Smokewell was the one who made the teams. Lily and Asmod were sent off to check out the temple. The cat made me follow her towards the graveyard. We had been walking in silence for a good while before I decided to clear my throat.

“Seems like a good time to take a sip of water,” Smokewell said.

I sighed and shook my head. “No, I'm not thirsty. I'm just…more worried,” I said.

The cat turned her head. “About what?”

“Two things,” I said, “First, why did you send Lily to find the Eyes. What if she runs into some big trouble? She has still got so much to learn.” That information about Lily's field experience as a witch had come from some internal digging into Old Elsa's memories. And soon as those things had dawned on me, I felt myself grow anxious with worry. I felt the need to look out for her. For a moment, I was unsure if it was the part of Old Elsa in me who was worried or if it was me?

“She has to learn to face and rise above the troubles some day. Especially now that I won't be able to hold her hand all the time.” The cat shrugged. “Also, it's not like I threw her to the wolves completely naked. She has Asmod with her. That man may be short in stature, but there is little that he can't do with those inks and brushes of his. I trust him to protect her if the so-called trouble arrives while not losing his mind with fear himself. However, enough about them.” She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. Her head could turn all the way around like an owl. I almost jumped at the sight. “What's the second thing that worries you?”

I discreetly wiped some sweat off my brow before saying, “The second thing is, why are we going to the graveyard of all places to look for something valuable?”

“Didn't you see where we are?” Smokewell said. “As you said, this is the place that the Malcolms were forbidden from entering. The so-called heaven that the myths written by us mortals depict. Graveyard is where all the good stuff is at.”

I frowned. “I still don't get it. And I mean, I don't get any of it at all even slightly,” I said, “If this is the ‘heaven’ from our myths, why is there a graveyard up here? And why is all the good stuff going to be there of all places?”

Smokewell groaned. “Sometimes I forget no one is as intelligent as I am,” she said. “Oh, what a curse being humble can be sometimes.”

I gave the cat a deadpan glare. “Can you just get to the point already?”

“It's complicated how this place works. And surprisingly, I don't know all of it either,” the cat said, “People in heaven don't die so they don't get buried. But graveyards are places where they bury their impurities.”

“Impurities?” I said.

“This is just a theory.” Smokewell raised a paw. “But the impurities are remains of the mortal world. You ascend to a higher level of existence when you shed such impurities. Sin is an example of impurity. Pride, envy, anger, sloth, greed, gluttony, lust. Sins aren't just imaginary concepts. People manifest them in physical forms. Gluttony is associated with food and drink. Someone who is starving can't be accused of being a glutton. If the sin is manifested in physical form it can also be extinguished in physical form. So how would an actual glutton rid oneself of gluttony?”

By burying or donating all unwanted and unneeded food, I thought to myself. In a graveyard, in this case. “I see.” I nodded.

The cat turned her head again and smirked. “Now you can guess how a greedy person can rid oneself of their greed.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I always thought people had to give up their sins to actually enter heaven.”

The cat scoffed. “And that's why you are far from making the broom fly. The layman's understanding of heaven is as superficial as it can get,” she said, “It's not just the pure and holy who get to enter heaven. You don’t even have to die to enter heaven. Remember, Malcolms used to live here, they were maybe even born here, probably at a very high echelon before they were kicked out. The alleged reason being stealing from their own employer.”

“But they were still kicked out, right?” I said.

“That still doesn't prove anything,” Smokewell said. “We still don't know their entire story. What we do know is that they stole a fortune from the one in charge. And they still know how to access this place. Even if they can't enter here, they can still send people through to do their bidding. Heaven still isn't as infallible as we like to think. But besides that, visiting the graveyard is a precautionary measure,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of precautionary measure?”

“Did you forget Mommy Asmod's urn?” she said. “If death is really involved in the job, it would be better to get it out of the way quickly.”

“You mean since there was only one omen relating to death so we can avoid an actual death by stealing someone's ash from the graveyard or something?” I said.

The cat nodded. “Something like that.”

“Do the omens really work like that? What about cause and effect?” I said.

“I know that cause and effect can be changed. If we can change it, then why not change it to something we want?” The cat shrugged.

I was quiet for a long time before leaning down to face her and grinned. “You are also looking out for Lily by preventing any encounter with death, aren't you?” I said.

The cat bared her claws at me. “Don't get in my face like that or I'll redesign it for you.”

“You might be a scary soul-stealing cat sìth on the outside but deep down, you are just a big fluffy ball of–”

Scratch!

There were three bright red lines on my face. And they burned like fire. I whimpered under its sting.

“You should be grateful I didn't make you bleed,” Smokewell said as she sat licking her paw.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

By the time I was done tending to the cuts on my face, we had arrived at the “graveyard.” And yes, it was the perfect description for that place. It was a field full of concrete tombs which probably held the caskets within. Each tomb was marked with a headstone and the epitaphs all made me curious.

“Here lies Jormyn's wrath.”

“Here lies Nera's past envies.”

“Here lies Viktor's unfinished business.”

“How did you even know about this?” I said, gaping at the sight in front of me. “Is it because you…um kinda are a bit dead yourself?”

The cat scoffed. “Not at all,” she said. “This was from another fable.” She made her way through the aisle between the graves, looking for something specific. “These days fables are just slotted as stories for children. Their original purpose was to spread knowledge, disguised as simple stories. There are fables that tell you about a fallen kingdom that no one talks about and fables about an art of magic that is now forgotten. It's because the kings and sects and covens and government all like to keep these things hidden in secret manuals, the knowledge remains limited. But that's where the genius of fables comes in. They can be passed down orally, they are easy to remember and knowledge is mostly linked to the central theme. When the story reaches the right set of ears or eyes, the knowledge spreads.”

Smokewell hopped onto a particular gravestone and said, “Let’s steal this one,” she said. The headstone read:

Here lies Bartholomew’s greed.

I hesitated. “I get a bad feeling about this,” I said.

The cat gave me an exasperated look. “Why?”

“I mean, this place is heaven and we are…stealing someone's greed,” I said, “I feel like we are going to carry something unwanted with us.”

“Like a curse?” The cat raised an eyebrow.

I nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

“What's gotten into you? We are witches. We are immune to curses. We cast curses. We don't get inflicted upon by them.”

For a moment I was uncertain and then I dug into Old Elsa's memories. Then I said, “What about the incident with Neema Darkstar? Her's is the most infamous of deaths among witches. She died by a curse.”

The cat rolled her eyes. “Neema was cursed by another powerful witch. Not some stupid grave.”

“A stupid grave in heaven!” I said. “Remember, this is the place that can keep even the Malcolms from entering the door?”

“Don't start with the Malcolms again,” Smokewell said. “Just rob this damn grave. We also have to see if Lily and Asmod have stolen the Eyes or not.”

Before I could answer, I heard a whisper.

A chill ran down my spine. I stopped breathing for a second. The cat cocked her head at me. “What happened? You look like you saw something worse than a talking cat that's smarter than you.”

“Did you hear it too?” I said.

“It's only me who has been talking all this time. I didn't hear anything,” Smokewell said.

“No, it was a whisper,” I turned, looking around for the source of the sound. The voice had been soft. It spoke in a language I had never heard before but I could understand it for some reason. I followed the sound.

Smokewell groaned on the headstone behind me. “Elsa, now you're just stalling it. Just pry open this damn grave and let's get out of here.”

“Just give me a second,” I said as I kept looking around. I came to a halt in front of a particular tomb. Smokewell came and stood next to me.

“What did you even hear?” she said.

“Here by the daffodils. That's what I heard.” I gazed at the daffodil flowers blooming around the tomb in front of us. The epitaph read: Here lies Yazara En. “I think we should try this one first.”

Smokewell grimaced. “You had a problem with stealing a grave of greed but you don't mind raiding a grave that has an actual corpse. Your moral compass is truly messed up.”

Truth be told, it wasn't my moral compass that made me want to open the grave. It was the fact that the pentacle tattoo on my palm had started to heat up as I arrived at this spot. “Wait, didn't you say that people don't die in heaven?” I asked.

“They don't,” she said. “This is another kind of impurity.”

I frowned. “You mean…someone left behind their mortal body?”

The cat nodded. “This person probably made some kind of vow or ritual to separate their soul from their body,” she said, “That's basically what I did to get my current form.”

That was probably what the liberation ritual had done to Old Elsa as well–the reason why I was in her body right now. I closed my tattooed palm, the mark was getting warmer and warmer for some reason. “I'm positive about it. Let's dig up this grave first,” I said, “You said we should change cause and effect to get the omen of death out of the way before any of us gets hurt. This is our chance.”

Now it was the cat's turn to frown. “You really aren't getting a bad feeling about this now?” she said.

“That bad feeling earlier was just my moral compass making me uncertain about raiding a graveyard,” I said. “I've made up my mind now.”

“Your moral compass really is messed up,” the cat said again.

I ignored the comment and said, “How do we unseal the tomb?” I asked.

“Open your damn book and find a ritual or something.” The cat shrugged. “I'm not holding your hand everywhere.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. But since she was being this casual about it, I was sure she had taught Old Elsa something that could come in handy at times like these.

I opened my hexonomicon.

****

It took five minutes of flipping through the pages and two minutes of skimming to find what I was looking for. I shut the book and got down to performing the ritual.

Old Elsa's muscle memory seemed to guide me through the process. First I cleansed the area around Yazara's tomb with my broom. Next I carved a pentacle on top of its lid with my knife. And at the centre of the five headed star I carved a container with a lid crumbling away. The picture at the centre of the star was called an ‘emblem’. An emblem was the part that signified the purpose of a ritual. It is what could make or completely mess up the entire ritual.

Next I plucked off a hair from my head. “Ouch.” I set the strand at the centre of the star. This was in order to charge the ritual with power.

Next I put both my hands on the pentacle and then I said my prayer.

“That which obstructs my path shall collapse

“All the barriers, walls and traps

“Whether at night or in the light of day

when I call upon you, you shall clear my way”

A shockwave passed over the lid of the tomb and the thing began to shake. Then the lid exploded under my palms as if it was made of glass.

This was called the dismantling ritual, meant especially for occasions like these.

As the tomb crumbled and the dust settled, the wooden casket within finally came into our view. Smokewell giggled next to me excitedly. “Open the box. Now open it!”

I was about to open the casket when Asmod and Lily arrived at the graveyard. Lily yelled, “We found it! We found the Eyes of Cornelius!”