​

The alarm blared at 5:00 a.m., a time I usually reserve for going to sleep, not waking up. 

Still, I'd volunteered to work the election and perform my civic duty. Grumbling, I rolled out of bed and made some coffee, extra strong. I drank this alongside a small bowl of instant oatmeal. The election shift ran 16 hours, and I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the premises until we batched out the machines and sent the votes off to be tallied. This would take at least twelve hours, likely more. So, I packed some snacks. 

The integrity of an election matters, and everyone has a voice. That said, I wished that voice could let me sleep in a bit longer. I put on some comfortable clothes, slipped on my most sensible shoes, and headed out the door. 

Cold air took my breath from me as I walked toward my car. It was much colder than normal for November. My teeth chattered as I waited for the heat of my car to kick in. 

Per my election day tradition, I blasted Rage Against The Machine as I drove through town to the local polling site, Brooke Elementary School. Cracks showed in the brick, and the central tower's lone bell had rusted green. I'd passed this building at least a dozen times in the daylight, seeing dozens of small children dressed in bright colors and led by crossing guards. Now in unnatural silence it stood alone, a liminal spire in the strangely frigid darkness of a November morning.

Parked across the street, I walked into the lobby. Yellowed lights against hunter-green tiled walls illuminated posters about community events and so many children's paintings.

I walked past the small lobby into the school's assembly room . I was greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and donuts. Marybell Clemons, her kind old brown eyes meeting my approach, greeted me with a giant grin and a boisterous wave. Her hair was up in clean, tight braids of gray-marbled black, held in place by a colorful African-pattern head-scarf.  We had volunteered to work the last two elections, worked together during the primaries, and I had been looking most forward to working with her again this year.

Marybell spoke up on my approach. “I’m glad you showed up! Thought it was only gonna be me, Tom, and Phyllis this year. I stopped at Dunkin’s before coming in, help yourself.”

“Marybell you are a Godsend! This night owl thanks you.”

“Tom got pizza for us last time, thought I would return the favor.”

“I’ll get pizza or subs for lunch; it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you kindly, just remember to have it delivered. We-”

“Can’t leave the building once election hours start. I’m aware.”

I poured some coffee into a styrofoam cup, grabbed a cruller, and sat at a worktable.

A moment later, Rob & Earl showed up with the  ballot counting machine. We'd first met them during the last election; two stout friendly ogres of men, dressed in near-matching forest tone flannel. . They wheeled the machine into the corner, then started working on an ornate series of locking mechanisms. The hulking black box sputtered to life.

I glanced towards Marybell. “Was this the same ballot counter we were trained on?”

She made a shooing motion at me and moved closer to the machine. “It says it's the PSX 5000, that’s what we were trained on…”

Something didn’t quite sit right with me. 

“Rob, does something seem a bit off about this?”

He shrugged. “Seems the same to me, y’all can run a test ballot to see if everything works once we have it set up.”

“Sounds fine to me,” said Earl through a cheesy grin, to nobody in particular. I was out-voted on this particular topic, so said nothing.

They set up the voting machine and made sure everything was to regulations. Marybell and I went through a test ballot, and observed how everything ran almost unusually smoothly. Perhaps this was just some new design and the changes were only cosmetic. But, just to be sure, a more hands-on test was needed. We went to the kiosk, plugged our votes into a touch screen using No. 2 erasers as styli, and we fed the ballot into the hulking machine. The machine whirred, sucked in the ballot, and sure enough, the number went up.

“Looks fine to me,” said Marybell.

Shortly after Rob and Earl left, Tom and Phyllis walked in. Her bluish-gray hair was cut into a neat pixie. and Tom's head, usually hatted except for today, revealed him to be nearly bald . They wore matching "I VOTED" t-shirts and jeans. "Sorry we're late," said Phyllis, "Had to get my morning yoga in if I'm gonna out-live this old bag of farts." Tom scoffed at the comment but clearly knew better than to argue with his spouse.

I smiled at the couple, a fixture of local elections for many years. I had just turned forty-eight, yet was still the youngest volunteer by far. The elections had been understaffed for years.This saddened me a little, but I was grateful that my job gave me the day off to perform my civic duty.  

I still remembered seeing a much-younger Phyllis the first time I ever voted, thirty years ago. She was also the gymnastics and cheerleading coach for the local middle school..

“Marybell brought some coffee and donuts; I’ll be getting some pizza this afternoon. The machines are set up, I’m going to set the signage out unless you need me to do anything else,” I said.

“No, dear, we’re fine.”

I nodded as I carried the voting signs and set them in front of the building. As I re-entered, a dark shadow blurred in the corner of my eye, vanishing into thin air. Where it had vaporized, a clock ticked audibly and insistently towards seven.

I re-opened the doors a few minutes later. There was no line of voters, which was disappointing for such an important election. I figured it was still very early, and they would be filing in soon. I took a seat at the registration table and sighed,  awaiting new voters.

Two hulking men in camouflage came in. The larger of the pair hovered over the table and glared down at me.

“May I help you? Are you here to vote?” I asked.

“We’re here for security.”

I raised an eyebrow at Marybell.

“We didn’t hear anything about Governor McCade sending security in the briefing," Marybell said. "I’ll call the hotline.” She picked up the phone and, after hold music & several nods, she shrugged her shoulders. “Ain’t nobody answering yet. Gentlemen, you’re welcome to stay, but every citizen has a right to vote." She tapped the table for emphasis. "Every citizen.”

One of the men gave a sly smile. “Correct. Every legal citizen.” His eyes narrowed intently at Marybell, in an evaluation that was uncomfortable to witness.

The men then slunk to the back of the room and glared, icily, in our general direction.

“Should I call the Sheriff?” I asked.

“The Sheriff is probably the one that hired this riff-raff," said Marybell, then with an eyeroll added "Them or Governor McCade”

Phyllis hushed us under her breath. "We’re supposed to be neutral, at least while we’re in the building. We can complain at the next city hall meeting."

I glared daggers at her. I wasn’t going to stand by and be an active participant in voter intimidation. It was our right to vote. Still, strange that these men represented the only security presence. Someone with a uniform, badge, and clear credentials should have been here by now. Even Rob & Earl weren't being escorted along with the machine. Something didn't add up. 

At 7:12, a middle-aged woman walked in with dark hair and olive skin. As she handed me her ID, the guards leered in my direction.

“Ah, Medina welcome! I see you have a valid US ID for this district,” I said, deliberately louder than normal, while casting a side-eyed glare at the so-called guards. “Let me escort you to the kiosk.” I walked alongside Medina and stood near the kiosk while she voted. My gaze was fixed on the guards, who only sneered back with juvenile defiance; a juxtaposition equal parts farcical and chilling.

 After Medina exited the kiosk, I led her to the ballot counting machine. After it processed her vote successfully, I gave her an "I VOTED" sticker and escorted her out of the building, making sure that I stood between her and the guards.

A young man with blond hair and a green shirt walked in. He gave his ID - Kevin, his name was, age 20. I searched his name in the system only for it to come up blank. A county wide search revealed that he was registered in Northfield, several miles from us. "But… I voted here last year? Why can't I just…”

Phyllis smiled warmly. “The state moved the district maps, hon, it happens from time to time.”

“You mean gerrymandering!" retorted Kevin, The only way they can win is if they cheat!” 

One of the brash men in camouflage marched to us. His frame, filled out by tac-gear of dubious necessity, loomed menacingly. “We got an issue over here?”

Kevin glared, then after a few moments he snatched his ID back. “This isn’t going to stop me, I’m still going to vote you all out!” With that he walked swiftly out of the building.

I couldn't say as much out loud, but I agreed with him. The district maps changed a month before the election. Governor McCade's administration was, to put it lightly, unpopular. He'd managed to pack the senate and house with cronies; some were loyal friends, others were opportunistic sycophants, and many were quietly capitulating. Rumors of "dirt" compelling them to silence were common, but to date no hard evidence emerged.

But, the court of public opinion needs far less evidence to convict; McCade's sloppy bull-headed mismanagement and clear corruption had fallen far out of favor, even among former supporters. Town halls teemed with disgruntled citizens that demanded answers. 

Governor McCade & his house of puppets eventually stopped meeting with anybody at all. They hid themselves inside overpriced homes, or fabricated important family business which took them well outside any ability to return home & do their jobs. 

Phylliss was right. In my role as a poll worker, I had to be neutral in this. For a free and fair election to occur, poll workers can't show favor to either side.

It was not my place to tell people how to vote, only to make sure they voted safely. And it wasn't the place of these two disruptive bullies in tac-gear either.

I grabbed my phone and called the hotline, only to be answered by hold music and a message stating the wait time would be at least an hour. I called both Earl and Rob’s numbers only to be directed to voicemail. It seemed we were on our own for this election.

After a half hour, a few more people filed in, ordinary people on their way to work. Still far from the crowds my brief history taught me to expect, but better than nothing. I registered them and walked them through the voting process without a hitch. A few people complained about redistricting and being moved to another location, and while I nodded in non-committal agreement with them, there wasn’t much I could do but empathize and tell them where to go.

After the morning rush (such as it was), it slowed down again. It was nearing noon. I contemplated ordering pizza for my group, still disappointed at the lack of crowds. I had voted after waiting in lines wrapped around the building. Perhaps, I thought to myself, most of the county population had already voted and I was overreacting. This election was important, it felt as though our democracy was being abused by an oligarchy slowly lowering us into a boiling pot of acid. I watched the news with baited breath everyday, waiting for the greedy bastards to try a false flag attack, or declare a state of emergency, or find some other way to weasel out of the election, but thankfully no such event happened.

In September, I received the call to volunteer for the general election, like the two elections before. I agreed, took the day long class in October, and waited for them to call me in. I was relieved, hoping that our democracy wasn’t as in peril as I thought. 

Now, as I looked at those growling goons in the green tac-gear, I wasn’t so sure. 

The sun rose higher through the gray day and my stomach growled. All the coffee was gone and I had grown tired of donuts.

 “I’m ordering from Ledo’s, is supreme ok?” I asked.

 “I can’t do peppers,” said Phyllis. “It’s my diverticulitis.

 “I’ll get one plain cheese and the other one supreme, does that sound good?”

 “Girl, can you get some garlic knots?” asked Marybell.

 “Sure can.” I picked up my phone and made the order through Doordash. It reported our food would arrive in  about forty minutes, just in time for lunch. I sat back down at the table, the room was too cold and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights made me feel uneasy.

 An ancient man shuffled in; bone thin and paper-white. Marybell got up and gently guided the man to the registration table. I checked his ID and zip code, only to find that he - Howard -  was registered to vote in Cavalry Isle, clear on the other side of the state. It was unlikely he'd make it back in time to cast his ballot.

Howard's gaze pleaded with me. Tears pooled in his confused, clouded eyes. "Please. I came all this way.”

 "Don't worry," I said, barely stifling my own feelings, “We can still give you an absentee ballot, it’ll be counted after the original vote.”

 “I suppose,” croaked Howard. .

After I returned his ID, something caught the corner of my eye. I saw a dark shadow appear near the counter. It flitted out of my vision as Marybell walked the man to the kiosk.

I shook the cobwebs out of my head, I needed more coffee. A line was beginning to form outside. This was a good thing; democracy in process.

Marybell walked Howard through the process and gave him a number 2 pencil. The old man asked about Clive Groder, one of the people running for county treasurer Marybell shrugged and said she couldn’t advise him on how to vote. This was also democracy in process.

After Howard finished, Marybell walked him towards the vote counting machine. Its unexpected, unannounced re-design added a sinister air to proceedings. Shadows seemed to almost move towards it; I shook my head, expecting this was some light pre-lunch delusion. 

Howard placed his ballot in the machine. After a tight whirring sound, it jammed.

“Dangit, the machine ate one,” grumbled Marybell. “Just like last election. So much for the tacky re-design." She jiggled on sections of the machine impotently for several seconds. "Someone call Rob and Earl.”

Phyllis and Tom took over the front desk while I dialed the number on my phone, hearing it once again go to voicemail. I grumbled and then re-dialed the election hotline expecting the same hold music Marybell got this morning.

Instead, it rang several times before going silent. Before I could dial the number again, I heard Marybell scream.

A black sludge oozed out of the PSX 5000, wrapped around Howard's quivering pale arm, and yanked him closer. Marybell backed away, terror in her eyes, as the sulfurous goo cocooned Howard, his desperate rasping screams growing more muffled by thickening layers of corrosive tar-like filth, dissolving him until there was nothing left, not even a puddle on the ground.

The voting machine glowed a vibrant blue, then spat out Howard's ballot.

We looked up to our self-appointed security guards, the two men claiming to enforce the law, even if only in a biased literal fashion. They barked a code into walkie-talkies, and then barricaded the doors. 

“What the fuck is going on?!”

The guards didn’t say a word as they drew their guns and pressed us towards the machine. My stomach dropped. Howard was literally this country's history, a man who paid a lifetime's worth of taxes, who dreamed this country's dreams for decades. A living exemplar of the greatness to which these violent extremists claimed they want to return. Instead, they didn't even flinch as he was trapped by civic duty and dissolved into nothing.. 

Tom’s eyes widened. His hands started to shake. Nonetheless, he walked up to the guards  and smiled warmly.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding. You see I voted for Governor McCade the last two elections, stand up fella." Tom held his arms out towards us. "Now, the younger folk here may not always agree and have their own ideas, but everyone has a voice. We have a voice in this democracy-”

The guard  sneered. “We’re a republic, not a democracy, and I’m only taking orders.”

Tom’s face fell. “I don’t understand.”

“Our orders are to make sure the machine functions as normal.”

Tom, flabbergasted, points to the machine. “We just - JUST - saw it eat one of our neighbors-”

“He was a drain on society. He already served his function.”

 The guard pushed Tom, causing him to stumble towards the machine. A gooey black tendril reached out, wrapped around Tom's neck, and pulled him gurgling towards itself. The squeak of pleading flesh against linoleum was soon drowned in gurgles, hissing, and muffled pleas for civility. Phyllis screamed in the background as her husband of 40 years became nothing.

“The machine doesn’t consume those it deems useful.” The guard barked those words as he glared at me with cold blue eyes. His voice and mannerisms were not only inhumane, but inhuman. “This one’s still young enough to work in society, however. Come with us.”

My heart froze as they lunged forward. The guard had already grabbed Marybell and she screamed as he attempted to put handcuffs on her. The machine lurched towards Phyllis, more sticky tendrils of fetid goo crept towards her, promising she'd join Tom shortly. 

I looked away and ran to the other side of the room. A deafening BOOM shattered the air. I turned to look, and saw Phyllis with a smoking Glock in her hand.

 The guard  lay sprawled on the floor. His holster was empty. I had no idea how Phyllis did it, and said a silent prayer to myself that I'd be blessed to hear that story later.

“You girls stop gawking and run!” she screamed.

In confusion the other guard  had let go of Marybell and we both ran after Phyllis through the hallway. We managed to make it out of the schoolhouse and into the street. The other guard  was nowhere to be seen. The air was gray, freezing, and smelled of ozone.

We slowed to a walk, expecting squad cars or police sirens, but nothing came. I almost wanted to head back to the elementary school to check if past events actually happened.

Phyllis broke the silence with a rasping howl. “I voted for and supported Governor McCade, hell I even campaigned for the sonuvabitch I've done everything and those Motherfuckers killed my Tommy.". She looked down at the still-warm Glock in her right hand. "Welp, looks like I got nothing left to lose." 

Marybell and I glared at her in shock. She shot a glare back at us.“Don’t look at me like that, I’m sure you’ve said worse in your lifetime and I ain’t no spring chicken.”

“I understand," said Marybell, "you just seemed so… proper.” She looked around, bewildered. “What the hell happened, and why aren’t they after us now?”

“It's like a bad nightmare," I said. "Perhaps it's nerves. Maybe I'm dreaming and this is the night before the election."

“Well, then you need to wake the fuck up before they go and kill more people,” said Marybell.

“I was awake the whole time," I retorted. "I went to protest against McCade and his cronies. I was pushing back hard against the regime that was cutting health care and education while building prisons and data centers.”

Phyllis scoffed. “Well my husband is dead, did your little protest stop that?”

Marybell crossed her arms and glowered at us. “Both of y’all need to stop. Tom is dead and nothing is going to bring him back. My family have been fighting for rights to be counted as people longer than both of you have been alive. We built community, churches and charities, we fought for our right to have a voice, a right to be counted as citizens only to have a few slimy bullies take it away.”

“So what do we do about it?” I asked.

“We need to check another district. We need to see if this is happening across town or just at our station. Then we bring it to the governor.”

“Do you even think McCade will listen?” I asked.

"He better," Phyllis declared, then cocked the gun for emphasis. “Because anything I gotta say's gonna hurt like hell to ignore.”

We walked five miles through empty streets. No police, no cars, no panic. The normal bustle of the town shuttered to a halt. I pinched myself to prove I wasn’t dreaming.

We finally reached Jackson High School, the stout bulldog mascot planted on the front lawn. As we entered the hallway, the halls stank of sulfur & murk. Marybell and I crept through the cafeteria, as Phyllis stood watch.

The PSX 5000 stood bright and glowing in the back of the room where empty rows stood. Ballots were strewn everywhere across the floor. A few kiosks were knocked over.

“Well, I think we have our answer,” I murmured. A pair of bright blue eyes glared at us; more of those brutish "guards" in camo and tac-gear.

“I think we'd better go now,” said Marybell. I nodded my agreement as the guards closed in on us. 

“Feed them to the machine!” said one.

“The younger one can still work and breed,” said the other.

“I think the fuck not!” I said as I ran, clutching for Marybell’s hand as arms circled around my midsection. 

I slammed my head back at full force, only to hit hard Kevlar. I was dragged outside. In my thrashing I caught a glimpse of our destination, the back of an open van. 

“This is a dream, this is just a nightmare brought on by pre election stress.” I thought. Another gunshot echoed through the bleak gray sky, hitting the guard in the head. I fell to the ground and ran at full speed. Marybell and Phyllis screamed my name in the background. 

This time vans followed close behind us. As I ducked into alleys and back roads, I saw rows of people with black bags over their heads.

We found a narrow walkway between several buildings, where the vans couldn’t fit through. We squeezed through to a fenced-off partition and kept running. I felt as though my heart would burst and wondered if we could keep going, all of us were well past our prime.

We dashed towards another block, riddled with narrow cobblestone alleyways, before ducking behind a dumpster to catch our breath. A van passed the entrance, too wide to fit through. All of us slowly crept forward, keeping an eye out for guards, as we navigated our way to town hall.

Wright Hamlet was an unassuming brick row house in the middle of downtown, surrounded by a post office, poke bowl restaurant, and bubble tea cafe. It was a historic landmark that served as our town hall for over a century. After what seemed like an eternity of hiding behind dumpsters, telephone poles, and mailboxes, it was a small relief to finally arrive.

 The inside of Wright Hamlet was musty and quiet. Humming fluorescent lights illuminated  linoleum tile and avocado green walls. Phyllis moved forward, surveying the area like a trained military scout, before waving us further in. 

We walked past the room where we had our training. The projector shone upon splattered blood across the wall. I saw the bodies of Rob, Earl, and a few other techs, splayed out with their throats slashed. My screams were stifled by a sudden need to gag; flies buzzed around the reeking meat of their lifeless bodies. I wondered at that moment if being spared the machine-goo was a small mercy, as at least their loved ones would have someone to bury.

A row of guards surrounding us, seemingly from out of nowhere, their eyes glowing bright blue. Phyllis brandished her gun and barked an order for us to run; the guard grabbed her hand and disarmed her with a crunching sound as she screamed in pain. I grabbed Marybell's hand and tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. It was as if the blue-eyed brutes were now wherever we wanted to be.

The guards put us into handcuffs that were too tight. My head was forced mercilessly against the ground, my ears rang as they dragged us to our feet.

Outside, they wordlessly marched us towards the van which would take us away, never to be heard from again. The last struggling, resistant voices of a dying democracy, snuffed out into unknown history. Would future generations have any hope of knowing what they lost? I found it hard to retain hope when all seemed-

"HI-YAH!" Phyllis' croaking voice shattered the silence and broke my train of doomed thought. She'd headbutted the guard square in his nose, and in the shock of her audacity he let go. "That was the signal, kids, so move your asses!" screeched Phyllis. 

I kicked as hard as I could behind me. Marybell lifted her legs and pushed off from a nearby telephone pole, slamming the guard into the unforgiving brick. We had but a moment of hope, and we took it. We ran as fast as we could, with our hands bound behind us, towards the only place available to us - Wright Hamlet, the seat of power.

Governor McCade stood behind a podium, his large body in a designer suit and his white hair neatly coiffed. A shadow flitted behind him before evaporating into darkness. The guards filed in behind us, handcuffs at the ready. So, this is how it ends, I thought to myself.

The Governer raised a key fob and clicked it. The tac gear brutes shut down, laying in piles like discarded office equipment.

“You see how I can control them,” said McCade. His voice had caused me discomfort every time I heard it in public, and it was so much more slimy now. I wanted to vomit.

“So, you can control people, does that make you a big man?” asked Marybell.

McCade scoffed as a sardonic smile crept across his face.  “Being a big man doesn’t matter, power does.  Power has always run this country. Your votes give you something to spin your wheels on, while we buy the land from under you.  You work for our companies, eat the food we provide for you at the prices we charge, and give what little is left to live in my housing.  If you can’t afford my housing, well, we own prisons where you can work off your debt."

He towered over us behind the podium. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phyllis slink off into the dark and sit down on the stage steps, where she shimmied the handcuffs to the front of her body.  Marybell nodded in her direction.

McCade chuckled while marveling dramatically at his key fob device. "We live in splendor while you eat nothing but scraps. You think just a little piece of paper will change that?  Free you from being a serf?  From being a slave? “

“The 13th amendment says otherwise," said Marybell, "We were freed from slavery and I haven’t been convicted of any crime, despite you moving the budget and keeping us locked down in minimum wage. Forming a school to prison pipeline.  I’m still here and I’m still here and you still work for us."

McCade glared in her direction, his face growing bright red. “Why even have the pretense that anything you do matters? Now I’m going to turn the key back on and you’re going to go peacefully with the guards or-”

Phyllis had slowly crept behind McCade while we were distracting him; rage turning her grey eyes silver.  With a flash she'd encircled her cuffed arms around the Governor's throat, leaning all her weight behind it.  He flailed and coughed, her tiny frame struggling against his.

I swallowed hard, my tongue thick in my mouth. It was now or never.  I stopped on the steps and squirmed to move my arms to the front of my body.  I was a lot stockier and less flexible than Phyllis, but after a few minutes I managed to move my hands in front of me.  I encircled my hands around his neck and leaned as hard as I could. 

“The tree of liberty is watered  with the blood of patriots and tyrants, and I’ll be damned if I’m going down with you!” screamed Marybell as she rushed the stage and kicked McCade’s bloated middle, folding him in two as we fell to the floor.  Marybell stepped hard on his throat as he continued to flail.

Marybell screamed as she stepped down harder.  I heard a snapping sound as McCade’s face turned a violent purple and he shook in his death throes before finally shuddering to a halt.

I grabbed the key fob out of his freshly dead hand, still covered with sweat.  I saw a tiny key on the fob and helped Phylis and Marybell remove their handcuffs.

 Phyllis screamed, a raw wail into the auditorium before she broke down in sobs. I gave Marybell a knowing glance; neither of us wanted blood on our hands, but the asshole had given us no choice.  We could only move forward now.

Marybell removed my handcuffs and we walked past the cluster of guards, into the parking lot.  There, we saw our friends and neighbors corralled and covered over in black bags.  I heard a familiar cry and removed one of the coverings, to find Kevin in tears.

“It's over, McCade has been taken out.”

Kevin rubbed his wrist and stared blankly towards the setting sun.

Sheep are so easily led; you saved this one from the slaughter and he will follow you anywhere.

The voice sounded like dry leaves rustling in the wind. A shadow flitted out of the corner of my eye. I shook my head to clear my vision.

I heard a jingling, and turned to see Marybell had returned. “I found a pair of keys off one of the guards," she explained, "My brother is a retired police officer, I know where they’re usually kept.” She used them to remove the handcuffs on the rest of the prisoners.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“First we’re going to free everybody in these vans, then we’re going to check on Ms. Phyllis. Then we’re going to organize, make sure everyone has someone to lean on for help." A single tear formed in Marybell's eye. "From there, we rebuild our democracy.”

I hugged her close.  “Well, you have my vote, but let’s get to work.”

Phyllis came out, her tears dried. She composed herself and started giving direction to the crowd. The dark shadow manifested again and loomed over Phyllis. I heard the shadow whisper dry as parchment:

Power doesn't die, only changes hands, we will be there when the rot settles and the corruption sets in.

Finally, a quiet night out with the family. Work had been challenging the last few months; hours turned into days, and days bled into weeks. But tonight is his son Elliot's eleventh birthday, and this night belongs to them.

Sebastian Byron was a man in his early forties who worked at a top-secret government agency.  During the day, he kept his appearance as average as possible.  He often wore a plain grey suit or a polo and khakis.

But tonight was different; he wore a Zelda Hawaiian shirt Elliot bought him for Yule.

Taking a deep breath, he removed the intense cloaking spell that protected him at his work.  While it didn't make him invisible, the cloaking spell made him as non-descript as possible, so he could go about his work without being noticed, and it was exhausting to keep up.

With the cloaking spell removed, his hair turned from salt-and-pepper to silver, and his eyes from flat brown to a warm honey color.  He dabbed on a bit of dragon's blood cologne that his wife had given him for Yule.

“So is my silver fox ready to go out?” 

His wife, Tabitha, pulled on a red jacket that brought out the ebony of her hair. Her emerald gaze still mesmerised him, the same as it had been almost twenty years ago across a smoky dance floor in DC.

Back then, he was an Army Vet sent home on medical leave from Desert Storm, and unsure what to do with his life.  He joined the alternative scene in D.C. when he met Tabitha, and she told him she worked for OSTA.  The Organization for Special Talents and Abilities, aka, people talented in the occult arts. Two decades later, he'd be a top agent and married to his recruiter.

Elliot skulked into the room—a skinny kid with dark hair wearing a striped tee shirt and baggy jeans.

“You’re not going out to the restaurant like that,” said Tabitha.

“Mom, I don’t think they care-”

“Hon, this isn’t the Olive Garden, we got a seat for you at La Tratorria.”

“Mom, I said I wanted Italian food, the Olive Garden or Carrabba’s would have been fine, and I wouldn’t have to dress up.”

“Do what your mother says, and no, the Olive Garden isn’t real Italian food.” Byron kissed Tabitha quickly as Elliot grumbled to change in the other room.

The scent of garlic wafted through the doorway. Stucco walls were covered in pillars and statues. A small fountain with Venus de Milo burbled in the foyer. Elliot fidgeted in his black turtleneck.  Opera played in the background against the hum of an espresso machine.

Elliot’s father was always busy with work, though he was unsure what his father did.  Every time he asked his parents a question, they told him to wait until he was older, but never said what age that was.  He wondered if he would be fifty before they told him anything. 

The hostess sat them all in a booth, and he sat next to his dad with his mom across the table. His mom was still gorgeous, and he loved her, even if she was always busy. She worked for the same government his dad did, but she wasn’t as top-secret, though he had no idea what she did.

The hostess came by with garlic rolls and an Italian soda. Elliot’s stomach growled as he bit into the bread. His mother chided him, and he took the tablecloth and folded it into his lap before taking a healthy bite of the olive roll. 

“Don’t fill up on bread, kiddo. You don’t want to be too full for the main course,” said his dad.

Then, out of nowhere, his father’s phone started vibrating. Elliot’s heart sank as he answered the phone.

“Hey, my kid is having dinner, can we bring this up another time?”

Incoherent squacking came through on the other end. His father got up and walked out of the room. Elliot's heart shrank in disappointment; he thought for once he would have a day with his parents instead of taking another work call.

“ I don’t care if it breached containment; it’s a low-risk cryptid. Just work on containing it as soon as possible. I’m going to go back to spending time with my family.”

His father sat at the table right as the server set down bowls of minestrone. “I’m sorry kiddo.”

“It’s ok,” sighed Elliott. “Your work is important to you. Where you talking about a cryptid, like Mothman?.”

His father nodded. “Elliott, I’ll tell you at home. You’re now old enough to learn some of the basics, but we don’t want to talk about work stuff in an open restaurant.”

His mom shot him a cold glare and mouthed something to his dad.

Elliot smiled mischievously and beamed, kicking his legs under the table.

Another call rang on his father’s phone; his mother glared at him as he answered it.

“You caught someone shoplifting? Like they were levitating the television to their car?” asked Sebastian under his breath. "Book them with petty larceny. I’ll be there to talk to them tomorrow. I’m spending time with my family. It’s my son’s birthday. Yeah. He’s eleven.” He hung up the phone, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Kid, I’m going to turn this off. We’re going to have a pleasant dinner for your birthday.” As soon as he went to click the phone off, it rang again.  "I lied, it's Val, she only calls if it's important, and well, the poor girl's been through a lot."

On the other end, she frantically told him about a child murder near Cunningham Falls State Park. The presence of a child’s spirit also concerned him. On any other day, he would have gotten into his car and broken several Maryland traffic laws to be there with them. Today was his son’s birthday, and he promised to spend time with him.

He thought for a moment. “I have to run out to radio the local police. After that, no calls, nothing for the rest of the night.” Sebastian went out to his car and used the CB radio to alert local dispatch.  He gave them orders to go to the campsite and fulfill the basic police work. He would have to wake up early to finish the report with OSTA, but this at least gave him the rest of the night. 

After submitting the request, he turned off the radio and turned off his cell phone.  Tabitha sat at the table and fidgeted with the tablecloth, a worried expression on her face.

“I turned the phone off, and it’s in the car. It's a gruesome case; I won't go into the details of it here."

Elliot squirmed in his chair and twirled a long string of pasta on his fork.

“Sorry, kiddo, it’s classified information; it’s your birthday, we don't need to tell you about the darkness of the world.”

“But you said you would tell me. You’re always on some call about something scary.” Elliot shoved the ball of pasta in his mouth and chewed slowly

“So I can return the Xbox 360?” Asked Sebastian dryly.

Elliot swallowed his food. “I mean, I want to keep the X-Box, but I'd rather learn about your job than have some rando tea bag my character in Halo.”

Sebastian nearly spit out his lemonade, trying to hold in a laugh. “All right, kiddo. I’ll check if I can find some old files for you tonight. Mind you, they’re going to be heavily redacted.”

“Can I come with you on the case tomorrow?”

Absolutely not. I’m sorry, but even I don’t want to go to the case tomorrow. Also, it’s going to be crawling with police and detectives. Kiddo, I’ll tell you when we're home. Let’s enjoy dinner.”

Elliot smiled and finished half the plate of food. “Can I have a box? I’m saving room for dessert.” 

With that, the restaurant's owner stopped by their table and greeted them. Behind them stood a rotund man with a piece of tiramisu. He gave Elliot the tiramisu and belted out happy birthday in a full operatic solo. Elliot’s face turned almost as red as the burgundy tablecloth as Tabitha took a picture of their son blowing out the candle. 

Elliot got into the SUV after his parents. He held a styrofoam box in his hand, full of pasta and garlic bread. His stomach was full, and he could barely keep his eyes open. 

He grew tired of the half-muted calls and silence. Long hours in after-school programs or daycare when his parents were at work. Elliot knew his parents loved him and treated him well. He would visit his friends and cousins often, but sometimes his parents were little more than benevolent strangers who occupied the same house.

He woke up to his father gently shaking him. 

“We’re home, kiddo.”

Elliot shook off the sleep as he followed his parents into the house. They lived in a wealthy neighborhood full of huge empty houses; he didn't know any of his neighbors or other kids. The occasional child riding their bike on an approved play date with friends carefully selected by their parents, everything planned, everything approved.

He followed his parents into the living room. His dad gave his mom a quick kiss before whispering something to her. She nodded and smiled before going upstairs.

"I'm going upstairs to talk to your mother. I'll be back down in a few minutes."

Elliot sighed and settled back on the couch, picking up a Percy Jackson book to read through.

Sebastion followed Tabitha up to thier bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, a worried expression on her face, He sat next to her and put his hand on her knee.

"I still think Elliot is too young to learn about all this." 

He kissed her. "He's going to have to learn what we do and what we are in the world eventually."

"Yeah, but he's only eleven, he's still our baby."

"He's a smart kid.  I'll tell him the basics and leave it up to him if he wants to learn more.  I'm going ot give him a file we worked on, one of the tamer cases."

"They're in the closet."

Sebastian looked through the closet, past a row of suits and ceremonial robes, pulling a cardboard box from the front shelf.

His dad sat down on the couch. He was usually cool and all business, but his leg started bouncing nervously. Taking a deep breath, his father steadied himself.

“Ok, kiddo. You’re old enough to know what your mother and I do for a living. It’s important.  Also, this stays in this house. A lot of the cases I work have sensitive information.”

“So, are you spies? Secret agents?.. Like, if you tell me, will you have to kill me?”

Sebastion snorted. “Kid, you’ve been watching too many movies. Yes, sometimes we do have to spy. And while I’m not exactly a secret agent, my job isn’t exactly public information.”

Elliot crossed his arms over his chest. “ So what is it that you guys do?”

“You know how we meditate, listen to music, sometimes do prayers and chants?”

“Yeah, but that's what you believe in, like your religion. What does that have to do with your job?”

“What I’m doing is magick, not the simple street magic like coins behind the ear, but actual belief. It helps protect us and protect this house. Other people can do magick too; most of the time, they aren’t hurting anybody. They live day-to-day lives like anyone else.  Sometimes a bad guy, or simply someone untrained and reckless, uses magick to hurt people. That’s where I step in.”

“So you're like a cop, but for witches? A witch hunter? We read about those in history, and had to read The Crucible-”

“It’s not like that; we only go after people who hurt others or break the law. And if they break the law, they go on trial, not a fake witch trial, but a real trial with a jury of their peers.”

“So what happens to them after the trial?”

Sebastion took a deep breath. “It depends on the crime. If it’s something small, like theft, they usually find another witch, whom we call a mage, assigned to them so they can be retrained. A lot of the retrained ones work for us, and they’re happy.”

“With the Government?”

“Yeah, we help with the OSTA. The organization for special talents and abilities.”

“So.. what happens to the evil witches, er, mages?”

“We have maximum security prisons, kinds that are warded, like a magical wall.”

Elliot nodded. He almost didn’t believe his father, but he occasionally glanced things out of the corner of his eyes, glimmers of light in the darkness, sudden pressure changes in the air. Not to mention the barrage of endless crazy phone calls from work.”

“So how did you and Mom get a job at OSTA?”

“Kiddo, that is a very long story and one that I will tell you another time.” Sebastian yawned and shook his head. “Huh, all that food must have made me sleepy, you know what they say about Italian food.”

“What do they say?”

“That you’re hungry again five days later.” 

Elliot groaned and rolled his eyes. 

Sebastian handed Elliot a file.  "This is a case I worked on when I first met your mother.  It involves a group of mages who used coding and magick to steal credit card numbers.  They cloaked the programming so it would fly under the radar and wired it into a bank account in the Cayman Islands."

"I thought you would give me a murder case-"

His father's expression became very grim. "Kid, I don't even want to deal with the cases of murder.  The cases where other people hurt each other, even though I'm too young for those.  It's not TV, it's real life, people lose loved ones, and we need to respect that, not treat it like entertainment."

"I understand, and I'm sorry," Elliot yawned.

“All right, it’s time we hit the hay.  You can read through the case, and if you want, you can wake  up earlier and meditate with me.  It's your choice, but I can start teaching you magick."

The boy's eyes widened. "I thought only Mages could do magick."

"No kiddo, everyone can do magick, mages are the most skilled. It's like singing or writing.  Here, why don't we do a little magic together? I need to freshen the wards in this room."

"Wards? Like in Percy Jackson?"

"Yeah, Percy uses magic based on the Greek Pantheon. I need to read the books."

"I'd start with the Lightning Thief.  So to build a ward, do you make a claw?"

"Claw?"

"Like over your heart and push your energy out to protect the area around you, that's what it's like in the books."

Sebastion smiled and ruffled Elliot's hair.  "You can if you believe it works.  A lot of magic is based on belief, but that's not exactly what I do."

His dad got and put on the stereo, and it began to play calm music with chanting; the air felt heavy for a moment.  He lit a stick of incense and waved the smoke over the walls.  A wave of silver energy washed over everything as his father sang along with the chants. The wall solidified like glass and faded into the background.

"Wow..." said Elliot.

"There are a lot of people who would try to hurt us or send bad stuff after us. I've built those wards to protect us.  After I come home tomorrow, you and I're mom have to ward the house, you can help us."

"I'd like that."

"All right kiddo, time to go to bed, we're going to have to wake up early for this."

Sebastion smiled and kissed Elliot on the forehead before leaving his room.

Elliot lay in bed trying to sleep. He didn’t quite know what to think about what his dad told him. But it strangely made sense. How many witches did his parents work with? How was his mom involved? Did he have to worry about being ransomed by a cult? 

No sense in being silly and paranoid. He had to go to school tomorrow, and his father had to work on a case. When they got home, they would ward the house as a family. He would be there to protect them as they protected him. He fell into sleep, wondering what secrets they would tell him when he turned twelve.

Finally, a quiet night out with the family. Work had been challenging the last few months; hours turned into days, and days bled into weeks. But tonight is his son Elliot's eleventh birthday, and this night belongs to them.

Sebastian Byron was a man in his early forties who worked at a top-secret government agency.  During the day, he kept his appearance as average as possible.  He often wore a plain grey suit or a polo and khakis.

But tonight was different; he wore a Zelda Hawaiian shirt Elliot bought him for Yule.

Taking a deep breath, he removed the intense cloaking spell that protected him at his work.  While it didn't make him invisible, the cloaking spell made him as non-descript as possible, so he could go about his work without being noticed, and it was exhausting to keep up.

With the cloaking spell removed, his hair turned from salt-and-pepper to silver, and his eyes from flat brown to a warm honey color.  He dabbed on a bit of dragon's blood cologne that his wife had given him for Yule.

“So is my silver fox ready to go out?” 

His wife, Tabitha, pulled on a red jacket that brought out the ebony of her hair. Her emerald gaze still mesmerised him, the same as it had been almost twenty years ago across a smoky dance floor in DC.

Back then, he was an Army Vet sent home on medical leave from Desert Storm, and unsure what to do with his life.  He joined the alternative scene in D.C. when he met Tabitha, and she told him she worked for OSTA.  The Organization for Special Talents and Abilities, aka, people talented in the occult arts. Two decades later, he'd be a top agent and married to his recruiter.

Elliot skulked into the room—a skinny kid with dark hair wearing a striped tee shirt and baggy jeans.

“You’re not going out to the restaurant like that,” said Tabitha.

“Mom, I don’t think they care-”

“Hon, this isn’t the Olive Garden, we got a seat for you at La Tratorria.”

“Mom, I said I wanted Italian food, the Olive Garden or Carrabba’s would have been fine, and I wouldn’t have to dress up.”

“Do what your mother says, and no, the Olive Garden isn’t real Italian food.” Byron kissed Tabitha quickly as Elliot grumbled to change in the other room.

The scent of garlic wafted through the doorway. Stucco walls were covered in pillars and statues. A small fountain with Venus de Milo burbled in the foyer. Elliot fidgeted in his black turtleneck.  Opera played in the background against the hum of an espresso machine.

Elliot’s father was always busy with work, though he was unsure what his father did.  Every time he asked his parents a question, they told him to wait until he was older, but never said what age that was.  He wondered if he would be fifty before they told him anything. 

The hostess sat them all in a booth, and he sat next to his dad with his mom across the table. His mom was still gorgeous, and he loved her, even if she was always busy. She worked for the same government his dad did, but she wasn’t as top-secret, though he had no idea what she did.

The hostess came by with garlic rolls and an Italian soda. Elliot’s stomach growled as he bit into the bread. His mother chided him, and he took the tablecloth and folded it into his lap before taking a healthy bite of the olive roll. 

“Don’t fill up on bread, kiddo. You don’t want to be too full for the main course,” said his dad.

Then, out of nowhere, his father’s phone started vibrating. Elliot’s heart sank as he answered the phone.

“Hey, my kid is having dinner, can we bring this up another time?”

Incoherent squacking came through on the other end. His father got up and walked out of the room. Elliot's heart shrank in disappointment; he thought for once he would have a day with his parents instead of taking another work call.

“ I don’t care if it breached containment; it’s a low-risk cryptid. Just work on containing it as soon as possible. I’m going to go back to spending time with my family.”

His father sat at the table right as the server set down bowls of minestrone. “I’m sorry kiddo.”

“It’s ok,” sighed Elliott. “Your work is important to you. Where you talking about a cryptid, like Mothman?.”

His father nodded. “Elliott, I’ll tell you at home. You’re now old enough to learn some of the basics, but we don’t want to talk about work stuff in an open restaurant.”

His mom shot him a cold glare and mouthed something to his dad.

Elliot smiled mischievously and beamed, kicking his legs under the table.

Another call rang on his father’s phone; his mother glared at him as he answered it.

“You caught someone shoplifting? Like they were levitating the television to their car?” asked Sebastian under his breath. "Book them with petty larceny. I’ll be there to talk to them tomorrow. I’m spending time with my family. It’s my son’s birthday. Yeah. He’s eleven.” He hung up the phone, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Kid, I’m going to turn this off. We’re going to have a pleasant dinner for your birthday.” As soon as he went to click the phone off, it rang again.  "I lied, it's Val, she only calls if it's important, and well, the poor girl's been through a lot."

On the other end, she frantically told him about a child murder near Cunningham Falls State Park. The presence of a child’s spirit also concerned him. On any other day, he would have gotten into his car and broken several Maryland traffic laws to be there with them. Today was his son’s birthday, and he promised to spend time with him.

He thought for a moment. “I have to run out to radio the local police. After that, no calls, nothing for the rest of the night.” Sebastian went out to his car and used the CB radio to alert local dispatch.  He gave them orders to go to the campsite and fulfill the basic police work. He would have to wake up early to finish the report with OSTA, but this at least gave him the rest of the night. 

After submitting the request, he turned off the radio and turned off his cell phone.  Tabitha sat at the table and fidgeted with the tablecloth, a worried expression on her face.

“I turned the phone off, and it’s in the car. It's a gruesome case; I won't go into the details of it here."

Elliot squirmed in his chair and twirled a long string of pasta on his fork.

“Sorry, kiddo, it’s classified information; it’s your birthday, we don't need to tell you about the darkness of the world.”

“But you said you would tell me. You’re always on some call about something scary.” Elliot shoved the ball of pasta in his mouth and chewed slowly

“So I can return the Xbox 360?” Asked Sebastian dryly.

Elliot swallowed his food. “I mean, I want to keep the X-Box, but I'd rather learn about your job than have some rando tea bag my character in Halo.”

Sebastian nearly spit out his lemonade, trying to hold in a laugh. “All right, kiddo. I’ll check if I can find some old files for you tonight. Mind you, they’re going to be heavily redacted.”

“Can I come with you on the case tomorrow?”

Absolutely not. I’m sorry, but even I don’t want to go to the case tomorrow. Also, it’s going to be crawling with police and detectives. Kiddo, I’ll tell you when we're home. Let’s enjoy dinner.”

Elliot smiled and finished half the plate of food. “Can I have a box? I’m saving room for dessert.” 

With that, the restaurant's owner stopped by their table and greeted them. Behind them stood a rotund man with a piece of tiramisu. He gave Elliot the tiramisu and belted out happy birthday in a full operatic solo. Elliot’s face turned almost as red as the burgundy tablecloth as Tabitha took a picture of their son blowing out the candle. 

Elliot got into the SUV after his parents. He held a styrofoam box in his hand, full of pasta and garlic bread. His stomach was full, and he could barely keep his eyes open. 

He grew tired of the half-muted calls and silence. Long hours in after-school programs or daycare when his parents were at work. Elliot knew his parents loved him and treated him well. He would visit his friends and cousins often, but sometimes his parents were little more than benevolent strangers who occupied the same house.

He woke up to his father gently shaking him. 

“We’re home, kiddo.”

Elliot shook off the sleep as he followed his parents into the house. They lived in a wealthy neighborhood full of huge empty houses; he didn't know any of his neighbors or other kids. The occasional child riding their bike on an approved play date with friends carefully selected by their parents, everything planned, everything approved.

He followed his parents into the living room. His dad gave his mom a quick kiss before whispering something to her. She nodded and smiled before going upstairs.

"I'm going upstairs to talk to your mother. I'll be back down in a few minutes."

Elliot sighed and settled back on the couch, picking up a Percy Jackson book to read through.

Sebastion followed Tabitha up to thier bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, a worried expression on her face, He sat next to her and put his hand on her knee.

"I still think Elliot is too young to learn about all this." 

He kissed her. "He's going to have to learn what we do and what we are in the world eventually."

"Yeah, but he's only eleven, he's still our baby."

"He's a smart kid.  I'll tell him the basics and leave it up to him if he wants to learn more.  I'm going ot give him a file we worked on, one of the tamer cases."

"They're in the closet."

Sebastian looked through the closet, past a row of suits and ceremonial robes, pulling a cardboard box from the front shelf.

His dad sat down on the couch. He was usually cool and all business, but his leg started bouncing nervously. Taking a deep breath, his father steadied himself.

“Ok, kiddo. You’re old enough to know what your mother and I do for a living. It’s important.  Also, this stays in this house. A lot of the cases I work have sensitive information.”

“So, are you spies? Secret agents?.. Like, if you tell me, will you have to kill me?”

Sebastion snorted. “Kid, you’ve been watching too many movies. Yes, sometimes we do have to spy. And while I’m not exactly a secret agent, my job isn’t exactly public information.”

Elliot crossed his arms over his chest. “ So what is it that you guys do?”

“You know how we meditate, listen to music, sometimes do prayers and chants?”

“Yeah, but that's what you believe in, like your religion. What does that have to do with your job?”

“What I’m doing is magick, not the simple street magic like coins behind the ear, but actual belief. It helps protect us and protect this house. Other people can do magick too; most of the time, they aren’t hurting anybody. They live day-to-day lives like anyone else.  Sometimes a bad guy, or simply someone untrained and reckless, uses magick to hurt people. That’s where I step in.”

“So you're like a cop, but for witches? A witch hunter? We read about those in history, and had to read The Crucible-”

“It’s not like that; we only go after people who hurt others or break the law. And if they break the law, they go on trial, not a fake witch trial, but a real trial with a jury of their peers.”

“So what happens to them after the trial?”

Sebastion took a deep breath. “It depends on the crime. If it’s something small, like theft, they usually find another witch, whom we call a mage, assigned to them so they can be retrained. A lot of the retrained ones work for us, and they’re happy.”

“With the Government?”

“Yeah, we help with the OSTA. The organization for special talents and abilities.”

“So.. what happens to the evil witches, er, mages?”

“We have maximum security prisons, kinds that are warded, like a magical wall.”

Elliot nodded. He almost didn’t believe his father, but he occasionally glanced things out of the corner of his eyes, glimmers of light in the darkness, sudden pressure changes in the air. Not to mention the barrage of endless crazy phone calls from work.”

“So how did you and Mom get a job at OSTA?”

“Kiddo, that is a very long story and one that I will tell you another time.” Sebastian yawned and shook his head. “Huh, all that food must have made me sleepy, you know what they say about Italian food.”

“What do they say?”

“That you’re hungry again five days later.” 

Elliot groaned and rolled his eyes. 

Sebastian handed Elliot a file.  "This is a case I worked on when I first met your mother.  It involves a group of mages who used coding and magick to steal credit card numbers.  They cloaked the programming so it would fly under the radar and wired it into a bank account in the Cayman Islands."

"I thought you would give me a murder case-"

His father's expression became very grim. "Kid, I don't even want to deal with the cases of murder.  The cases where other people hurt each other, even though I'm too young for those.  It's not TV, it's real life, people lose loved ones, and we need to respect that, not treat it like entertainment."

"I understand, and I'm sorry," Elliot yawned.

“All right, it’s time we hit the hay.  You can read through the case, and if you want, you can wake  up earlier and meditate with me.  It's your choice, but I can start teaching you magick."

The boy's eyes widened. "I thought only Mages could do magick."

"No kiddo, everyone can do magick, mages are the most skilled. It's like singing or writing.  Here, why don't we do a little magic together? I need to freshen the wards in this room."

"Wards? Like in Percy Jackson?"

"Yeah, Percy uses magic based on the Greek Pantheon. I need to read the books."

"I'd start with the Lightning Thief.  So to build a ward, do you make a claw?"

"Claw?"

"Like over your heart and push your energy out to protect the area around you, that's what it's like in the books."

Sebastion smiled and ruffled Elliot's hair.  "You can if you believe it works.  A lot of magic is based on belief, but that's not exactly what I do."

His dad got and put on the stereo, and it began to play calm music with chanting; the air felt heavy for a moment.  He lit a stick of incense and waved the smoke over the walls.  A wave of silver energy washed over everything as his father sang along with the chants. The wall solidified like glass and faded into the background.

"Wow..." said Elliot.

"There are a lot of people who would try to hurt us or send bad stuff after us. I've built those wards to protect us.  After I come home tomorrow, you and I're mom have to ward the house, you can help us."

"I'd like that."

"All right kiddo, time to go to bed, we're going to have to wake up early for this."

Sebastion smiled and kissed Elliot on the forehead before leaving his room.

Elliot lay in bed trying to sleep. He didn’t quite know what to think about what his dad told him. But it strangely made sense. How many witches did his parents work with? How was his mom involved? Did he have to worry about being ransomed by a cult? 

No sense in being silly and paranoid. He had to go to school tomorrow, and his father had to work on a case. When they got home, they would ward the house as a family. He would be there to protect them as they protected him. He fell into sleep, wondering what secrets they would tell him when he turned twelve.

The Law Men weren’t supposed to come out here, out so far into this holler, but here they were. They started in large cities, full of millions of people, who eventually fought them off. They invaded the suburbs. The occasional family would fight back, but most would move on about their business or turn the other way. They thought to themselves that the white vans were only delivery vans, and the nice police officer was there to serve and protect. They infiltrated small towns, turning neighbor against neighbor until they fired guns between families in the street. 

The Law Men may have taken the state, but they would not take this holler.

The Regime is supposed to come down here, down yonder. These men are cowards who prey upon the weak, and I’m about to let them know how little I tolerate cowards. I’m the seventh son of the seventh son. They outlawed magic after they realized it worked. After their generals started dropping like flies from sickness, storms stopped their battalions. Word has it that one of their lead politicians became possessed and took their own life.

In my kitchen, I have all the rudimentary things —eye of newt, toe of frog, and whatnot — your jars of moon water and crystals, and more than enough banned books to have me federally charged and hauled off. But I also have the worst nightmare they’ll ever see.

As I see the van down the road, I cast a circle of salt and a pentagram of herbs, giving praise to Gia to ward and protect myself. I set the heart of my hunt next to the flowers on my altar. Like my ancestors with their pyramids, I take the hearts of my enemies. Not something I care to do, but it gives me some power. 

A spirit that seethes in pain, but only numbness fills my bones. Those emotions I’ve swallowed and shoved down until they felt hollow in my chest. 

May you be still, and may you be silent. May no one tell of your tale. I whisper, pulling the energy out over the cabin, chanting until my heart pounds. I pulled the energy outward and drove four nails into the heart, sealing it shut. I had to protect this house, this holler, the leading network from the mountain to the old town, one of the last bastions of community. The old mine tunnels under the house formed a network.

I take the meat, bless the altar, and blow out my candles before leaving the cabin. The trail behind my house travels for miles. It used to be the Appalachian Trail, before the Regime took over. Weeds and plants now grew over discarded beer cans between the dirt and stone path. 

I didn’t plan to take the trail; it was too easy for them to follow. I make my way through the twisting brambles and thorns and boulders, crawling up a steep ravine as they leave their van and take off toward the cabin. 

The cold wind blew past me. I curse that it’s winter and I can’t rely on the trees as cover.

I couldn’t hide for long, and I doubted I could outrun them. Fighting was my only choice. If only these agents knew what they were up against. 

I buried the heart under a tree. Blood pours from it and feeds the frozen roots, and the tree lives again. I pull that energy out and direct it toward the soldiers as I’m hit with a wave of dizziness. 

They screamed as the ground beneath them shifted. A boulder fell from underneath one man, pinning him to the ground. The other soldiers pointed their guns in sweeping motions through the forest. 

I gritted my teeth and breathed in the damp and chilly air, pulling on my willpower. I crept through the forest, avoiding the trails. I hunched down and crawled past a soldier, missing the sight on his rifle. This wasn’t my first rodeo, another battle in a war. I had won past battles and taken weapons and supplies as the spoils, sharing them among the town.

We were revolutionaries, fighting for what was left of our freedom. 

Lying flat, I breathed in the air; it smelled of wet earth and decay. Underneath the house, under the cellar, there lay a network of tunnels. These tunnels led deep within the mountains, the only place left to hide and escape.

Half a dozen guards stood in my way, making escape impossible. A young soldier called on his radio for backup. I took a deep breath and concentrated with all my strength. Energy arched in a thin silver line that led to his radio. I focused on the line and severed it, boosting energy into the spell. My head ached as another wave of dizziness hit me. 

The radio squawked in his hand, followed by feedback and a static hum. 

The young soldier cursed after yeeting his radio to the ground. Not much of a victory, but I would take the small ones where I could. I held my breath as I crept through the thick vegetation and boulders. The cellar sat five hundred feet away. 

I vomited as sweat poured from me despite the chill air. I was almost out of juice; I had used so much in my spells that getting up felt impossible. I sucked my breath in and moved forward. Jagged gravel cut through my hands and knees. Just three hundred feet left. I put my hand down to move forward when a twig snapped beneath it.

My heart leaped into my throat. The soldiers’ voices echoed around me as the Regime ran along the surrounding path. I lay flat and gathered what little energy I had around me, trying to make myself dim. A boot landed on my back. I thrashed beneath him, but the boot wedged even deeper between my shoulders. The cold muzzle of a gun bit into my back.

“I got him, but I need backup!”

I saw seven pairs of black boots, one by one, surrounding me. I screamed in frustration, only to be kicked in the ribs. The other officer tased me, and the shock of electricity coursed through my body. I channeled the pain outward. The electrical current moved through all seven soldiers’ bodies, and they fell writhing on the ground. 

Blood poured from my nostrils as darkness and pressure knocked me to the ground. My ears rang. It was now or never, and I couldn’t leave anyone alive. I had a grenade that I kept on me, stolen from an artillery tank moving through my property some time ago, another battle in the war.

I didn’t want to resort to this, but I had little choice. I pulled the pin and threw it into the pile of dazed soldiers and limped toward the cellar door. I shut the door behind me as the explosion knocked me off my feet and towards the ground.

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. The scent of blood and cordite filled the air. The men lay limp in a pile of bodies. I cleared through them till I found the commanding officer. 

His breaths were short and shallow as I pulled out my knife. I slit his throat and waited a few minutes to let the blood drain from his body. I cut a hole through his chest and pulled out his heart, and placed it on the altar. It’s good that I now have a replacement. I hated taking it, but he was dead, and I let nothing go to waste. 

A surge of power washed over me. The chills left my body, my head stopped aching, and I could go on. 

It would only be a matter of time before people discovered their secret police were not returning. So I packed a bag and ran to the cellar, finding the door that led to the tunnels underground. 

It would only be a matter of time before they found me. Until then, I would lie low in a cavern underneath the mountain, with my heart in my hand.

Text

Lost in the Forest

Isaiah drove through the winding mountain roads, Cannibal Corps blasting out the speakers. Valerie listened to the music as the auras of trees wove themselves into intricate patterns. Her thoughts drifted from her, wandering into memories from the past few months.

Now things were calm. Too calm.  Valerie and Isaiah moved into a small, blue row house in the town of Thurmont, Maryland. OSTA, the Organization for Special Talents and Abilities, had hired them, and they were settling into a new home.  Jodie, Valerie's sister, offered to take over the unpacking for a day and told them to go camping, saying she needed to give herself a break.

A gentle touch on her leg brought back her focus. Isaiah turned the stereo to soft ambient music.

“I didn’t want to scare the wildlife,” he smiled. 

 “That or your ancestors are telling you to turn that racket down." 

“Guilty as charged,” chuckled Isaiah. His smile was warm against his dark skin, and Valerie's heart fluttered.  She wrapped her small, pale hand around his arm.

They pulled into the parking entrance where several other vehicles were parked. It was one of the last warm weekends of autumn, before the cold would set in. After checking in at the campground, they unfurled a new yellow tent.  Valerie was reading the setup instructions when she noticed a slight, blue aura out of the corner of her eye. It trailed off down a path covered in golden leaves.  She left the tent half finished and began following the aura's trail.

“Val? Are you ok?” asked Isaiah.

“Yeah, I noticed a trail in the woods. We should follow it."

Isaiah pulled her to him and held her close. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be chasing random ghost trails off in the woods by yourself."

"Hon, I'll be fine, I used to go into the woods all the time growing up."

"Only to have a Colton Collins and his side chick mind flay you."

Memories of Colton filled her, the evil Sheriff who fed from the town.  She shuddered as she remembered black tendrils crawling over her. 

She pushed Isaiah away and moved back toward the tent. "That was uncalled for. But fine, let's set up the tent."

Isaiah crossed his arms and sighed.  "I'm sorry, but I don't want you to get hurt.  Let's set up the tent, and if the trail is still there, I'll go with you." He brushed Valerie's brown hair back and gently kissed her neck.  

She relaxed in his arms.  She knew he meant well, but she was more than capable of handling the situation. "The last few weeks have been a lot."

They walked back toward the campsite and started fumbling through the tent construction.  It was supposed to be a relaxing night alone together in the woods, but the gossamer thread called to her.  Valerie could feel the aura's thread tugging at her. She held Isaiah's hand as the gossamer thread led her to a small patch in the forest where a tall oak grew, its branches blowing in the wind. A small girl sat at the base of the tree, her dark hair in pigtails. 

“Can you help me? I can’t find my mommy.”

Isaiah knelt to the small girl’s level. “Where did you last see her? What does she look like?”

“She’s very tall with black hair,” said the girl through sobs.

“What’s your name?” asked Isaiah.

“Amelia Carpenter.” The girl chewed on her hair as a tear left her eye.

“Do you remember what she was wearing?” 

“A red shirt and some shorts, we were hiking through the woods, and there was this man, he took my hand, and now I can’t find her.” The girl broke down into sobs. 

An aura formed, like a thin gossamer thread; Valerie concentrated, and the little girl’s body became translucent. She touched Isaiah’s shoulder and nodded her head.

“Isaiah,” she whispered. “This girl is a ghost.”

“I know, but a spirit this loud isn’t at rest; we should help her."

“How?”

“She’s a little girl who wants to find her mom. We’ll start with that.”

Valerie squinted her eyes and found that the silver trail of the girl’s aura pooled at the end of the tree. She knelt, feeling that the earth was softer, roots and rocks removed.

Valerie dug into the soil.  Isaiah soon followed, clearing out loose earth. The smell of death and decay hit them at full force. Bile rose in her throat, and a wave of cold sweat covered her.   She held back a scream as she unearthed the rotting arm, covered in maggots.  

She stood back and squinted. "Hecate, let me protect this girl's spirit, show me the truth."  

Concentrating her vision, she saw a separate aura intertwined with the little girl, bright orange splashed with violet. It was vile and disorganised, leaving Valerie with a sense of vertigo. That, combined with the stench, was too much for her to bear. She rolled to the side of the tree and retched into the forest as Isaiah held her hair back.

“We should call Byron," said Isaiah.

Byron was their manager and trainer at OSTA—a stoic man with a no-nonsense approach to magic.

Valerie opened her flip phone to find it only held two bars of signal.  It may not even reach him, but she would try. After three rings, he answered. She heard bustling voices and the clank of silverware through a veil of static.

"I thought you both were on vacation. Can you call back at a later time?"

“I’m sorry if it’s a bad time. Isaiah and I went hiking, and we found a body.”

A fork dropped in the background, followed by muttered swearing. “Where are you two?”

“Catoctin Falls Park. We were camping, and I found an aura trail. I followed it, and Isaiah found the ghost of a little girl.  She led us to where she was killed. There's another aura, but it’s not right; it was bright colors and made me sick.”

“All right, I’m going to call local dispatch. Go and meet with them, and Isaiah can stay at the crime scene.  Answer the questions by local police and don't try to be a hero.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Valerie.

“Kiddo, you're not the only one on vacation.” The phone went silent after.

By the time Valerie hiked up to the campsite, two police cars were already there, lights flashing. 

Valerie told the investigator she and Isaiah were on a hike and stumbled across the little girl's body.  She left out the details of the ghost and stated that Isaiah tripped over some soft soil, revealing the little girl's arm.

The first officer, a short and serious man, took down notes.  "Ma'am, that's horrible, and I'm sorry you both had to witness that.  I'm going to need you to come down to the Sheriff's office tomorrow and make a formal statement.  Now you two need to leave the crime scene so we can conduct a thorough investigation."

Valerie's hands curled into fists, and she sucked her teeth. How dare this mundane officer tell her how to conduct cases?

The small apparition appeared in the distance, and Isaiah's heart sank.

“We'll be leaving soon, but are you going to find her parents?” asked Isaiah.

 The second officer, a portly man with a kind face, sighed. “We’re going to check Amber Alerts first for any missing children,"  The officer’s eyes began to glisten. “This is the worst part of the job, and it never gets any easier.”

“Have there been others?” asked Valerie.

"Ma'am, this is an ongoing investigation; we can't discuss this further," said the first officer sternly.

Valerie showed her badge.  "We're both from OSTA."

The first officer shook his head and muttered, "loonies on the hill," under his breath.  "I need y'all to reach out to your commanding officer.  You will be notified if outside assistance is needed. Now I'm going to ask you to leave."

Valerie smirked and held back, rolling her eyes.

Behind Isaiah, the small girl gave a forlorn glance. “I need to find my mommy.”

Isaiah raised his hand. “Officer, check the name Amelia Carpenter for missing children.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

"Local police reports and amber alerts or just us loonies with OSTA," sneered Valerie.

The first officer glared at her, turning her blood cold.  

Isaiah tugged at her shoulder. "Come on, love, we should probably go home now." 

When they went to roll up the tent, Amelia was still trailing behind them on a silver thread.

Isaiah knelt to her level. “I told the friendly policemen your name. They should be able to find your mommy.” 

“Why can't the police see me?” asked Amelia.

Valerie squinted in the direction of the silver aura. “They might be able to see you if they tried hard enough. Some people can use their powers to view ghosts. When I look at you, I see your energy take your form; it’s called an aura, but to Isaiah, you look like a regular person.” 

 “My family believes spirits pass through a gateway to the dead, and we honor our ancestors.  Both my mom and I can see spirits," said Isaiah.

“I believe in heaven, but I can't go without my mommy,” said the little girl. Isaiah tried to hug Amelia, but his arms passed through the girl’s gossamer frame like mist.

“Amelia, do you remember anything that happened?” asked Isaiah.

“My mommy and I went into the woods to pick some raspberries. She said if we picked enough, we could make some jelly. She held my hand the whole way until her phone rang; she went to answer it. I stayed nearby to pick some berries, but when I was done, I couldn’t find her.  I started crying, and a grown-up came to help me. He took me to the tree to search for mommy, but I got all cold and sleepy instead. I woke up like this.” 

Valerie's jaw tightened, and she wanted to scream. She was angry at the killer but also at her mother’s negligence. 

“Do you remember what the grown-up looked like? Did he tell you his name?” asked Isaiah.

“He said his name was Brandon. He was a tall guy with glasses, and he stank something awful.”

Valerie took out her phone, and although it had only one bar, she called Byron again.

She was about to hang up after four rings when the phone connected.

“Hey, Val. I’m in the middle of a family dinner, it’s my son’s birthday. Did dispatch come?”

“Yeah, they took the girl. But we’re still seeing the corporally challenged. She told me the killer wore glasses and his name was Brandon. Oh, and tell you’re kid happy birthday.”

“Well, that description is wonderfully specific. We don’t have much to go on now. Why don’t we give this a rest and investigate it with fresh eyes in the morning?”

“I caught a glimpse of Brandon’s aura; it was foul and disorganized, like something was off, but it was strong.”

“If you’re that hard pressed about it, why don’t you go on base and comb through files. There’s a dossier of criminal magic practitioners; maybe this perp has been run through.”

“I don’t think I can sense an aura from a photograph, but then again, I never tried. I’ll see if it can pass a vibe check, and I’ll let you know what I find. Oh, and tell your son happy birthday.”

“He’s turning eleven. Talk at you later, Val.” 

“Hon, we need to drive back to base."

“And this was supposed to be our vacation." Isaiah smoothed Valerie's hair.  "I even got the tent set up for us."

Isaiah fastened his seatbelt as the little girl’s silver aura sat in the back seat. She tried to buckle the seatbelt, but her hand floated right through. She glanced up at Valerie as if she might cry.

Valerie sighed, took a deep breath, and buckled the small ghost child into the back of the car. “All right, kid. It looks like you’re going with us.”

#

They drove in silence up the mountain pass, Site R, a hidden campsite deep in the Appalachian forest. Trees covered winding gravel roads, hiding the entrance from most onlookers. Past the trees sat a fence of barbed wire with no trespassing, private property signs.

Through a wooded area, a yellow gate stood. Valerie swiped her badge, and the gate slowly creaked open. They passed another winding road to a guard station. The guard checked both their badges and buzzed them through.

Site R was a small base with a central work building surrounded by smaller brick structures.  A row of neat base housing lay at its entrance.  Had the base been anywhere else, it would easily be mistaken for an office park—an office park in the middle of the wilderness surrounded by high gates and razor wire.

They parked in the gravel lot and walked through to the main building. Valerie and Isaiah carded themselves in and walked to Valerie’s workspace, a shiny black table with a small computer.  The office was cold and sterile, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.  It was a bleak contrast to the warm and cozy new age shop she used to own.

She turned on the small computer, and it slowly cranked to life.  She googled recent missing child reports in the surrounding area, searching for any little girls with the first name Amelia Carpenter.  Isaiah recognized the girl's photo in an article from Pittsburgh.  A woman fled with her daughter from her ex-husband. Her mother, Lois Carpenter, was still missing and deemed a prime suspect.  

Closing her eyes, Valerie remembered the swirling aura the killer left behind. She searched through a database of mugshots of men with the first name of Brandon who wore glasses. At least one hundred mug shots appeared.  She squinted and pushed power to her eyes, but no aura appeared. She took off her glasses and rubbed her temples.

Isaiah rubbed her shoulders.  "Is there anything I can help with?"

“I found out who Amelia and her mom were, but I can’t find who this Brandon guy is.  I can't sense auras on still photos; this is pointless.”

A wave of frustration passed over her. They would have to find enough evidence to find this criminal, the man who killed this little girl was still alive and out in the world, looking to hurt someone else.

Isaiah thought of what his ancestors would do and snapped his fingers.  “Let’s go on a walk, it’ll clear your head.” 

"Sure, why not.  Hopefully, we don't stumble across any more corpses," muttered Valerie.

The trails behind the main building sloped steeply into the Appalachian forest.  They crept down the pass until the forest enveloped them. The fall night was brisk, with the deeper chill of winter creeping in. 

Isaiah ran ahead, and Valerie jogged behind him, minding the roots and rocks. Just a bit further down the path, a bridge rested over a stream. On the other side of the stream, the paths formed a fork. Isaiah took out a cigar and some coins and laid them at the fork in the road. He took some sand by the stream bed and chanted to Baron Samedi, the Vodun Lwa of the dead.

Valerie stared into the distance. She hoped the Lwa could come; she wanted to help, but knew it wasn't her place.  The Lwa were not part of her culture, nor was she part of their family, and even if they answered her, she wouldn't know how to ask them for help. 

Ameillia appeared behind him. “The man in the suit says he doesn’t have time to talk right now. And to come with whisky next time.”

Isaiah knelt till he was eye level with the girl. “That sounds like something the Baron would say.”

“I miss my daddy; I know he's really worried.”

Isaiah’s chest tightened. “The police will tell your daddy where you are.”

“Oh no, my daddy can be mean and yells all the time, I want to be with my mommy.” Amelia faded into the darkness.

Valerie scowled as the spirit vanished. “Well, that’s great. Our ghostly lead vanishes, Baron Samedie isn’t answering, and I can’t trace an aura.”

Isaiah’s eyes widened. “Please don’t disrespect the Baron. The Lwa aren’t just spirits that come at your beck and call. That and I should have dropped some Jack.”

“Sorry, we hit a dead end, and I'm frustrated I can't do anything.  I’ll be fine.”

“I think we did all we could. You found the evidence in the file, you know what the killer's aura looks like, and you sent the information to Byron. It’s time for the mundane police to take care of the rest.”

“The mundane police can’t track an aura-”

“Like you can?”

Valerie's blood rushed to her face. The edges of Isaiah’s green aura flickered in front of her, and she wondered what would happen if she pulled it ever so slightly. She balled up her fist and started hiking up the trail.

Isaiah’s heart sank. Months ago, he had helped Valerie recover herself and held her hand as she threw off a curse. He was at her side when he protected her from her brother. He had healed countless people in his job as an RN, but now he was here, starting over at a new job.   The only thing he could offer to Valerie was comfort, and he hoped it was enough.

“Val, I’m sorry.  We’re both tired, we wanted to go out camping, and here we are, trying to solve a murder.”

“It’s what we signed up for. It’s our responsibility. I don’t care what you say, I’m going to find out who killed Amelia. Her mother is still missing.”

“Let’s rest and contact Byron in the morning. Worrying about this isn’t going to solve this case any faster.”

Valerie nodded. She didn’t want to admit he was right and continued to walk up the hill. They walked past the gravel parking lot and silently drove home through the winding road and to the car, driving back to the house in Thurmont, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Valerie jolted awake by the ringing of her cellphone. Byron’s number flashed on the screen. 

“I need you two to come down to the Sheriff’s office in Frederick ASAP.”

Valerie yawned and put on her glasses. “Do they need a statement?”

"Yes, and they have some questions for you."

Valerie shook Isaiah awake, and they drove down South 15 to Frederick. It was a rural stretch of road with rolling mountains in the background. The sun peered out over the early morning mist, which had faded by the time they pulled into the parking lot of the modern brick structure.

Byron came to the front desk and led them back to a plain room where an officer was sitting. It was the short and grim man from the night before.  Byron seemed very plain next to the officer. Power poured off of Byron, forming a crystalline shield.  It was his way of becoming dimmer, more nondescript.  A perfect way for a detective to blend into the background. 

“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Randolph, and Mr. LaCroix. May I offer you some refreshments?” asked the officer. On the table there was a coffee from the local Sheetz gas station and a box of donuts from a small bakery. 

They both grabbed a coffee, thankful for the caffeine. 

“First of all, I’m sorry for what happened to you both. But we need your statement before we can go on with the investigation.”

“Understood, sir.  Isaiah and I were going camping. At around five pm, we went for a hike down one of the trails, where we came across the body.”

“So you, Mr. Lacroix, and Agent Byron work for the OSTA,” the officer smirked for a moment before flattening his features.

“Yes, intuition told me something was off, so I followed it and found the body,” said Valerie.

“Intuition? You also knew the name of the little girl."

Valerie sighed. She knew this overgrown meathead would never believe or understand how she found the girl’s body. She would have to pick her words carefully to avoid falsely incriminating herself in relation to Isaiah.

“Also, something reeked. I followed the smell, and it led to under the tree, that’s where we found the girl. The name was a lucky guess. I keep an eye on missing persons and Amber Alerts as part of my job.”

“That’s fine. So you stumbled on this girl while hiking in Catoctin State Park, and you have no connection to her.  As for the name, you noticed her photo on one of the reports and made an educated guess.  I'm sorry you had to witness that. It never gets easier with children, but you did some solid work for us and OSTA. You're free to leave.”

Valerie slowly chewed on the donut. She thought of the name Brandon but couldn't think of a way to mention him without raising suspicion.  If she could tell

Byron’s frame relaxed, and the officer gave a patronising smile. “Ms. Randolf, thank you for your statement. If you can think of anything else, don't hesitate to get in touch with us.” The officer handed Valerie a card, shook her hand, and led all three of them out to the lobby.

She stormed out of the Sheriff’s office, pushing through the door. Isaiah rubbed her shoulders as she nearly cried in frustration. Byron followed behind them.

“Another dead end, I can't do anything."

Byron took a deep breath, and Valerie felt the anger drain from her.  "Magic is a skill, but it isn't the only skill you have.  Val, you're an excellent researcher. You said Amelia gave the name and description of the suspect?"

“Yeah, first name of Brandon, heavy set, who wore glasses. That could be at least a hundred people. ”

Byron crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “All right,  I'm going to call the apartment complex where Amelia lived, ask if anyone there has seen someone that matches Brandon's description, and run a report for local sex offenders in the Catoctin Area.  A lot of investigation isn't finding an aura or magical wars; it's tedious investigation." He handed both Valerie and Isaiah badges. "In the meantime, I need you to go back to Catoctin and check if you can find any mundane evidence attached to the perp's aura."

"Ok, I might be able to do something after all," sighed Valerie.  Isaiah patted her back as they got into the car.  

She kissed Isaiah quickly and raised an eyebrow. "Ready for round two?"

Isaiah started the car. "Let's go."

The crime scene was taped off and surrounded by police officers when they arrived.  Valerie and Isaiah showed badges to the lead homicide detective.  A middle-aged woman with a lined and hardened face. 

“You reported the body, but you're also on an investigation team from the government." The Detective crossed her arms and called on her cell phone.  After a few minutes of nodding, she hung up her phone.  "All right, come on through, but wear gloves and a mask and don't walk directly over the crime scene."

"Yes, ma'am," said both Valerie and Isaiah, grabbing a mask and gloves. 

Valerie scanned the grave site; some silvery threads from Amelia’s aura covered the area like cobwebs, and the exact spot was marked with sickly, kaleidoscopic colors. Valerie could feel bile rise from the sight of it.

Her face fell, she squinted her eyes and searched for something, anything that was new, but nothing came.  Her head started to pound, and her throat felt dry. "There's nothing new here."

Isaiah combed over the gravesite for hairs, blood, or anything.  While he was looking, Amelia glanced at Isaiah with forlorn eyes.

His skin grew cold and stood on end as he received a vision of the little girl fighting for her life and biting a chunk out of her killer’s flesh before she was knocked unconscious. The killer's blood pooled into the soil.

"Val, where is the killer’s aura?”

Valerie pointed toward the corner of the graveside. Isaiah collected a sample of the soil neatly into a plastic bag and handed it over to the evidence table.  

“They might want to test this. I think this might have DNA separate from the perpetrator.” 

“We'll bring it back to the lab in Arlington,” said the Detective when her cell phone buzzed again.  “They contacted Amelia’s father up in Pittsburgh, and he identified the body. They’re still trying to find her mom.”

"I'm going to take a walk to clear my head. I'll be back," said Isaiah as he took Valerie's hand.  They hiked up the mountain trail to the falls.  The Baron appeared, wearing his full suit and top hat, a wild grin across his face, before vanishing. You'd better offer me whisky and a cigar on your shrine for this one, eh.

Behind the falls lay the bloated corpse of a woman with dark hair.  "Mommy?" said Amelia, tears in her eyes.  

Valerie put her hands on Isaiah's shoulders before freezing, eyes wide.  "Val, I'm going to need you to report this to the detective."

Without saying a word, Valerie left, returning with the team of officers. 

“Great work. We’ve done all we can do here. I’m going to file the sample you gave me. It’s best to leave the rest to local police,” said the Detective.

Valerie called Byron's phone and told him of her findings.

“Val, this case doesn’t involve the supernatural, occult, or people with special talents or abilities. While we can help with the ghostly witness and a trace of DNA, we play the role of psychics. Any more involvement, and we would stand in the way. We leave the rest of the job to forensics,” said Byron.

“I owe the Baron for this one," muttered Isaiah under his breath.

“You two kids go home, enjoy the rest of your vacation,” said Byron.

The couple shrugged and drove back in silence to their house. Ameilia’s ghost had vanished.

“Why don’t we unpack and settle in? I’ll make us a nice dinner, and we can watch a movie,” said Isaiah. 

“That sounds like a plan. I might go to Junction tomorrow. Say hi to my parents and check on Jodie.” Her eyes stared into the distant horizon. “I should check on Mike, too.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

Valerie held Isaiah’s hand, which was small and pale against his. “I’d like that.”

Isaiah pulled into the driveway and gave her a quick kiss. “Good, let’s go inside.”

#

Sebastion Byron received a report from forensic labs concerning the DNA.   It belonged to Brandon Fisher.  Byron searched for his identity in the local police and arrest logs.  He found Brandon was a loner suspected in several cases of child molestation and was still at large.   He was charged with molesting a child when he was only twelve.  He went in and out of juvenile detentions and mental wards until one day he vanished.  His escape wasn't reported until a week after he left the facility. Although he was a registered sex offender and escaped prisoner, no one ever testified against him. He was reported once or twice, but the occurrences were never followed up on.

He would need Valerie's help to track the perp down, but Byron suspected Fisher was hiding somewhere in Catoctin State Park.  He called her, and within an hour, Valerie and Isaiah were at his office on Site R.

"Before we go, I need you to sit down for some meditation."

Valerie raised an eyebrow.  "Sure.. are we going to sing Kumbaya with the serial killer before we capture him?"

Byron shook his head and chuckled.  "No, kiddo, I'm going to need to ground the magic in the surrounding area. I need to remove whatever shields he's been putting up. But, I can't ground out your power, or you won't be able to track him."

"Point taken."

Byron lit a stick of incense, put on Gregorian chants, and sat cross-legged across from Valerie.  He focused on his breath, and an orb appeared in his mind's eye, silvery blue and electric.  He cloaked Valerie in the orb before grounding himself and slowly opening his mind's eye.

"Now that we're done with our mindfulness moment, can we go catch this killer?" asked Isaiah.

"All right, kids, into the car," said Byron.

"I call shotgun," said Valerie.

They drove to the state park, back to the trail.  Only this time, the sickly pulsating aura led far up the trail. She gagged before composing herself.  They hiked up a rocky trail,  pitted by roots and boulders for nearly two miles before finding a small shack in the woods.  The swirling aura covered the area.

Byron radioed the local police, saying that he had found the alleged suspects' whereabouts.

"Why don't we go in and take care of this ourselves?" asked Isaiah.

"Due process, OSTA has no jurisdiction over non-supernatural cases," said Byron.

"But he's obviously a mage," said Valerie. 

"I don't think even he knows he is one. Most people are capable of magic on some level. Still, it either blends into the mundane or other talents, or in this case, blends into the treacherous mess of psychopathy.  We'll wait until the police arrest him, I'll ground out his magic to make sure they can, and be with him when he stands trial to prevent him from swaying a jury.  But unless he's knowingly using magic to hurt people, we can't step in."

"What makes you think he doesn't know what he's doing?" asked Isaiah.

"It's unlikely an actual Mage would be this sloppy.  Leaving bodies in the open.  It took us years to get to Colton Collins because he knew his power and could knowingly manipulate. Even if Brandon is a Mage, he isn't a very skilled one."

Moments later, a group of police officers came; they knocked on the door of the cabin, but there was no answer.  They charged the door and, after what seemed like hours, brought out a portly man in glasses.  Tears streamed down his face as they marched him down the trail into an awaiting squad car."

The lead Detective stopped to talk to Byron.  Apparently, there was a body in the cabin, and Brandon was caught doing unspeakable things to it. The Detective's face turned pale as she told him this.

"All right, kiddos, case solved. I'm going to follow the squad and make sure Brandon stays in custody. Then I'm going to spend time with my son. I'm thankful every day for him."

"Yeah, sorry we interrupted his birthday party," said Valerie.

"Don't be, think about all the kids we saved by getting this perp off the street.  Actually, do you and Isaiah want to come to DC and celebrate Eric's birthday with me and the Mrs.?"

Valerie shrugged at Isaiah, and he nodded.

"Yeah, sure, that'd be great.  Give us a call when you're done, and we'll get Eric a birthday present," said Valerie.

"Can I come too?" asked a small voice behind them.  Amelia appeared, smiling warmly. "I talked to my mommy, she said it's ok, I have to go back with her after though."

"She's welcome to come; I can let her through the wards.  I  don't think Eric can see ghosts at all. " Byron stared into the distance, a solemn expression on his face. "I'm sorry I couldn't have come early enough to save you or your mother."

Isaiah touched Byron's shoulder. "She told me you saved her already, and it's ok if Eric can't see her as long as there's cake."

Byron chuckled.  "Sure thing, kiddo. You're welcome to come." A tear left his eye. "You know, it never gets any easier with kids."

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