> “Hocus Pocus bad violinus be no longer brokus” - Nord Morningstar

The Nixbob's face was like a beautiful painting marred by crude strokes of red and purple—fresh bruises contrasting against her skin. A cut on the corner of her lip seemed to cry out the story her eyes were too proud to tell.

Her brown hair was hastily tied back in a messy bun, cat ears drooping in parallel with her hair. Modestly dressed in a grey dress and a once-white apron now dulled by life, she carried with her only a light bag and a suitcase too small for any actual belongings.

The little Nixbob, probably her son, was an odd juxtaposition to his mother's pained elegance. His tiny face was lit up, his eyes twinkling with the magic of undiscovered worlds. Though just moments before he was screaming her name, he now grinned as though he'd found a treasure.

"I'm very lucky!" the little one piped up randomly, spinning to face Nord.

His mother choked back tears. "Don't mind, Bram. He's... well, he's been rather unique these past few weeks since he found a four-leaf clover," she said, and with a more urgent tone, she added, "We need a place to stay. I can pay, and I can work."

"We aren't open yet," interjected Adamastor behind the counter, showing as much warmth as a winter night. "But you may come back later."

"Please... we have nowhere else to go!" pleaded the woman.

Nord's eyes narrowed, a storm brewing on her face. She squatted down to meet Bram eye to eye. "So your name is Bram?"

"Yes, ma'am! Bram, the lucky charm!"

Nord stifled a laugh, her features softening. "Do you know the name of this place, Bram?"

"Morningstar!"

"That's right," Nord grinned, straightening up to her full height. "And do you know who I am?"

The little Nixbob shook his head from side to side.

"My name is also Morningstar. So, guess who owns this place?"

"You!" Bram's eyes widened in awe.

Nord pivoted to Adamastor. Her eyes locked onto his. "Prepare a two-bedroom suite and have them something warm to eat. Please." The last word, please, was not a request; it was a thinly veiled command.

The woman's eyes brimmed with dry tears. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means. Maybe... maybe he really is lucky."

Nord approached the Nixbob woman, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Rest now. We'll talk about what comes next later. For now, eat, relax, and try to put today behind you."

The woman nodded, finally letting her guard down. "My name is Perdita, by the way."

Nord smiled, the weight of her authority as comforting as a warm blanket. "Welcome to the Morningstar."

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Nord was lost in a sea of parchment and ink, her fingers drumming on the wooden desk cluttered with ideas and failed attempts at an invitation. Sure, she could stick an announcement in the town gazette—boring but effective. Alternatively, hand-delivering the invites would add a personal touch, but then again, she barely knew anyone in town.

She wondered whimsically if Merlin could conjure some Harry Potter flair, sending owls winging through the night sky, each carrying a message sealed with her emblem. But the boundaries between magic and the mundane still puzzled her. In a world that had room for both, when was it appropriate to let the spellwork fly?

Lost in these thoughts, she realised she still couldn’t sense the Hollow's hunger. Perhaps it was dormant, or perhaps her newfound distractions had put it to sleep. Still, another presence nagged her—the constant, unsettling aura of Adamastor. Her worry was that he'd soon succumb to the sun's wrath. The vampire was bound to make a move soon; she could feel it in her bones. And she prayed that she would be wrong.

A soft knock rippled through her musings. Startled, she glanced at the door. "Come in?" The door creaked open, and Perdita peeked in, her eyes holding a cautious warmth. "I really don't want to bother you, but... I wanted to give you something. I heard you need it." She stepped into the room, each footfall careful and hesitant.

Nord looked up, setting her quill down, intrigued. "What is it?"

Nord glanced up from her desk, her eyes landing on the small suitcase Perita cradled in her arms. A sense of curiosity tingled within her, instantly overshadowing the mundane invitation paperwork that had previously consumed her attention.

Nord leaned back in her plush office chair, intrigued by the mysterious air that had settled in her office.

"They say you're one of the few who deals in magical objects as currency."

"The Morningstar has been known to make such transactions, yes. What do you have?"

Perita's fingers hovered over the suitcase latches. "It's not the most valuable thing in the world—cursed, actually—but it might interest you."

"So, you say it's cursed? Well, you have my attention," Nord gestured to the chair across her desk. "Please, sit."

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Perita gave a half-smile as she set the suitcase on Nord's desk with a cautious grace. The clasps popped open with a satisfying click, and she lifted the lid. Nord's eyes widened at the sight.

"That's a violin, isn't it?"

"Yes," Perita responded, her voice tinged with a blend of reverence and caution. "It's a family heirloom—passed down from my grandfather to my father and then to me. It's been in the family for Atua knows how long. But the thing is... It's unplayable."

Nord's gaze traced the delicate curves and fine lines of the instrument. Its wood seemed to absorb the room's light. "It's breathtaking. What makes it cursed, though?"

"When it's played, people fall asleep. Just like that," Perita snapped her fingers for emphasis. "I mean, literally, out like a light."

Nord's eyes narrowed, her mind whirring with a blend of scepticism and intrigue. "And you say it's a 'fine instrument' if the curse is lifted? That's a big if."

Perita shrugged. "I've heard it played only once—by my grandfather. It was beautiful, ethereal even. But the entire room dozed off, including him. If you could get rid of the curse, though, I'm sure it would be worth more than its weight in tokens."

Nord steepled her fingers, mulling over the decision. "I haven't fed the Hollow any magic yet, but it's worth a try. I'll do some research."

"So, will you take it?" Perita's eyes were hopeful but guarded as if expecting rejection.

Nord sighed, finally breaking into a smile. "Will you stay and work for me?"

"Then it's a deal?"

Nord extended her hand across the desk. "It's a deal."

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As Baal crunched along the gravel path, the sky was bruised with twilight, trading its warm orange glow for sombre indigo. His shoulders slumped, and he looked like a demon carrying much more than his years.

Nord stood there in her nightgown, a woollen scarf bundled around her neck. She clutched a small suitcase like it was a shield. "Where have you been?"

Baal met her eyes, the corners of his lips curling into a weary smirk. "You missed me, Morningstar?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would I?"

Baal halted, standing before her, his silhouette etched against the dusky horizon. "Then what keeps you waiting here?"

She hesitated, her eyes flickering away briefly before finding him again. "I have something for you. But I also need your help." A shadow of shame crossed her features.

"So you didn't miss me, but I was rent-free in your thoughts?" A smirk crept onto his lips.

"Ugh, you're insufferable! Your ego deserves its own zip code! Perhaps even a kingdom!" Her voice rose, touching the edge of exasperation. She paused, softening her tone. "Will you help me or not?"

His eyes drifted to his worn-out boots, "I don't see why not." Baal eased himself onto the bench beside her. The air had grown colder, but he seemed unbothered. "Now, what has summoned me from the caverns of your mind?"

Nord unclasped the locks of her suitcase. "Remember when you told me you played the violin? And you could help on the opening..."

Baal looked puzzled. "Did you hear something in your head, like voices or visions, or... I checked at Mme Bougie, and they had no violin... just bad omen. How did you know?"

"No, I didn’t, just had a hunch when I saw it," Nord interrupted, her voice tinged with confusion.

"What's this about?"

"A child. Bram. He came with his mum, and he screamed all the time. Started shouting my name the moment he and his mother walked in. Wouldn't stop until he saw me." Her voice wavered.

Baal chuckled, "Nixbob, is it?"

Nord's eyes widened. "You know him?"

"Made a deal with the kid once. How's his mother?"

"She's fine... I mean, it is clear she ran away from someone. I hired her—lodging, food, and I'll find another way to compensate her. She gave me this as a gift." Nord opened the lid of the suitcase. Inside was a violin of extraordinary beauty, its wood glowing with an almost ethereal light.

Baal reached out, but before his fingers could graze the wood, Nord slammed the lid shut, nearly catching his fingertips.

"It's cursed, Baal. I need your help to rid it of its magic."

Baal scooted beside her on the worn-out bench, his arm draping around her with ease. He unfastened the clasp of the small suitcase and lifted the lid. "You see, magic in this world flows through Atua. Specifically—"

"Atua Ma and Atua Na," she interrupted. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they held a world of their own. "The violin's curse is Atua Ma. It's volatile, like a storm inside a bottle. I need Atua Na to subdue it. I need order, command."

Baal's eyebrow arched, and a small smile crept onto his lips. "Spot on. Look here." He motioned toward the suitcase, "Someone utilized Atua Na to create something unpredictable. Your job is to harness that chaotic energy. Like the scent with your nose, the sound with your ears, you see the picture."

Nord sighed, leaning back. "Harness how? Should I chant 'Hocus Pocus bad violinus be no longer brokus' and wave my hands?"

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Not a bad idea, actually."

"Really?"

"No, it is a bad idea," Baal's grin widened. "Close your eyes. Forget about the violin, forget about me—"

"Oh, no! How will I ever," Nord interrupted with sarcasm.

"I know, but humour me, Morningstar," he said, his tone tinged with playful arrogance. Gently, he took her wrists and hovered her hands over the mysterious instruments in the suitcase. "Imagine the aroma of tea or the pre-dawn warmth of the earth. Imagine the texture and how it feels when you grab them. Let those sensations guide you."

Nord's hands trembled above the items, and Baal noticed particles of purple mist seeping from the cursed violin. "You're on the right track," he encouraged, locking eyes with her. Her eyes were voids of concentration, completely white as if she had stepped into another realm.

"Babe?"

The single syllable caught in Baal's chest like a hooked fish; it made him gasp for air. For a fraction of a second, he wondered if she actually remembered him. Could she?

"It's done, Babe," Nord's voice hummed with a thrilled excitement, like the haunting notes of a lullaby. "My plan... it worked! I did it!"

"Indeed, it appears so," Baal's words came out softer than a sigh. He wasn't even sure what he was consenting to. "Nord, do you...?"

"You don't get it, do you? I can see you, Babe. I really can!" Her eyes sparkled like twin galaxies as she lunged to kiss him, her lips colliding with his in an intoxicating rush.

As their lips met, something primal erupted in Baal. It felt like the heavens had opened up after a parched season, satisfying a deep, long-neglected thirst. Pulling her closer, so close that he could feel her heartbeat against his own, a collision occurred.

The forgotten suitcase toppled over, crashing to the ground with a jarring bang and a bad note that echoed through the yard.

Nord blinked away from his embrace as if waking from a dream. As if nothing happened.

"Did it... did it work?" Her eyes flitted over his face, scanning for something—anything—that would reveal what she clearly couldn't grasp.

His gaze darted from Nord's questioning eyes to the upended suitcase, then back to her. His heart thundered, hammering out a rhythm that seemed as new and strange as the expressions crossing her face. "Oh, it worked, Morningstar. You've done something extraordinary here. I just don't... know what."

Her face twisted the excitement clouding over with a flicker of doubt. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, yeah, you slurped the magic out of the violin," Baal's eyes were like lasers, drilling into her, seeking fragments of an explanation.

Nord's eyes fell upon the fallen violin, momentarily distracted. She picked it up, her touch almost reverent. The violin looked different now; it was stripped of its earlier curse, appearing as a simple wooden instrument. Yet it pulsed in her hands as if it held the secrets of the universe.

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and Baal knew. Nord Morningstar somehow outwitted the devil himself - him.