Nitri was mortified.
In the short time Em had met and known her parents they had inexplicably fallen in love with him. They talked to him as they would an old friend who had stopped by to retell stories from their youth. Although inexplicable might be the wrong term. Perhaps she was just surprised by what she already suspected. Both her parents were secretly magic nuts. A goblin could have walked in with the magician’s hat and the result would have been no different.
“I’ll say it again, it’s wonderful to have you here,” said Hector Hoppstead the second. He was a rotund man with a thick mustache and bright red cheeks which gave the impression he was three shots shy of gnomish fire liquor from speaking in tongues. He was elegantly dressed despite his messy hair and general jolly demeanor.
Jane Hoppstead, the wife, was also a rare beauty, although not quite in the traditional sense. Of course, at one point in her life she was the talk of the town; a mysterious nurse with magical proportions from a neighboring univerCity(a school-city hybrid) called in to assist the former Mrs. Hoppstead’s midwives with a difficult delivery. She was known to cause even the most faithful of men(and women) to double, even triple, take. But now, after having given birth to three children, she had—ahem—filled out. This was made more apparent by the large family portrait that hung on the studio’s wall as the major centerpiece.
In that same painting, Em spied the final son who was already a man at the time of its creation. He was much like his father in some ways, rosy-cheeked and tussle-haired, but his stern expression, his stature and piercing eyes were a product of someone else.
“My daughter has already explained how you were instrumental in her safe return. I will forever be grateful.”
Em waved him aside. “No need for eternal gratitude. Your daughter and I settled on a finite calculable sum that should save you the hassle.”
Nitri coughed. “An agreement made under extreme duress.”
“But, an agreement nonetheless,” Em shot back.
She glared at him and he only arched an eyebrow at her. Would he have actually left me? Nitri pondered.
“Now, now, dear, our magus guest is correct. If you made a deal, you must honor it,” her father said, but as he said it, each word that escaped his lips was heavier than the last. “Under normal circumstances—”
Em interrupted, “You would have already facilitated the payment, but these are not normal circumstances so you cannot.”
He looked to Mr. and Mrs. Hoppstead to see if they would come back in, but neither did. “Let me guess, you’re either hoarding your money or you’re making none. Given the state of your manor; the peeling paint, missing roof tiles, unused facilities, sparse commodities, simplistic decor, utilitarian garden and lack of staff my firm belief is the latter.”
Mrs. Hoppstead and Nitri’s mouths were left slightly agape while Mr. Hoppstead chuckled nervously before he replied.
“To put it bluntly,” he said, “yes.”
“I’m not an agricultural expert but even to my untrained eyes, your fields look like they’re an excellent condition,” said Em. “Trouble selling?”
“In a way, both of those things are half the truths to a whole,” the rotund man replied while he gently curled the hairs of his mustache. “The crops look like they’re in excellent condition, but that’s just, quite literally, on the surface. We specialize in growing root vegetables because the soil around Bornie is nutrient rich. However… these past few years, the roots and bulbs themselves have more than halved in size. Some are even eighty percent smaller. As such, our usual distributors will take sparse few. Each year they accept fewer and even if they didn’t...well… each year the amount we can set apart for sale becomes less.”
“What my kind husband is trying to say,” Mrs. Hoppstead cut in, “is that we’ve switched over to subsistence farming. Most of the harvest is stored and used for our and Bornie’s needs.”
Mr. Hoppstead scratched his head. “We can’t properly pay the people working the fields so this is the least we can do.”
“That’s rather philanthropic,” Em said cooly. “however, that doesn’t resolve the matter of my payment.”
Mr. Hoppstead half winced, half smiled. “There are, uhm, items in my collection that I’ve yet to sell that should cover your fee. These are treasures near and dear to me, you understand, but I could be convinced to part with them.”
“I’m listening,” Em replied.
“I’m certain that the cause of our crop failures is magical. If you manage to fix the problem, I will immediately settle my daughter’s debt.”
Em closed his eyes, and rested his index finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose as he was wont to do when he was in deep thought. After a brief but intense internal argument he looked back at Mr. Hoppstead. “What makes you think your problems are magical?”
“They’re certainly not due to a plague or pests… the plants themselves are growing fine as you’ve seen. We rotate our crops so the soil isn’t fatigued. It’s the edible parts that are either not sprouting or not growing enough.”
“Curious, but that doesn’t really qualify as supernatural.”
“Then maybe the wailing lady does,” Nitri stated matter-o-factly.”
“The what now?” Em’s face turned a curious white.
“You know,” Nitri said. “The wailing lady, the weeping woman. La Llorona.”
“Now dear, don’t be silly. I hope you’re not sharing any of these ridiculous theories with your little brothers. They only recently stopped wetting their beds,” Mrs. Hoppstead chided.
“Of course I’m not, mum,” Nitri replied, embarrassed to have received a scolding, however mild, in front of Em. Her father’s signature red cheeks finally made an appearance. “I’m just— But I’ve heard her! The older workers in the village have heard her too when they’re out in the fields! They say she’s put a curse on the land.”
“You know they have a special place in our hearts, love,” Mr. Hoppstead said, “but the villagers are a superstitious lot.”
“But I’m not!” Nitri insisted. “I know what I’ve heard.”
“Ghost, this La Llorona, business is all something to keep their minds occupied from the reality of the situation. We could be facing a famine, love. We need to keep our heads together so they don’t have to.” Mr. Hoppstead chuckled nervously again. “Sir magus, I don’t suppose you could clear this up for my daughter, would you?”
“What part, exactly? Ghosts? They’re fictitious. The soul is an abstract concept. When you die, your body returns to the dust, your mana returns to the aether. Simple as that.” Em paused. “Spirits, however? Very real. So if this weeping woman of yours turns out to be a Hellion Spirit like a wraith, poltergeist or worse, a banshee, you could all be in mortal peril.”
Mrs. Hoppstead passed out and Mr. Hoppstead’s cheeks were no longer flush. Nitri tried for an I-told-you-so face but it ended up looking more like an oh-shit-this-is-not-as-satisfying-as-I-thought-It’d-be one. Despite Em’s earlier surprise he remained collected.
“I don’t usually accept jobs like this,” he proceeded. “Requests get screened at my office before I consider taking them, but because this is in our mutual interest, we’ll skip the whole procedure. Here’s my card.” He rummaged through his cloak once more and withdrew a single, white card. It was very minimalistic. On one side, in black, was the same emblem sewn into his cloak. The other side read:
> Magician for hire
>
> Em, CEO
>
> 14 Fenton Rd, Tiridea, Osk
> Runia
Nitri snatched the card from his hand and examined it before passing it on to her father. “What kind of shoddy business do you run? Are you really in the capital? This is obviously handwritten and drawn.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Em looked as if she had crushed his entire being with her critique. “Shoddy?,” he gasped. “Tera would cry her little heart out if she heard you. She spent hours slaving over ten thousand copies. Each one has her pure devotion etched into it.”
“Eh?! You made someone copy this ten thousand times? Are you some sort of sadistic pervert?!” Nitri replied.
“I don’t see how one leads to the other,” Em shook his head before redirecting himself to the head of the house. “Are we clear on this? I solve another issue for you and I’m on my merry way with a full purse.”
Mr. Hoppstead agreed. “Where do I sign?”
Em stood up, extending his hand over the table that separated them. Mr. Hoppstead grasped it and Em shook firmly enough to surprise the robust man who only saw his lithe frame. He smiled at Mr. Hoppstead before replying, “Paperwork is for bureaucrats.”
***
After their discussion ended and the mother of three curious children was awoken by six poking hands, they retired to the dining hall which only qualified as such for its large size. Where a great table had presumably once rested were two round small garden tables and a third tea table which Em recognized from the sitting room. The children were seated around the latter and they did not seem to mind the strange accommodation. In fact, from their loud whispers and giggles, it seemed they thought themselves quite important for having the only different one.
After serving the food, a very brothy yam soup with sparse cuttings of other root vegetables and bits of what Em could only assume was some sort of meat, the butlers and maids actually joined the family to eat, albeit on the separate table. Em was no expert on nobility but he was sure this was unusual. There were desserts, as promised earlier. This seemed to keep the children content enough to power through the admittedly disappointing main and only course.
All in all, the atmosphere was pleasant. The Hoppsteads weren’t just talk. They were amicable with their servants, even offering to help bring the silverware back to the kitchen on their own. They seemed more like a family than employer and employees.
It was then that Em learned what the Hoppsted manor was like in the years before the decline. It had a robust staff with a dozen maids, three chefs, a dedicated groundskeeper, stable master and the butler was actually a head butler with four butlers below him. The rest of the staff had been forced to let go, but apparently they were a summons away from returning if the Hoppsteads ever had need for them again. The four that remained hadn’t actually been paid for over a year but, according to them, they were bound to the Hoppsteads for more than just financial reasons and, by the way the family interacted with them, it was apparent.
The manor often hosted events for Bornie and most of the village residents had been married in its courtyard. This was not the kind of home that was a target for curses.
***
Late that same night, Em hopped down from the second story window. He landed gently on the ground as a warm breeze guided his descent. “Thanks, O,” he said to the air around him. Another warm breeze caressed his face in response.
The air was crisp and cool, the sky clear save for the waning moon and some stray grey clouds; a perfect night for spirit hunting. Or it would have been without the added company.
“Do you make putting yourself in harm’s way a habit?” Em asked the minor noble—nay, minor annoyance. Nitri had hopped down from a similar height a couple windows down.
“I knew you’d catch me,” she smirked.
“You’re lucky O likes your hair. She’s very particular about that.”
“Who’s O?” Nitri asked. Em didn’t answer,
“Why are you even out here?”
“To make sure you’re not doing anything weird?”
“Have you ever met another magician? Everything we do is weird.”
“My point still stands. Besides, there’s no way I’d miss out on an adventure so close to home.”
“That doesn’t explain why the butler is here.”
“T—to ensure the young miss’ safety.” The man had come rushing out through the main entrance with a look of terror on his eyes as he watched Nitri land faintly beside the magician.
“Alphonse,” Nitri replied gently with a faint hint of embarrassment, “I told you that you can call me Nitri outside the house. It’s strange hearing anything else from you. We grew up together.”
“The whole point of me leaving through the window was to avoid waking anyone else,” Em sighed.
Nitri smiled proudly. “I wasn’t asleep. I’ve been keeping tabs on you all night.”
From the look of Alphonse, he hadn’t slept properly in a week either. Em contemplated knocking them out with some morpheus dust, it would do the butler good, but decided against it when he realized he’d have to drag them both back into the manor.
“Alright, you can tag along,” Em said. “But you both must listen to and obey everything I say. Hellions are no laughing matter, as Nitri can surely attest to.”
She looked away but nodded in the end. Alphonse nodded as well, but the uncertainty was hard to miss.
“Well, as long as you’re here, I might as well ask. Has anyone actually seen this weeping lady?” Em questioned.
“Not per se,” Nitri answered. “I’ve heard her, at night. Even in the day, but very rarely.”
“I haven’t seen her either,” Alphonse offered, “but I manage most of the requests the workers make and I’ve heard a lot of them ask to be excluded from working the outer fields.”
“Any specific reason?”
“No…” Alphonse answered. “However, the requests only started coming in after the weeping lady rumors.”
“Good enough place to start,” said Em.
From the manor, they headed to the edges of the plantation. Because most of the crops were root vegetables, the leafy greens that grew above ground were not too tall. This allowed them a clear view in every direction. A Hellion Spirit would have been quite easy to spot but nothing was out of place in the horizon so they took to combing the ground. The extra eyes almost merited the hanger-on’s presence. Almost.
“Hey Em! Here, here!” Nitri shouted for the ninth time.
Em walked to her, resigned. It would be another rabbit track. He was sure of that. “Congratulations,” he said in a voice that expressed how unimpressed he was, “you’ve managed to locate yet a different set of bunny tracks. If this plantation thing doesn’t work out, you have a future as a tracker.”
“Hardy har, har,” she shot back. “I wasn’t talking about the tracks. I meant this.” She held up a smooth, dark grey stone that looked like a sparrow egg.
Em took it from her hand and rolled it around his fingers. He felt nothing coming off it. “Strange, but not magical,” he replied and dropped it back into her hands. She looked downcast for a brief moment but returned to her task with even more diligence.
Em dug up a plant, a potato plant it seemed, and inspected it in the moon’s light. The tubers were small, as Mr. Hoppstead had described, most not bigger than that rock Nitri had discovered, but the plant had already matured. It seemed healthy otherwise, just tiny. “Nothing’s coming off this either. The ground feels normal.” Em scratched his chin. There was no way around it.
He pressed the tips of his fingers together, forming the rough shape of a spade in the space between his hands and called through it, “Cat, here kitty kitty.”
Nitri and Alphonse were dumbfounded by the sudden action, enough to stop what they were doing to just stare at Em. Em made no comment and simply called through his hands again. “Come Cat, I know you don’t like the dark but I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
From the space between his hands something like a loud purr resounded, followed by an explosion of black smoke. When Em removed his hands, the smoke seemed to follow them, revealing a pristine disc made from some foreign dark material polished to a mirror shine. As it hung in the air, smoke billowed from it like a volcano threatening to erupt.
An arm shot out from its depths, black as the mirror, with matching sharp dark claws. A similar arm followed it and the hands found purchase at the disc’s edge. The terror that owned the hands freed itself from the mirror with a single push. It floated in the air like a wingless, twisted fairy. She was naked from her toes to her head, save for the iridescent silver shells that covered her breasts and fur skirt. A mess of curling orange hair fell behind her like cascading waves and from those waves the same dark smoke she spawned from floated away. Her dark eyes would have been lost on her expressionless face if not for the orange paint that surrounded them.
All in all, nightmare material, but there was a hauntingly terrifying beauty about her that scared Nitri even more.
She immediately flew towards Em, dragging her disc with her before diving into the hood of his cloak. Em sighed and reached into his hood with a little difficulty and gently removed her. She sat in his hand, hugging her knees. The magician smiled fondly at her and she beckoned him with her hand.
“It’s good to see you too, Cat,” he replied after lending her his ear to whisper. “I know I promised no more night jobs for a while, but I can’t ask anyone else for help with hexes.”
She waved her arms in a frenzy and Em suppressed a chuckle. “Now, now, don’t pout. It’s just until we find what we’re looking for. Will you do that for me?”
She stood up, hugging her mirror close to her and nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered. She flew up to the top of his hat and sat on the brim without adding any weight to it, as though she were a feather ornament.
“Are you going to explain that at all?” Nitri asked. Her eyes darted from Em’s hat to his eyes. Alphonse’s, however, were glued to the dark entity. It looked back at him, expressionless.
“Cat?” Em asked as if the answer wasn’t obvious. “I’d rather not. She’s really shy. Let’s just get on with this.”
He snapped his right hand’s fingers while muttering something in that strange language Nitri had heard him use before except this time, instead of winds and hurricanes, she pictured waves of darkness crashing down on her. Each syllable was a new wave that came down upon her, but the waves did not drown her like water would. Each crash seemed to drown the light of the world until he suddenly stopped speaking.
Em framed the fingers of his right hand around his eye as if it were a monocle and stared hard through it. From Nitri’s perspective, his eye was completely clouded by a milky white. He spun around slowly, looking up and down, scanning every horizon unfazed by his newfound blindness.
“You’re in luck,” he said as he removed the hand monocle from his eye. It returned to its original color. “There aren’t any apocalyptic monstrosities lurking in the higher plane. Unfortunately, that also means I’m back to square one.”
As he said that, a loud piercing shriek cut through the air. It was the kind of wail that snaked through your skin and scraped at your bones. Haunting and ugly.
“Oh Deus, take me,” Alphonse muttered as his legs turned to jelly.