George sat at his desk, a cup of coffee steaming on the table as he flipped through an old tome on possession. It was obviously flawed, if not because he'd tried the exorcisms listed within it to less than stellar results, then because its facts on devils were flat out wrong. George had annotated it many years ago, citing other books and scholars that contradicted this old thing, and he could almost smile as he reread his words in the margins. He remembered how exacerbated he'd been back then, and he'd done a poor job concealing his scorn in his notes.

He took a sip of coffee as he heard a knock at his bedroom door, hurriedly putting it down and wiping his lip before he called for them to enter. He was expecting a servant, possibly his mother, but not Adam. The noble bowed his head at him in greeting.

George instantly relaxed, leaning back in his chair as the noble entered, his eyes tracing the contours of his room. He looks weak, George noted, taking in the circles under his eyes and the white gloves on his hands. Adam's gaze drifted to his desk.

"I see you're reading that old book again." George looked at the tome laying face up beside him. Adam had read many of the books in his library, since he was just as invested in learning everything he could as George was. The cover was hidden, but George was willing to bet he could spy his scribbled notes from his spot standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. He knew them as intimately as George did.

"It's a good read when you need a boost of confidence."

"Oh?"

"It's helpful to think that this scholar could be so famous and still be so wrong," George said. "Maybe there's hope for us after all. You and I could write a whole collection on what rituals don't work." Adam laughed softly, but he still refused to look at him, his eyes roving over the titles on George's bookshelf instead. George fiddled with his hands in his lap, working up the courage to apologize.

"I'm sorry for losing my temper during the moonlight ritual," he said finally, his eyes trained on the ground. He hated admitting that his emotions could get the best of him, even to Adam who had seen it happen so often. If George could remove the human part of him that was making his cheeks flush, he would've ten years ago. It made for an even more devout cleric.

"I shouldn't have said what I did. I was in pain, and angry," Adam admitted, pulling a chair from the corner of the room to sit beside him. George tucked his emotions neatly under the sleeves of his shirt and turned to face him. This close, he could see the weary lines on Adam's face better, and he couldn't stop his brow from furrowing. "I've been thinking about our arrangement lately. We need to talk."

~'~'~

"Absolutely not," Matt huffed as he continued walking past the small sorcerer, pails of water hanging by either side of his body.

"Please! You're the only person in town who puts up with me, and by far one of the strongest!" Brady clicked after him, skipping to keep up even as Matt strained under the weight.

"I can't just leave camp because you want me to, Brady. There are rules and regulations about this. I'm in the middle of my fourth year in training, why would I just leave?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? This could be a matter of life or death."

"Then you need someone more important than a page. Go to the town guard, get real iron on your side." Matt crested a small hill, his calves burning from the trek up it, and was relieved to see the camp come into view. He was put on water duty frequently, but a part of him craved the rigor of the chore. Many people had told him his strength was exceptional, but he'd seen what the older pages had accomplished and found it hard not to compare himself. They'd done as many menial, painful chores as he was doing now, and if he had to follow in their sweaty ass footsteps to be as powerful, he was willing to do it.

"I was lucky to get out of the Hesler manor yesterday," Brady admitted. "They'll kill me if I try to tattle to the town guard about devils whispering in their son's head! Besides, you're worth ten of those guys. I can trust you."

"We hardly know each other." Brady scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes as Matt forged ahead. He'd told Matt about meeting Adam, keeping the details sparce to spare him the boredom, but indulging in what had happened in the lab – talks of devils and evil plans and their idea to thwart it – but somehow Matt thought they were still budding acquaintances.

"I can't believe you'd risk the world because we're not good enough friends." Matt stopped and glanced over his shoulder, his brows knit together in determination.

"I can't just leave camp. I'll be labeled a deserter. I'm sorry." Brady pulled at his sleeve before he could walk away.

"Can I at least ask you to meet with us tomorrow? Maybe we can pull some strings and get you a pass. We need your support, I'm not exactly the picture of strength." Matt sighed, but the weight of the water was becoming overwhelming. He needed to keep walking, so he accepted defeat.

"Fine, I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe then I can talk some sense into the rest of you."

~'~'~

"I've told you already, I'm not going to settle for anything less than a cure," George said, watching Adam shake his head and feeling frustration rise in his chest.

"How many Gods do you follow now? And what has that done to you?" he accused. George tried not to make a disgusted face, but it was familiar work reigning in his emotions. He'd been groomed for perfect, puritanical devotion to six different deities so far. It commanded immense discipline, and sometimes punishment, to be the perfect worshipper. Adam of all people understood the amount of time, pain, and sacrifice he'd put in already, ten years into their partnership with no change in Adam's curse.

"What I do to cure you does not matter," George insisted. "Faith is not a sacrifice–"

"Who are you sacrificing yourself for? Your family?"

"For you!" George caught himself before he continued, biting his tongue to keep it inside his mouth. Adam leaned back at his outburst. This time, his tone was more restrained when he uttered, "For me. For us." His family was a sore subject as he sat in front of Adam, the dangerous rituals his family recommended stuffed into the dark recesses of his desk. Fourteen years ago, when the Heslers had approached the Nattiens seeking a cure and promising a fortune, George's future had been laid out before him. His family's priority had been drilled into him at a young age: end the curse by any means necessary. George had found a slightly different one: putting an end to their misery that ensured a future for both of them. He'd faced too much punishment for being sentimental to stand for Adam accusing him of anything else.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"I want you to stop sacrificing yourself for me." Adam placed his hand on George's knee tenderly, drawing him out of his head. "Brady and I–"

"The street-rat?" George sputtered. "What could he possibly know about our situation?" Adam's dark gaze shut him up.

"I had an episode alone with Brady yesterday. He didn't restrain me, he didn't put me in a cage, and nothing bad happened." George's mouth hung open in disbelief.

"You could've seriously hurt someone," he managed, forging through his shock. "Why didn't you send for me? I could've been there in minutes."

"There wasn't time. Something was different. I heard a voice in my head, he said he was expecting me up north. That he's going to 'set the world to rights.'" George's mind was reeling as he scribbled down notes in his head. Such short notice? A voice? The world? He was ashamed to realize how fascinated he was. Adam continued, "Every time we've restrained me, I've gone ballistic. Every attempt to cleanse me fails. Every cursed thought stuffed into my head is vile. Except for yesterday."

George searched his eyes carefully, but suddenly he wasn't so comfortable with Adam's hand on his knee. It had been a year since Adam last woke up after an episode in a demonic rage, but the terror had never quite left George. Yet somehow, he was in the wrong for restraining the cursed boy . . .

"We're going to go stop whatever it is they have planned."

"We?"

"Me and Brady. I hope you. He's reaching out to a friend as we speak, but I can't do this without you."

"Have you talked to Violet about this?"

Adam hung his head, and George could practically feel the waves of emotions pouring off of him. Later, Adam would admit that he'd gone to Violet about his episode with Brady shortly after he'd been able to walk again. When they were younger, she'd assisted George in treating his episodes, and she always gave her brother much more grace than their parents. They stuffed him down in the basement and buried his screams with stone, so they had begun to forget. He'd heard from his sister how they complained about the days he was ravished by migraines, or too weak after an unexpected episode to host a courtship date. He thought his sister wouldn't forget, but she'd been training to take on the mantle of the family for too long. His family's priority was to cure him as quickly as possible, not to heed cryptic warnings. He wasn't ready to admit all of that yet.

"She told me that my purpose is to get married," Adam said instead, reducing the story to its most essential theme, "not to run around chasing ghost stories." George could almost laugh at the irony as he inspected Adam, the son of devils who shifted into skeletons at any change in the light. All they'd been doing for the past decade was chasing ghost stories.

"You're going to run away," George said softly, and Adam looked up at him.

"Yes. I can't stand still anymore." George sighed, closing his eyes and grabbing his pendant. He silently prayed to Pelor, asking for a clear mind since he was convinced his had been clouded by sentiment.

He stood up and Adam's eyes followed him as he walked over to his bookshelf and scanned the titles. He pulled out a black book and flashed the cover at Adam, who rose and came to stand behind him as he opened it. George flipped through the pages until he came to the entry about "Deamonic Sonnes".

"Lucky for you, my purpose is to chase ghost stories."

~'~'~

George stood at the mouth of the gazebo in Adam's garden, holding his hands behind his back and letting his eyes flick between the two boys in front of him. Brady was sat on the ledge, his cane leaning next to him as he stretched out his leg, staring up at Adam beside him. He had shirked his heavy coat, which George was happy to notice as his personal nurse. He didn't know how much heat Adam could bear today, judging by the fatigue in his limbs.

"I see you got your job done," Brady said to Adam, but he was eyeing George up and down as the cleric stood as far back as possible. George wanted to snap at him to stop it, but he thought that was unbecoming for a noble, so he swallowed it.

"And how did yours go?" Adam took a seat next to him, lowering himself slowly and dusting his gloves off on his pants. Brady sighed and threw his head back.

"The guy is dedicated to his cause, that's for sure. He said he couldn't leave or else he'd be a deserter."

"Who are we talking about?" George asked, his interest piqued.

"Giant kid, a fourth year at the camp on the edge of town," Brady said, and George stepped closer to get out of the harsh sunlight. "He's got a big heart or else he wouldn't be able to stand me. But he values his training more than the world, I guess."

"I might be able to help with the deserter problem," George offered.

"Oh?"

"It's my family's camp." Brady's gaze snapped to him in surprise, then to Adam, and then back to George.

"Camp Nattien– You're George Nattien? Why didn't you tell me you were friends with George Nattien?" He turned an accusing finger to Adam, who looked as confused as George felt.

"I didn't realize that meant something to you. You didn't know who I was, why is George so different?" Brady let a devious smile spread over his face, but he just shook his head.

"I'll let Matt tell you, because we need to get him to come with us." George was uncomfortable letting Brady keep the upper hand over him. Why was his name so familiar when he was a D-list celebrity compared to the Heslers? A few stories popped up in his mind, but he wasn't sure which one of them was the worst. He forced down the thoughts and continued explaining his idea.

"My family has a meeting with the general tomorrow, I might be able to put in a word. It's not unusual for the family to request specific cadets to guard the manor, I could ask for an escort."

"Oh, easy peasy then–"

"But the request is going to take at least a week to process, provided my father actually passes on the message since I'm not invited. We don't have that time." Brady frowned deeply, and George was almost distracted by the disparity in movement from either side of his lips. He could almost convince himself that he was training in the hospital, inspecting a patient.

"Why is a week too long?" Adam asked, and George was glad to switch his attention back to someone more familiar. He interrupted less, that was for sure.

"I don't think we can assume we have any amount of time. Unless you'd like to risk the world by honoring legal protocol." Adam looked down at his feet as Brady started laughing.

"I'm starting to like you, Georgie!"

"Absolutely do not call me that."

"Well, at minimum, I convinced him – his name is Matt, by the way – I convinced him to meet with us tomorrow. Maybe you can drum up some pardon or release form, or . . . " He let his voice drop off and he eyed Adam cautiously. "Maybe we lie to him?"

"You want to lie to one of your only friends?" Adam asked in disbelief. Brady threw up his hands defensively.

"Do you want to save the world or not? Seems like George and I are the dedicated ones, Mr. Bones."

"Absolutely do not call him that," George reprimanded, but he could almost smile at the look of exhausted annoyance on Adam's face. Brady grinned at him.

"What else do we have to convince him with tomorrow?" he asked, leaning back on his hands. George nodded and pulled the satchel slung over his shoulder to his front.

"This," he said, and he pulled out the black book. He came up to Brady's side as he flipped to the same passage he'd shown Adam in his bedroom, pointing to the text scribbled on the page.

"I don't understand," Brady said, squinting. "Is this some kind of story or something?"

"It's a prophecy. Based on what Adam told me about yesterday, I think this might be the most promising lead we have. Maybe this cadet respects fate." He paused as Brady continued reading the passage.

"I don't see why it could be this one over any of the other thousands you've read," Adam countered, ruffling his black hair in the heat. He was sweating in his black fabrics, and George thought it would do him good to spend a few long hours resting inside after this.

"I trust George," Brady said quietly, leaning back as he finished the text. George and Adam turned to him in alarm at his lack-luster energy, and George thought he caught a hint of sorrow creasing his brow. What did he recognize? George wondered, remembering the line that caught in his own memory. Adam glanced between both of them and sighed.

"I've been doing that for years," he said, "and nothing bad has happened to me yet. Let's hope we can convince your cadet as quickly."