> “I am an unwilling devil. I cry like some vagrant child. I want to go home.” - Anne Rice

Nord sat alone in her room, staring at the pixelated face on her mobile screen. The image was her but not her—a past version of herself recorded on video, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I can't put into words how I felt about what he told me. There's just no right way to describe it," her past self confessed, tears finally spilling over as she pressed her mouth and nose between her fingers as if trying to hold her emotions inside like a prayer.

"I hope if I ever see this video, the plan worked. That at least he won't be alone because... because he doesn't deserve it. He's so..." Unable to finish her thought, her past self collapsed, her forehead hitting the desk as she sobbed uncontrollably. Her muffled words were unintelligible, lost amidst the folds of her own grief.

Then, a knock on the door broke the silence. "Baby, are you alright?"

Sitting up, her past self wiped away the tears, straightening up as if she could rearrange her emotions just as easily. "Yeah, Baby, I'm fine."

The door opened. "I can hear you crying! Why are you crying? I'm coming in!"

The person who entered wasn't visible on camera. Only his voice and his immediate embrace filled the room. "It's okay, we knew this would happen, come on, don't be sad. Alright?" His words were a tender litany punctuated by kisses.

Nord leaned closer to the screen as if proximity could provide clarity. The camera's angle obscured the person's face, a crucial detail shrouded in mystery. Was it Baal? She couldn't be sure. But the emotion, the pain and the love mingling in that digital moment were palpable across the boundaries of time and data. A ghost of her past whispering truths Nord still didn't remember.

The air was thick with the sound of another distant sobbing, a haunting cadence that shattered the tranquillity of the night. Nord rose cautiously from her bed, curiosity overcoming her initial reluctance. She inched her door open and peered out. There, hunched over on the staircase, was Baal. His posture was defeated, his aura tainted by the unmistakable smells of whiskey and cigarettes—much like Adamastor on his visits to Mme Bougie.

Nord descended the stairs softly, each step a muted whisper on the carpet. As she reached Baal, she sat beside him, her hand hesitantly finding his shoulder.

"Hey, you alright? Weren't you and Merlin supposed to arrive just tomorrow? What's going on?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Baal sniffled, his eyes red-rimmed. "I went to Bougie's, had a few, and when it was time to leave, I just wanted to go home. So I walked home!"

Her eyes narrowed. "What happened, Baal? You're freaking me out."

"I wanted to go home! I just wanted to go home, and I ended up here," he choked out, his tears spilling unceremoniously. He was not one to cry gracefully.

Nord suppressed a slight smile. "You're drunk, Baal."

His shoulders trembled as he struggled to catch his breath. "You don't get it. I just wanted to be home. That's what I wanted."

"This is home, or it will be tomorrow. But we can start now," she said, gently rubbing his arm in a comforting rhythm, "Now, time to sleep, big boy!"

Baal locked eyes with her. "It's not the same. It'll never be the same." He paused, his gaze softening. "Are you alright? Do you still feel... vampire stuff..."

"I'm fine," she assured him. Rising, she helped him to his feet, steadying his wobbling form. "Let's get you to bed."

Together, they staggered down the hall to his room, Baal tripping over his feet and sniffling like a lost child. Nord helped him shed his rumpled clothes before tucking him under the sheets. As she turned to leave, she caught the strange way he was looking at her.

"What's the matter? Need something?"

Baal hesitated, then turned away. "Never mind. Don't want another slap from you. It hurts."

With that, he turned his back on her and drifted into an uneasy sleep, leaving Nord standing, "You are so weird..."

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The golden light of noon bathed the room in a soft glow as Nord took a step back to admire her handiwork. Jars of ink sat next to intricate vials of Dryad magic, and a delicate jar marked 'Four Leaf Memory Magic' stood beside her tattoo machine. She double-checked the battery level—it was good to go.

Her eyes swept over the art on the walls, the plush couch, the snug rugs, and the small trinkets that lent the space a cosy ambience. She had poured her soul into this room, and it was ready for the grand opening.

Just then, the door creaked open. "Hey, am I disturbing you?"

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Nord spun around and felt her stomach clench. "Adamastor, no, come in," she forced herself to say with a welcoming smile. He was necessary for the estate's operations, and she was determined to rise above the roles others might expect her to play. And she refused to be the victim.

"I brought you some fresh-made orange juice as a peace offering," Adamastor said, setting down a jug and a single cup on her counter.

"Thank you. You didn't have to," Nord replied, her eyes meeting his.

"I did. What I've done to you is...unforgivable. I'm trying to keep a low profile around the house, but..." He hesitated. "I miss being around you."

Nord sighed nervously. "I just need time to understand—to find solutions that work for both of us."

Adamastor filled a glass with orange juice and offered it to her. "Peace offering?"

She accepted it and took a long sip. "I appreciate it."

"I would join you, but—"

"I'm not handing you any sort of liquids," she said, her laugh tinged with nervousness.

"As expected."

Her mood lightened a little. "I heard from Baal this morning. He's dealt with the hunter issue, so you're free to visit Miss Ursula whenever you like."

Adamastor's face broke into a relieved smile. "I thanked him already. Those bullets could have been the end of me." He looked around the room, clearly impressed. "Is there anything else you need? All the rooms are set up. The inventory is full. We could open any moment."

Nord pondered for a moment. "What about entertainment?"

"We could consult the musicians at Mme Bougie, but I'd rather not mix the two businesses."

"Any other ideas?"

Adamastor grinned mischievously. "We do live with a demon, you know."

Nord raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"Trust me, when it comes to entertainment, there's no creature that can match a demon's skills."

Nord's lips curled into a smile as she drained her glass. "Hmm, have you seen Baal today?"

"No, haven't caught sight of him. He's probably on his way with Merlin, that snail mule of his," Adamastor said, pouring another glass and handing it to her. She accepted with a nod.

"I think I'll lie down for a bit," she announced, downing the second glass of orange juice in one gulp.

Adamastor's eyes filled with a twinge of concern. "You're not feeling well?"

"Oh, no, it's nothing like that. Just some 'me time,' you know?" Nord reassured him as she set the empty glass back on the counter.

"You can take the jug with you," he suggested, motioning toward the orange juice.

"Nah, leave it in the kitchen for the others. But it tasted really good—it had a unique flavour. Cinnamon?" she asked, her brows arching inquisitively.

"No, just a pinch of salt. A little secret." Adamastor winked, his face breaking into a slight grin.

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With a groan of seasoned wood and rusty nails, Baal hefted the final crate onto the cart, nestling it beside other crates already filled with empty glass jars. His muscles, lean and battle-hardened, ached from the morning's work, but it was a satisfying ache.

Just as he was wiping the sweat from his brow, the creaky door of the shabby house swung open. Merlin hobbled out, dragging two bulging luggage bags behind him, each looking as ancient and weary as the wizard himself.

"Bloody Atua, Merlin! What'd I say about the heavy lifting?" Baal's arms swiftly lifted one of the bags off the ground, saving Merlin from a potential fall.

"As long as these old legs can walk, they'll carry my burdens, thank you very much!" Merlin's eyes sparkled with indignation, even as his voice quivered.

Baal smirked as he shoved the other bag next to the first, "Yeah, right. Because clearly, you're in the prime of your youth." he muttered, placing the bag beside the crates.

"I heard that you cheeky demon," Merlin retorted, "You make it sound like you're already rehearsing for my eulogy."

Merlin shot him a wry smile, to which Baal responded with a smirk.

"Don't flatter yourself. Trust me, when you go, I've got better things to do than sob over your decaying carcass," he paused and, with a smirk, added, "but I won't miss it! Will chant you goodbye on the first row with a bottle of wine."

"Hmph! If there's an afterlife, you can bet I'll be haunting you—rattling your jars and howling in your ear!"

Chuckling, Baal reached out and steadied Merlin as he clumsily attempted to climb into the cart. "Funny you should say that, old man. Remember our agreement? Once this is all over, you'll lose every memory of me. How exactly do you plan on haunting someone you don’t even know exist?"

Merlin looked momentarily stumped, then shrugged. "Well, if I don't remember you, consider yourself lucky. Otherwise, I'd make an eternal commitment to be your otherworldly damnation!"

With a final grunt and push, Baal helped Merlin settle into the cart. Then he circled around to the front, gripping the reins tightly. He looked back at the wizard, a complex weave of fondness and anticipation settling into his gaze.

"So, you ready to set the Morningstar on fire, or what?"

Merlin grinned, the glint of old adventures sparking anew in his eyes. "Lead the way, young demon. Let's meet at our new home."

"Wait! Please wait!"

The sudden cry jolted Baal and Merlin, snapping their heads in the direction of the voice. A small girl, not older than eight, came running toward them, her face flushed and breaths coming in rapid, shallow pants.

"I've got a message for Mr. Berith," she said between gasps for air.

Baal cocked an eyebrow. "You're looking at him. What's the message?"

"Miss Ursula wants to see you tonight," the girl panted.

Baal's face hardened. "Tell her I'm not interested."

"Oh?" Merlin interjected, his curiosity piqued. "I've heard she's quite interesting. Exotic!"

"I know, we met yesterday," Baal scowled, flustered by Merlin's insinuation. "I'm not interested because there's someone else. Someone... very specific. And… I’m not that type."

The girl's eyes widened, and she seemed almost desperate. "Sir, she said it's very important. You must."

Baal's grip tightened around the reins. "Look, I appreciate the urgency, but my answer is no. Now, if you'll excuse us—"

He slapped the reins against Mulan's back, intending to ride off dramatically. Still, the mule moved with all the urgency of molasses flowing uphill.

"Please, Sir," the girl called out as if the slow-motion exit had reignited her hope. "She really begged me to make sure you'd come."

"Tell her I wish her the best, but my heart's already spoken for," Baal replied, trying to sound decisive. Yet, he was awkwardly aware that his attempt at a bold exit was utterly compromised by the mule's snail-like pace.

"Then what should I say to her?" The girl's voice tinged with anxiety.

Baal pondered for a moment, trying to find the right words. Finally, he said, "Tell her something like, 'If it were ten years ago, perhaps our paths might have crossed differently. But a demon falls in love but once, and my heart belongs to another. And there is nothing I can do, or want to do, about it.'"

The girl stood in the middle of the road, her eyes tracing the outline of the cart as it crawled away. There was something haunting about the way she looked, as if carrying his message back to Ursula would be the heaviest thing she'd have to lift that day.

“What an idiot…”