"Did I come too early?" Sirona's voice broke through the uneasy quiet of the room.

"Sirona?!" Nord's face lit up, a small lifeline in an otherwise sinking ship.

"I received an invite, and I never say no to free food. Where is everyone?" Sirona ambled toward the buffet table, eyes greedily scanning the delicacies spread out.

"I don't think anyone else is coming," Nord admitted, descending the stairs, the chiffon of her gown trailing behind her.

"Can't you do the whooshy-whoosh magic thing to bring them all in? Your invitations did come in a rather original manner," Sirona said, already nibbling on a hors d'oeuvre.

Nord's eyes flickered around the room before settling on Baal. Their gazes locked, and he arched an eyebrow. "You didn't use the key, did you?"

"What key?" Nord stammered.

"The trade key," Baal said, his voice carrying a note of urgency.

"I... I don't think so... I don't know..." Nord felt a sense of disorientation creeping in. She didn't know a spell was required and had no idea which one. The thought of losing another mystical tattoo tightened her stomach into a knot. And then there was this dark, gnawing void starting to fill her from within.

Feed me.

The Hollow's voice broke through her thoughts, a primal urge she hadn't felt before. It was as if a starving animal had suddenly made its presence known, begging to be satiated. The very air seemed to grow heavy, tainted with a malevolent hunger that Nord could feel emanating from her own being.

This was the first time the Hollow had made its desires known so starkly.

Feed me.

The words seemed to echo from the very depths of her being. This was the first time the Hollow had manifested its hunger, and its timing was almost sadistically perfect. Nord's eyes widened, her gaze drifting back to Baal. Could he sense it? The encroaching dark, the insatiable appetite?

"What's wrong?" Baal's voice was tinged with concern, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

"I... I think it is hungry," Nord whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. And in that moment, a shiver ran down her spine—a shiver that wasn't entirely her own.

Baal surged across the room, his shoes thudding on the wooden floor, each step echoing urgency. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her hastily into the adjacent store, slamming the door shut behind them.

His hands cupped her face, his eyes intense, digging deep into her soul as if sifting through her very thoughts. "What do you feel?"

"Hungry," she managed, her voice trembling.

"Okay, okay... We need to feed it. If you use a key, it's going to devour it, and we can't have that, okay? We'll need them," his words were rushed, tinged with worry.

Nord, startled and confused, nodded.

"But you're okay, right?" His eyes continued their frantic search as if trying to discern signs of something Nord herself couldn't comprehend. "Are you feeling pain?"

"It's just whispering that it's hungry. Nothing more. It feels like it's starving. I don't have anything magical... the last time it was the violin... maybe I shouldn't have fed it then."

"Don't worry, I've got some backups." Baal's voice was a low murmur, soothing and yet edged with tension. One hand continued to cradle her face while the other fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out a tiny white object, placing it in her open palm. "It's an Allatori bullet."

"A what now?" Her brows furrowed, puzzled.

"An Allatori bullet—just trust me."

"What should I say? Hocus pocus... something?" she attempted a joke, her voice tinged with nervous laughter, trying to mask her unease.

"No incantations or any of that. It'll do the work."

Her lips parted as if to speak but closed again, swallowing her words. Instead, she sighed, "You're making it difficult to joke about this, you know?"

His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. "I can't let anything bad happen to you. Do you understand?"

"Then why do you sound like the sky's falling?"

"Because I'm scared, Nord. I'm fucking scared."

"Well, that's bloody reassuring, Baal."

"I never said I was good at this comfort thing." He chuckled, a soft rumble in his throat. "It's kind of a curse not being able to lie, especially to you."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Before she could retort, the sensation started—a tingle in her palm that grew into a stream of cold, like a droplet of dew on a leaf. It coursed through her veins, soothing the hunger and filling that chasm of emptiness within her.

For a brief moment, she felt complete—like a missing puzzle piece had finally found its place. Her heart swelled with an unfamiliar feeling, one that straddled the line between happiness and contentment. But the satisfaction was fleeting. She knew it. This inner void was gluttonous, insatiable. It was only a matter of time before the hunger returned.

Still, as she met Baal's eyes—those anchors in the wild storm of her life—she felt a glimmer of hope. And in that fragile, ephemeral moment, it was enough.

Baal's voice gently pierced through her daze. "Nord?"

"I'm fine, really," she assured him, her eyes meeting his as she conjured a frail smile.

He held her wrist, unbuttoning her sleeve with a sense of urgency.

"This key should've been the first you used. How could you forget?"

"Forget?" Her thoughts meandered to the phone filled with videos from her past self. She had understood from the videos that she'd lost memories and knew it had something to do with Baal.

Yet, she couldn't fathom trading away such large swaths of her life that now felt like mere smudges in her mental landscape. "Did something go wrong with our deal?" she accidentally said aloud.

Baal didn’t hear or ignored her question. He finally managed to roll up her sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a hand holding a coin. "This is the Key of Trade. It grants you tokens and respect from those around you. It ensures that there will always be someone willing to trade with you."

"Tokens? Respect?" Nord found herself caught in the intricacy of it all. "And no hocus pocus involved?"

Baal laughed—a fleeting moment of relief amid the tension. "Oh, there's hocus pocus. Each key has its own words. I just can't believe you forgot them."

"So what are these magic words?" Her gaze was steadfast, a challenge veiled in curiosity.

Turning her around, his hands rested gently on her shoulders, mirroring the ritualistic manner they'd engaged in with the Key of Plague. "Ready?"

She nodded, her pulse quickening in anticipation. And a small agonizing thought of knowing another tattoo would be stripped from her skin.

Baal's voice was a mere whisper, intimate and insistent, as he recited, "'Wealth and Riches are in my house...'"

Something clicked inside her, like a lock springing open in the depths of her mind—an echo that reverberated throughout her being.

"Wealth and riches are in my house, and his righteousness endureth forever. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being. - Baal Berith."

Dropping to her knees, her fingers splayed on the wooden floor. It felt cold, real, grounding. Yet from the tips of her fingers, radiant beams of light shot forth—colours of the rainbow arching from Morningstar and blanketing all of Neddingstein.

She stood, not feeling much different. But the air carried the earthy aroma of wet pine, enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

Suddenly, from the salon beyond came a collective gasp—a sound too vast to be just a handful of people.

And then, as if the heavens themselves had orchestrated it, music erupted—a lively blend of guitars and saxophones infusing the Morningstar with a euphoric pulse of life.

Nord grinned, her eyes glinting in newfound clarity. Whatever uncertainties lurked in the shadows seemed momentarily insignificant.

She had tapped into something elemental, as profound as it was mystifying. And though the abyss within her might yearn for more, for now, it was sated, stilled by the weight of a newfound resolve.

Nord Morningstar was a witch, a warlock who had made a pact with the demon lord Baal Berith, who stood next to her absorbing the sound of spectacle, looked at her as if she were the axis upon which the world turned—a fulcrum of mysteries and miracles, spinning ever faster into the unfathomable.

"So, are we still a fiasco?" she asked, her voice a playful taunt.

"Never were," he replied, his eyes shining with something that looked an awful lot like pride.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to suspend as Nord and Baal shared an anticipatory exhale, steeling themselves for whatever lay ahead. Baal opened the door, allowing Nord to step through first, and as she did, a surge of applause crashed over them like a wave.

[https://i.postimg.cc/R0LjsgVG/The-Key-of-Trade.png]

> 'Wealth and Riches are in his house, and his righteousness endureth for ever. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being*’* - Baal BerithIt serves to acquire riches, business, buyers, and to possess much wealth. […]

The salon was packed to the rafters, leaving hardly an empty seat. Faces Nord recognized—from Mayor Paxton to the Ashleys to the neighbourhood pharmacist—were all there. An overwhelming number of people she'd merely crossed paths with had also turned up. The weight of their attention was humbling, almost disorienting.

On stage, an elegant figure held sway over the crowd—a woman resplendent in a shimmering gown, her raven moustache an additional point of fascination and her thick, deep baritone voice. "Ladies and Gentlemen," she boomed, her voice drenched in charisma, "Mme Bougie has the pleasure to present and welcome Miss Morningstar!"

The applause intensified, and Nord felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She'd never been the focus of this much attention, not even at the funeral. The emotion churned within her like a rising tide.

"Ah, but that's enough about me," the woman—Mme Bougie—continued theatrically, adjusting the train of her gown. "Today marks the grand and majestic reopening of the Morningstar! For generations uncounted, this establishment has been the epicentre of magic in all of Nyu! Don't you dare tell Mme Bougie otherwise!"

She paused as if for dramatic effect, her eyes twinkling. "The Morningstars have sacrificed their own blood to satiate the Hollow's endless hunger, keeping the beast at bay. All we can do is show our humble appreciation. But today, ah, today, we have a game-changer!" Mme Bougie extended her arm, pointing directly at Nord and motioning for her to come closer.

"Today, we celebrate not just a change but a saviour, a hero whose exploits will be told for generations to come. Nord Morningstar will not merely silence or tame the monster that lurks below. She will eradicate the Hollow from history itself!"

The room erupted in applause once more, hands clapping, people rising to their feet. Mme Bougie slipped an arm around Nord's shoulders, pulling her close. "But remember, legends are not crafted by a single soul. Every great feat requires support—preparation, ammunition, a plan. So, let's provide Miss Morningstar with all the help she can get. Trinkets, charms, and knickknacks imbued with a touch of magic—to distract the beast until the moment of its ultimate downfall. BANG!"

With a sly wink at Nord, Mme Bougie turned to the musicians standing ready behind her. "Boys, make these walls tremble! Make the Hollow regret to have messed with the wrong Morningstar!"

And then, as if on cue, the band struck the first notes—vibrant, triumphant, and unapologetically alive. The Morningstar seemed to pulse in resonance, each wooden plank, each vintage artefact vibrating to the beat.

As Nord stood there, encased in Mme Bougie's reassuring embrace and awash in a sea of applause, she felt something she never had —a sense of community, purpose, and hope.

She glanced around, looking for Baal, but he was nowhere to be found.