looked at her with skepticism. The Kitsune clan still existed and thrived. It was strange to hear such a stereotypical opinion, considering that they were known as the best makers of amulets. They sold quality products, and he had never heard of them receiving any complaints yet. “Who’s the demon in your mansion? Dream called him Techno. Who is he?” Tommy saw the uncomprehending frown on the image in front of him and thought it best to clarify “The blood demon.” “I don’t know. He wasn’t there when I was alive.” Weeeeell… “Dream was talking about some kind of exorcism ritual. That you were supposed to leave it for your descendants.” Several emotions flashed across the faded image’s face at once: anger, stubbornness, guilt, and sadness. Innit seemed to guess what she was about to say to him. “I wouldn’t let him go. And he wanted to and wouldn’t stop asking me to let him. I loved him too much to let him die so easily.” Drista closed her eyes “But he cried and cried, and one day I couldn’t stand it. I promised him that he could leave when I died. That we would leave together. I told him that I would leave a special ritual for descendants to send the banshees out of the real world to the edge. Even though Innit wasn’t too good at ritualism, he knew there were no such things. There were rituals that dispelled ghosts and everything that belonged to the edge in the streams of magic, literally erasing someone else’s existence. “He knew there were none and that he could only leave if I used our clan magic. But I lied. Told him I created one. And he… he believed me. Our Dream was always a little naive… Wanted to see the good in everything… I guess that’s why he was so easy to love.” “There’s no ritual.” Innit said quietly, trying to keep everything straight in his head. “No ritual.” Drista confirmed just as quietly, nodding “I lied and didn’t keep my promise. I went over the edge without him. And he stayed.” Tommy exhaled, thinking about the next question. The information was shocking and pressing, but he had to get to the end of it and put it all on the shelves in his head. “Did you use him? Did you purposely make him a banshee to sell tears?” “No. I didn’t know about the properties of banshee tears. But I visited my brother almost every day and finally thought of trying to experiment with them. Dream would let me — he wasn’t lacking in them.” Innit paused for a moment and then suddenly remembered a detail. “When they ripped out your curse and your magic core…” Drista shook her head, realizing what he wanted to say before he said it. “I performed a blood-burning ritual.” He’d heard that information before, he just didn’t quite understand what it was about “A couple of years after dad died. I was afraid that someday Dream might convince me to bring him back over the edge, so I voluntarily burned out my focus of magic, along with the blood, so that neither I could do it, nor my children, who might inherit this ability to change reality. So when I got married I made sure that I was put into my husband’s lineage and got rid of our focus. And ended up destroying our own clan because of it.” Drista grinned “Dad would have been so mad at me if he knew what I’d done. But I have no regrets. Even if I had a choice, I would still do the same thing.” Tommy felt cold goosebumps on his skin again. Somehow it was terrifying to hear such confidence in the decision to repeat the actions that had led to several centuries of suffering for a member of her own family. “How… how to get him through… How to help him leave?” Drista frowned, clearly displeased by such a question. Tommy didn’t understand her. Well, she’s already gone over the edge, her brother might already be back, why wouldn’t she want to help him? But one of the ritual circles wouldn’t let her lie, so she was forced to open her mouth and answer. “I… I don’t know.” It got quiet. Tommy’s hands went cold. “What?” he wheezed. “But… how did…” “I wasn’t even going to start working on the ritual. I didn’t want Dream to go — why would I do something that went against my own purposes?” If he wasn’t already on the floor, he’d definitely feel his legs shaking. The heart of the house seemed to sense his condition and his desire to be away from here, because Drista’s image flickered and began to fade, disappearing. The green, cold eyes looked directly at him. “Don’t tell him.” she said and disintegrated into shadows that spread back into the corners. Innit could not get up. “Tibi gratias ago pro auxilio tuo et pro me praeterita attingere permittas. pro tua protectione et auxilio habeo gratias. Reddam familiam in genere.” he muttered, completing his interaction with the heart of the house, and collapsed on the floor, somehow feeling drained. (Thank you for your help and for letting me touch the past. I am grateful for your protection and support. I will repay the clan in kind). There was a lot of information, and it was shocking. Now it was okay to swear and yell for the whole house to hear about his condition. He was about to open his mouth to exhale some profanity and froze suddenly remembering something. Okay… But then why did Dream die in the first place? *** Tubbo stared in surprise at his friend and at the piles of parchments with some calculations scattered all over the table. Innit was asleep, with his head resting on his hands and ink smeared on his cheek. He frowned his eyebrows anxiously in his sleep and clenched his fingers on the feather he still held in his hands, and it was strange. The mere fact that Tommy had fallen asleep in the library was already alarming, considering the blond’s “love” for books. He stepped closer and picked up one of the parchments, trying to figure out what his friend was doing before he fell asleep. There was a soft rustling sound behind him, and the next moment Ranboo put his hands on the boy’s waist, teleporting behind his back. “What are you looking at?” He asked, peering over his shoulder. “I… have no idea. Look. Tommy made this.” Ranboo took the parchment from his boyfriend’s hands. “Are these… calculations for the ritual? What does he need them for? The exams are over and…” Ranboo was silent, but Tubbo knew what he wanted to say. It was impossible to force Tommy into the library and do something he thought was boring. Armageddon had to begin for him to volunteer to sit behind books. What could be so important that he decided to ignore his dislike of books and knowledge? Innit mumbled and raised his head, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand and smearing even more ink on his face. Tubbo smiled and removed his pointy hat, pointing a finger to his cheek. “You’re soiled.” he said, and Tommy took his hat from his hands and wiped his face sleepily with it, taking advantage of the black fabric that could not be soiled. “What lesson are you preparing this for?” Ranboo put the parchment back on the table and looked curiously at the other notes. Tommy brushed it off. “It’s not for lessons… just for me.” “Do you want to summon someone” Tubbo looked curiously at all the runes and sat down next to his friend. “Not at all. I have to send someone over the edge.” Ranboo frowned. “Look, if you’ve got some kind of poltergeist or ghost, you could have called us! This is serious! They’re magic parasites, they’ll suck all the magic out of you without you even noticing!” Innit shook his head, yawned, and pulled his calculations up again. “No, it’s not a ghost… It’s… I need to do this at the request of a relative.” Ranboo didn’t seem too convinced by his words. He sat down next to his boyfriend and looked again at the parchment scattered across the table. “You need a soul cast in that case. I used that in my ritual, too.” Tommy flinched. No, no, no… There’s no way he’s going into that house until he’s sure he won’t be killed! “Isn’t there any other way?” Tubbo frowned incomprehensibly. “What’s so hard about it?” He too took off his hat and snapped his fingers, summoning a book on magical currents from somewhere in the depths of the library. “He… doesn’t really want to see me right now…” Ranboo shrugged. “If he asked for your help, he’ll have to see you. Why isn’t he working on the ritual himself, by the way?” Tommy opened his mouth and froze. Damn it, he forgot to ask Drista why Dream didn’t had magic! Innit shook his head. “No. He can’t.” The witcher didn’t say anything else. Tubbo was staring at the book, not looking at him anymore. “Still… think of a soul cast-it will make your job easier.” prompted Ranboo, and leaving a kiss on the top of his boyfriend’s head, teleported in an unknown direction, disappearing into the purple particles of magic. Tommy hummed and returned to his calculations. Magic forbid he return to that house with no guarantee to his survival. *** And the question was, what the hell was he doing standing in front of it now? Nervously checking the anti-magic bracelets on his hands once more, the lenses recently additionally enchanted to see through reality plans and the new teleportation artifact, Tommy sighed. He didn’t want to be left with no escape options by returning to this house. Sneaking quietly inside, he stood in front of the door and clenched his fists in his palms. He had a choice of trying to pass unnoticed or letting the owners of the house know he was here. Neither option was safe… But it was worth a try nonetheless. Tommy squeezed the artifact in his hand. “Dream!” He called loudly, pushing his head back on his shoulders. “It’s me, Tommy, your sister descendant! Come out, you bastard, we have to talk! Like the last time, it was quiet at first. Then he heard a howl. And immediately he covered his ears, preparing himself for the fury of the magical creature. The banshee appeared before him suddenly. Despite the lens effect of allowing him to see into other planes of reality, Dream had gray skin and a sad face, indicative of his emotional instability, which prevented him from hiding his true nature. A thick black resin flowed profusely from the abysses that replaced his eyes, watering down his beautiful but undoubtedly dead face. He screamed, obviously not too happy about his arrival, but Tommy knew he might be received that way, so he prepared in advance, taking from the school the earplugs used in the mandrake treatment, the screeching of which made his head rattle terribly. They muffled the banshee’s howling a little, allowing Tommy to keep his mind clear. What was good was that the demon wasn’t with him. “Bitch, why are you yelling like that?” indignantly said Innit, when the sound wave stopped pressing his back against the door “I come to you on business with this ritual of yours, and you…” Banshee closed his mouth abruptly, widening his eyes in surprise. His silhouette dawned again and reverted to the living image in which he had died. The tattered and dirty dress turned white again, the flowers in his hair became vibrant, and his eyes regained their warm, incredibly bright green color. “It’s… Do you have him? Do you really have it? Drista left him?” Dream’s eyes became moist, and he looked like he was on the verge of hysteria again. Tommy wanted to tell him that it was his creation, that his precious Drista hadn’t even lifted a finger to keep her promise, but he never did. Banshee looked so… timid, hopeful that he would finally be free, that Innit just didn’t dare break his expectations. “The ritual… is not ready.” He didn’t look at Dream, not wanting to see his broken expression “But I’m trying to finish it. And to do that, I need a cast of your soul. I can’t promise it’ll work… but we have to at least try.” Banshee walked up to him so abruptly that Tommy couldn’t hold back a startled squeak. He thought he was about to be deafened again, but instead, Dream put his arm around him, leaning his head against his shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you. I… I can’t believe you’re really helping me… Thank you!” Tommy didn’t want to admit it, but he almost melted when Dream let him feel the warmth of his embrace. And Banshee’s scent was very pleasant… something floral… No, he definitely would have hit on him if he were alive… “But… I want to ask some questions. If… if you let me.” He muttered into his neck, trying to inhale as much of his scent as possible. “I, yes… yeah, I’ll try to answer.” Dream pulled away and led him into the living room. “Wait a moment, I need to take a cast of your soul.” Banshee nodded and froze, letting Tommy take off his bracelets for a moment, gathering magic in his palms, touching the top of Dream’s head with his glowing hands, and gently letting it memorize the shape of the boy’s soul. Placing the cast into a specially prepared artifact, he placed it in his bag and pulled out the calculations, sitting down on the cushioned couch at the host’s invitation. “I’ll need to find out the compatibility of your soul flows and pick out the right runes… It’s going to take some time. Maybe a few days, if not more.” Dream smiled and nodded, making Tommy hover, watching his face. Well… now he understood Drista when she said her brother was easy to love. “So… can I ask you some questions?” He asked, somehow feeling uncharacteristically shy. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” “Of course!” “Why… didn’t you have magic?” Dream shrugged. “I was born without it. Our mother was sick, and carrying twins inside her drained her completely. Drista was very strong even in the womb-she was draining all the magic she could. My mother didn’t have enough magic for the two of us, and I didn’t get any. That’s why I was born normal. Not a witcher.” It didn’t seem that this bothered banshee “Dad was upset and kept trying to find a way to give me magic. I admit… it did weigh on me sometimes. I felt… incomplete. But I knew Dad loved me, so I never told him my thoughts. And then he found out that magic can be awakened through an alliance with another clan. So he was very happy when Fundy proposed to me. It might have allowed me to gain magic and start a family with someone I loved.” Tommy frowned. He had a bad feeling about the next question. “How… how did you die? Why so abruptly? At the wedding?” The corners of Dream’s lips dropped sadly, and the witcher regretted asking the question. Nevertheless, the banshee did not remain silent, answering: “He poisoned me. I loved Fundy. And I thought he loved me, too. But all he wanted was to get our family magic focus into his bloodline. No one knew I had no magic, and I…” his voice trembled “I was stupid enough to trust him the day before our wedding. And suddenly it turned out that he didn’t need me without our rare focus. Only it wasn’t until after I was dead that I realized that.” Dream looked down at his fingers, barely holding back the tears. He touched the metal jewelry on his hands as if trying to occupy himself. “And then Drista locked me in here, too. I didn’t want to live after that. And reality itself rejected me. It… it was painful. But she wouldn’t listen.” Dream raised his face at him, looking through the white fabric of the translucent veil “And after she died, the house began to crumble. I wasn’t material enough and was forced to watch the memory of my family rot away, the crumbling of the memories they had left behind under the influence of time. And I couldn’t leave. I was trapped in these ruins that had once been our home.” “But how come…” “It was because Techno found me. He was weakened, soul-seeking to survive, and I helped him. Gave him a piece of me. And he came back to thank me.” The banshee smiled “This house — he restored it in this plan of reality for me. Gave me Patches so I wouldn’t be so lonely anymore, and he came all the time himself.” Innit acknowledged that Dream was beautiful when he smiled. No wonder even the blood demon couldn’t resist. “And then” — the banshee’s face became dreamy and very-very happy “he proposed to me.” Tommy could barely contain his surprise. Demons made families, too? It was the first time he’d ever heard of anything like that. “And bound our souls when I gave him my consent.” “But if you go over the edge…” Dream shook his head negatively, and the veil fluttered with his movements. “I could finally join him. This house and the passage into this reality requires his powers. He’s wasting a lot of magic just because I’m trapped here. We won’t have to cross into your reality anymore if we’re both over the edge.” Tommy hummed. So he’s going to do some good, too? He was sure the world would only be better off if one of the blood demons stopped visiting it. “By the way,” the banshee remarked, glancing at the antique clock in the living room, “he should be here soon! I’ll introduce you to him properly this time!” Dream smiled happily, splashing his arms, causing the veil attached to them to fly into the air. Innit will never tell how quickly he hurried out of the house, despite Dream’s best efforts to make sure he stayed. *** The ritual… seemed ready. Tommy had spent almost two months on it and another to test how it worked on magical creatures, but it seemed… everything was going well. Smaller ghosts were being sent over the edge and summoned back, letting Innit know that his ritual was really doing what it was designed to do, not just dispersing into the currents of magic as normal exorcism rituals did. He really had a chance to succeed. He gathered up all the calculations and circuits and went to the mansion again — to bring good news to Dream. And Techno, too, at the same time. He had visited the house often during those few months, questioning the banshee about the past and reassuring him when he thought it wouldn’t work and he would remain locked up here forever. Naturally, he also had to meet Techno, even though he tried to kill him when he saw him with his husband. And tried, by the way, more than once. The demon obviously didn’t like him. But Tommy wouldn’t be Tommy if he didn’t try to piss him off even knowing how close to death he was near the blood demon. The techno was fuming, and literally so, letting out clouds of blood-red smoke from his mouth, grinning in his direction and whipping his tail, more like a whip, inches from his body. The only thing that probably saved Innit was Dream’s presence, and the demon’s knowledge that the witcher could help free his husband. Tommy went into the house, not even wearing his bracelets anymore, and stroked Patches, who came up to him. The cat was kind to him, too, after she realized he wouldn’t attack her owner again. The witcher yawned (he’d been sleep-deprived lately because he’d been neglecting his sleep to work on the ritual. But his ritual grades had improved tremendously!) and went into the living room, throwing his pointy black hat and short cloak on the sofa. “Dream? Techno?” he asked loudly “Dumbasses, where are you?” No one answered him, and Tommy went grumpily to the second floor, suspecting that the residents of the house were making out again somewhere, probably trying to eat each other — so insistent were they on doing it. He had the misfortune of seeing it for himself once. Techno looked at that moment like he was trying to get Dream’s soul out through a kiss, and the banshee himself was answering him just as passionately, not giving him a second to break away and breathe air. Innit thought for a moment. Do demons even need air? Distracted by this thought, he didn’t immediately hear the extra noise, and when he realized what was making it, it was too late. Tommy stopped in the passageway to one of the rooms as if he were frozen, seeing something he clearly shouldn’t have. Techno was holding Dream by the legs, on his weight, leaning his back against the wall and enclosing him between his arms. A veil with flowers attached to it was lying nearby on the floor, but Innit knew it wouldn’t last long. He had already asked the banshee why he always wore a wedding dress and learned that his soul retained the look he had on the day he died and so any change, after a while, would bring him back. He had not yet passed over the edge to rid his soul of the superimposed images. Nevertheless, he had some time, about an hour and a half, before his soul regained its appearance and Tommy was able to see Dream’s face for the first time without the annoying translucent fabric on it. The banshee’s eyes were closed and he kept his head slightly tilted sideways, letting the demon attack his neck with kisses and bites, and there was an expression of pure euphoria on his face. On the floor lay the metal jewelry that usually covered the skin of his neck and some of his arms. The dress was distressed, crooked in some places, and had a hem that the demon kept up. He was sure he’d heard the demon growl possessively while… here he almost choked because his brain finally realized what they were doing. As if to confirm his thoughts, Dream moaned softly, pulling Techno’s head closer to him as he thrust sharply into his body, continuing to bite the tender skin on the banshee’s neck and shoulders. “You’re all dripping…” — the demon growled contentedly, attacking his lips and drinking in all the sweet moans he was making “Did you miss me?” Ah… so he just got here recently? Wait, but does that mean that… “Te-techno…” Dream sobbed, trying to find the words, after all the demon’s kisses and the way he drove his dick hard into his body, preventing any thoughts from forming “Y-yes, yes-yes-yes, I missed you, I-very-very-much missed you! Y-you weren’t there and-….” It was clearly difficult for him to speak with all the moans that came out of him every few seconds. Even though he couldn’t see Techno’s face, Tommy knew he was smirking. Sometimes it began to scare him how much he was already getting used to his temper. “Don’t worry, love, after tonight you’ll be feeling me for a long, long time…” The demon purred in the banshee’s ear, confirming each word with a sharp thrust of his hips. Innit only now noticed that its thin tail was wrapped around Dream’s leg. At this, his brain was able to snap his body out of that shocked stupor after all, and Tommy left the house like a bullet, red to the ears. Great magic, how was he going to look them in the eye now without remembering… this??? *** The next time Tommy ventured to the mansion was a week later, and when he arrived, he yelled so loudly that the windows of the house shook. But he was sure that this time, even while having sex, they would hear him, and if they had a sense of conscience… then they would come down. Fortunately, Dream appeared before him almost instantly, smiling softly at him as always and with bite marks barely showing behind the metal jewelry of his neck. If Tommy hadn’t seen with his own eyes and known what was going on here a little earlier, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “I think the ritual’s ready. I checked it out. It should work.” It took Dream a few seconds to realize it. His green eyes went wide and his mouth fell open as if he couldn’t believe he’d actually heard that. “Really?” The banshee happily jumped up to him, throwing his arms around him and Tommy allowed himself to hug him back, basking in the warmth of his embrace and the floral scent. This was probably the last time he would ever feel him… “Thank you, Tommy, thank you so, so much!” Dream continued to chirp his thanks, almost glowing with happiness. And Innit, despite the warmth inside from the banshee’s actions, could not stop feeling an echo of some light sadness. He was glad that Dream would finally be free and able to live beyond the edge with his beloved husband, but on the other hand, he was sad that he would never be able to see him again. Tommy was once again convinced that Drista was right. Her brother was incredibly easy to love. How could that Fundy have had the nerve to poison such a miracle? “Wait, let me get Techno!” He squeezed his eyes shut, and Tommy knew that now Dream was pulling the thread that bound his soul to the demon. The demon appeared a couple of moments later, as always in bloody smoke, with a terribly wary face and tense muscles, ready to attack at the first second and defend his husband. “Techno, he did it!” The banshee immediately rushed at him with hugs and kisses, so happy that there was no way he could stop smiling “The ritual is ready, Tommy did it!” The demon smiled almost as broadly and wrapped his husband in his arms, looking as happy as Dream himself. They kissed again, and the witcher averted his eyes. He only looked up when the demon’s broad hand rested on his shoulder and a low voice said: “Thank you, little gremlin.” The demon smiled at him, and Tommy froze, seeing him smile at him for the first time. Not to Dream, but to him. So this is what the demon’s own gratitude looks like… “This shouldn’t take long.” Innit said as he realized it was time to end Dream’s thankfulness flow. “We don’t need any special conditions. We could start right now.” Techno nodded and looked at his parchment calculations. “Is this verified?” “Yes, I tested it on ghosts and poltergeists. And on a nymph once.” The demon took another look at the calculations and led them to the basement, where apparently the heart of the house used to be. In reality, the mansion had been destroyed so it was no longer there, but the room was large enough and convenient enough to draw rune circles. The preparations went much faster this time. Innit was already adept at drawing circles and runes, and the very scheme he had created was imprinted in his memory literally in the subcortex of his brain. “That’s it. You can go in now.” Dream nodded and hugged Tommy again, whispering thanks into his hair before crossing the lines drawn with paint. Innit watched as the banshee picked up the hem of her dress and the long ribbons of veil attached to his arms and carefully stood in the center, looking up at his husband. “When you find yourself beyond the edge don’t go anywhere. I’ll come and walk you home.” He stopped talking and suddenly remembered something when he saw Dream open his mouth trying to ask something “And I’ll get you your Patches, don’t worry.” Banshee smiled rather contentedly and clenched his palms, clearly nervous for the ritual. After all, he’d been locked up for so long… Saying the words of the katrens was very easy. He had done this ritual so often over the past few months that he could probably spout them even if he were awakened in the middle of the night. As always, the shadows from the corners of the room stretched toward the center, dissolving the one in himself, silently and without any effect. Dream stared at him with his incredible green eyes, then melted away, smiling and silently whispering his last thanks. “Stay right there.” Techno tossed him sharply and vanished into the blood-red smoke. Tommy didn’t even think of disobeying him, somehow feeling strangely empty. Shit… He needed to find himself a girlfriend right away. Or a boyfriend. With all these rituals, he’d completely fallen out of his life. It was finally time to relax and unwind. Innit, sat down on the floor, staring at his own creation. The circles reeked of his magic, which he’d mixed into the white paint, and now he couldn’t even believe he’d done it all. Heh… Maybe he had a brain after all if he could think of such a thing and manage to calculate everything? He mindlessly scratched the white line with his fingernail and began to put the parchment with the calculations in his bag. He wondered if this would be accepted as his final project for the next grade? It would be amazing… Techno showed up ten minutes later. “Did it work?” Tommy asked, and the demon nodded, pulling him sharply into his arms. It seemed that it’s time for Innit to start his “hug collection from rare and very deadly magical creatures” list. “Thank you.” said the demon “We’ll be eternally grateful to you.” He thought for a while, then added “If you ever need help and you call on me, fine, I won’t take your soul. But don’t abuse it, because I might change my mind.” Techno smiled at him again and ruffled his hair. Tommy’s eyes went wide. Wow, that’s some gratitude! Yeah, the history books said that some witchers had mowed down some nations by the thousands to get that kind of favor from a demon! “Oh yes… When you do the ritual call do not forget to say my full name, or I will not feel your call.” Seeing Tommy’s confused look, the demon rolled his eyes “Technoblade. My name is Technoblade.” Oh… So he’s been calling him by his affectionate name this whole time?! - And by the way… when you’re old enough to go over the edge and back… You should come to visit. Dream will be glad to see you.” The demon made his way out of the Hall, then came back with Patches, who was purring happily in his arms. “See you around, gremlin!” he smirked at him and disappeared again into blood-red clouds of smoke. Tommy caught himself smiling against his will. As he left the house, the magic supporting it in this plan had already begun to drain away little by little, unsupported by the demon, and the mansion was losing its residential appearance, becoming ruined, dusty, and damp. But Innit thought that wasn’t such a bad thing. It meant that he had helped the inhabitants of this house, that Dream and Techno no longer needed this mansion. That now no one would be trapped here, suffering for centuries because of someone else’s bad decisions. It meant he’d done everything right.