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Of Rituals & Ghosts

Vahn and Hawke arrived at the bustling town of Herron shortly after dusk fell, but they were in time to see the lingering preparations for the coming Autumnal Festival. It was a yearly event to mark the harvest season and when day and night were equal before nights grew longer. The Floating World celebrated it similarly, but Vahn liked it better down here. There was warmth to the decorations that were lacking up there—Vahn liked the little pumpkins the best—and the masks a seller provided for them was made of pleasantly carved wood and smelled like orange blossom. The design of the masks was plain, merely covering the eyes and rested against the nose and cheeks, but that made them all the more charming. The ones up above were always extravagant and heavy, made from glittering stones painted so vibrantly. Many of them had horns and feathers, smelled nauseatingly like paint, and it was always too much.

This was refreshingly simple.

By the time they reached the local inn and tavern, the dinner rush was already gone. The cold sigh of evening blew into the inn’s common room, cooling off any lingering heat the crowd had left behind, and truthfully, the room felt lonely without everyone inside. Thankfully, Hawke was able to convince the establishment to cobble together a small meal for them of what was leftover (honeyed voice helping, but Vahn suspected it was Hawke’s smile that did most of the convincing; the cook was incredibly enamored with it). Food went down quickly and they headed to the only room still available tonight. Incredibly small with only basic comforts, but it made sense that everything else was taken; the place was packed with all sorts of visitors for the upcoming festival.

Basic comforts were still cozy, at least. The bed was dressed in heavy quilts for the season and took up the center of the room while a wooden chest sat in front of it. That was it, actually. No bath of its own, but the innkeeper had pointed out the public bathhouse just next door when Vahn went asking about one.

“Wait, are you going to check it out?” Hawke asked before Vahn could head out to do just so. He’d already flopped himself across the bed as though claiming it.

“Of course,” Vahn insisted and whispered a spell to magic some clean clothes out of his bag. “The Floating World has immaculate bathhouses I spent many a night in soaking under the stars. Figured I could do the same here!”

“This time of night will be crowded.” Hawke slotted his hands behind his head. “Better to go in after that rush is gone. Believe me.”

As Vahn considered waiting—Hawke probably wasn’t wrong—a knock came from the door.

Bemused, Vahn glanced at Hawke. He’d sat up on his elbows in an instant, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He shook his head. Not expecting anyone, although Vahn supposed it could be the cook hoping for more smiles.

“Yes?” Vahn called.

“I’d like to talk to the magician within,” came a woman’s soft voice. Definitely not the cook. He’d been a burly sort with a voice to match. “I saw you coming into town.”

The request wasn’t inherently suspicious; Vahn was obviously a magician with his blue hair and red eyes. Hawke still eyed the door like he wanted to do anything but entertain this wayward visitor. He stood and came closer, hands on his hips. Not too far from his many knives, but upon first glance, relaxed enough no one would suspect him to pull one free. Couldn’t be too careful.

Vahn slowly eased open the door and smiled at the woman on the other side.

“Well, you’re speaking to him,” he said. “Shall we go downstairs to the common room and talk over tea?”

Reluctantly did the innkeeper at the front desk oblige them with tea this late and it wasn’t because Hawke convinced her so. She merely wanted some for herself and went to steep some. It was warm and smooth when Vahn tasted it, some combination of orange with floral hints. Taking a sip also let Vahn study the woman before she began speaking.

The mysterious woman didn’t drink the tea, but she held it like she was grateful for the warmth it provided. Fair skin and hair with pale eyes. Everything actually was incredibly pale about her, like she’d fade away into the moonlight if she could. Her dark brown tunic kept her grounded, however, and her undershirt and skirt were both an ivory white.

“There’s this old villa,” she began slowly, eyes cast on her teacup. “It’s deep in the tangled forest to the north. Used to be a beautiful place where the Lord’s wife lived. He passed away some time ago, but she continued living there. Except these past years, it’s changed so much. The forest grew impenetrable around it. Brambles between trees now, their thorns almost as long as your palm. Not to mention with foliage above so thick, you can hardly tell east from west when inside.”

Vahn nodded slowly; he and Hawke had steered clear of the woods near town after a nearby logger told them the same. He’d also mentioned it had been changing in the past few years, but he hadn’t seemed too bothered. Certainly hadn’t mentioned a villa. Vahn glanced at Hawke for his opinion, but the bard kept a sharp gaze on the woman.

“And it grows stranger still.” The woman finally looked up at Vahn, pale eyes clear with conviction. “Now specters float out at night, pale shimmers underneath the moons, and they laugh and cry at all hours. The closer you are, the more you can hear them.”

Hawke settled his emptied cup down, mouth set in an uncomfortable line. He caught Vahn watching him and he gave him a subtle nod. Must have heard them, then. Curious. Vahn couldn’t hear the same, but Hawke did have a sharper sense of hearing.

“That’s not terrible on its own,” Hawke pointed out. “There are benign spirits all over the place, especially since the place is right over a leyline, right?”

Astute. Maybe Vahn was rubbing off on him. “It is,” Vahn agreed. “I can feel it, so that would explain the spirits.”

“It does, but these ones have been leaving the forest,” the woman stressed. “If they were only leyline spirits, then they would stick near the trees where the link to the leyline is greater. They’ve been going after loggers during the day and ruin their attempts to provide for the town and have been harassing travelers.” She clasped her hands together tightly. “Soon, we’ll be in the throes of our Harvest Festival of Spirits.” She eyed Vahn suddenly, and hesitated. “You do know what that is, don’t you? Did you celebrate it up there, too?”

Vahn blinked. Up in the Floating World, they certainly celebrated the passage of time similarly. Harvests were done differently up above, so that part was quite distant, but there had always been festival decorations harkening to a harvest that once was. It was mostly about celebrating and dancing. Apple treats were made and shared, sometimes people liked to scare one another because it marked the time of year nights would grow longer, and children were given sugary confections. Not to mention the masks and as Vahn thought of them—and the ones sitting in their inn room now—it dawned on him why masks were even a thing.

“Oh!” He glanced at Hawke, excited. “I never realized it, but the masks are for spirits, aren’t they? We only call it the Autumnal Festival up above!”

Hawke gave him a look as the woman chuckled. “Seriously?”

“I hardly remember my life before the Floating World and no one told me anything about festival customs.” Vahn huffed and crossed his arms. “We don’t get spirits up there—at least not in the same way—so, naturally, the name of the festival changed over time and the masks became simple pageantry.”

The woman was nodding. “Down here, during the Autumnal Equinox, it is said spirits like to mingle with us. Most of the time it’s a nonissue, but the leyline emboldens their power. It’s only supposed to be during the equinox too—not the weeks they’ve been lingering—and it’s normally quiet affairs. Pranks and laughter, things like that.”

“Nope.” Hawke shivered. “It’s always creepy. Never liked it.”

The woman shot him a glare for the interruption. “Regardless, we wear masks to protect ourselves from their influence. Except now, the spirits have become tortured and wrong. There’s no joy this year. I’m afraid they’ll destroy the festival and everything we’ve worked for all year if not dealt with.”

Sensible, Vahn supposed. “All right,” he said slowly, “but how does this come back to the villa? I’m afraid I’m not seeing the connection.”

“Oh!” The woman sat up straight. “My apologies. When the woods changed and the spirits began their tortured wails, the lady disappeared. Likely, the two events are connected. All efforts to search for her has been met with dead mercenaries left on the roadside. So… we stopped trying. Whatever happened, she didn’t want to be found. But then the spirits began growing in number. I know they’re related, even if my pleas fall on deaf ears.” She pinched her face and squeezed her hands together. “I attempted to seek the aid of the magician nearby in the northern capital, but we were told he had more pressing matters to look at.”

Vahn frowned. Typical, but he didn’t know which magician was stationed out here to make an accurate judgement call. The capital wasn’t too far from here—maybe a few days’ travel at most—but the magician would still have had to request leave to visit. Chances were, no one believed the woman’s tale held any weight and thus, not worth pestering a court magician for.

“And tonight, I saw you.” The woman reached forward and took Vahn’s hands so suddenly, he jerked. Her skin was as cold as ice. “Please! Before they reach the town, find out what happened and expel the evil. I’ll even pay you up front if it’ll convince you what I speak is true.”

It definitely sounded magic related and even plausible. Spirits drawn up from the leyline from some disturbance deep in a forest? Also sounded exciting. Vahn squeezed her hands back. “Yes, I will deal with this.” The look of relief on her face sealed his resolve. “I promise.”

“Vahn!” Hawke hissed once the woman let go. He threw an arm around Vahn’s shoulder and turned him away from the woman. “This is just like Larkspur and something’s not adding up with her story.”

Vahn rolled his eyes. “There are no illusions here and no missing child. We’ll be fine.”

“I implore you to act tonight, if at all possible,” the woman interrupted and Vahn and Hawke faced her. “Every day closer, I fear whatever is wrong is just going to grow stronger.” She dropped a bag of coins on the table and they clinked together. “Please.”

“We will,” Vahn said. “I promise. What’s your name?”

The woman paused, but then smiled. “My name is Iris. I will take my leave to ensure the town is safe while you deal with the villa.” She left them be, leaving her tea untouched.

Vahn wanted to watch her go—there was something about her—but then Hawke tugged on his shirt. He faced the bard instead, raising his eyebrows.

“So,” Hawke said, stretching the word, and Vahn resisted rolling his eyes. Leave it to Hawke to already worry way too much. “How are we supposed to get there tonight? You know, in the dark. Thorns and brambles everywhere? We were staying here so we could go around it in the daylight, remember?”

“Yes, yes.” Vahn thought about it, darting his gaze across the common room. Nothing remarkable. Mostly wood. Lot of wood. In fact, Vahn thought there was far too much wood, but then he noticed something peculiar. There was a shiver of magic ghosting through the grain pattern. He sat up straight. “Oh! I know!” He stood, hurried around a confused Hawke, and went up to the innkeeper.

The woman eyed Vahn suspiciously over the periodical she was reading. She’d already finished her tea.

“Hello! I have a request.”

“You are way too chipper this time of night,” the innkeeper said. “What is it?”

“Do you have a broom made from wood taken from the forest?”

The innkeeper raised her eyebrows. “Well, I mean. Probably. If not for all those thorns growing, we usually get lumber from there all the time.” She stood and drummed her fingers on her chin. “Let me check my storeroom. I might have one here.” She left her book and headed into the back.

Hawke leaned on the desk next to Vahn. “A broom?”

“Yes,” Vahn insisted. “The trees here are imbued with Wild Magic from the leyline. I noticed it in the walls. The trees have their roots literally inside that leyline, so it draws magic into the bark and it lingers.”

“But a broom?”

“Trust me,” Vahn said. “It’s the perfect shape to be made to fly on such short notice.” He was already excited at the prospect of being able to use the spell again despite Hawke watching him, skeptical. He’d see it Vahn’s way soon enough.

The innkeeper returned shortly with a broom in hand. A magnificent piece of work, too. Sturdy handle with birch twigs bundled together with red ribbon at one end. All of it was full of latent magic.

“I’ll bring it back in the morning,” Vahn promised as he took it.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t beak it.”

“Perish the thought!”

After a brief detour back to their room for Vahn’s bag, their new masks, and Hawke’s sword (at Vahn’s insistence), Vahn pulled Hawke out into the inn’s courtyard. Evening hues made everything purple and blue except for the occasional burst of orange where a mage light was lit to blaze throughout the night. Outside, Vahn could hear the spirits in the distance and yes, they did indeed sound tortured. Nothing like the joy the season should have brought for them.

First: Vahn had to activate the broom’s latent magic. He stood the broom upright, keeping it still between his legs, and ran his fingers softly down the handle. Magic sparked and popped at his fingertips, but died too soon. Frowning, Vahn took another approach. He gripped the handle more firmly, fingers wrapped tightly around it, and stroked. Magic happily reacted to the friction, warming his skin, and he kept up the motion until he was sure it had bloomed throughout the entire broom.

“What…” Hawke spat out the strangled word and Vahn glanced over. He was staring at the broom—well, more accurately: Vahn’s hands—incredulous. “What are you doing to that thing?”

Vahn tilted his head. “I’m activating its magic.” He looked at his hands, ready to explain the finer nuances of igniting latent magic, but then clued into what it looked like. He couldn’t hold in the sudden laugh. “Oh!” He slid a coy smile at Hawke and gave the handle a slower stroke. “What did you think it looked like?”

Hawke had already hidden his face with one hand, so Vahn couldn’t quite see how red it got. Thought so. Vahn bit back the louder laugh threatening to spill out of his throat. It always amazed Vahn that for a bard who’d seen his share of partners, Hawke was rather easy to fluster.

“Never mind that,” Hawke growled.

“Well, just so you know, I am very good at this.”

The snort out of Hawke’s throat was reward enough for the insinuation, especially since he was smiling beneath his hand.

“And I think this is enough.” Vahn stopped stroking the broom provocatively—intended or otherwise—and concentrated on the magic now tingling across him. “Air, I beseech thee to keep thine friend afloat.” He let the broom go and the spell activated to keep it hovered just off the ground. Magic cycled through the broom in its entirety now, a mix of what already was there and Vahn’s spell. He nodded, triumphant. Easy.

He hopped on and the spell easily held his weight. He fueled more magic into the wood, knowing it would need more to hold him and Hawke combined, and once he was sure it was set, he glanced at Hawke. “Hop on!”

Hawke balked. “Oh, hells no.”

Vahn snorted. “It’s fine. The broom won’t bite.”

“I’m going to fall,” Hawke argued. “Get me my own broom.”

“One broom requires constant concentration to keep us afloat. I can do many things, but I cannot fly two brooms.” Vahn patted the open space behind him. “Just hop on behind me and hold onto my waist. I won’t let us fall.”

Hawke grumbled a few things, one resembling a prayer to the Goddess Moon above, but he did climb on in the end. His weight made the broom sag, making Vahn slide back into him, but a quick redirection of magic balanced them out once again. Once Vahn got himself repositioned, he waited, expectant, but Hawke never put his arms around Vahn.

“I said: hold onto me.” Vahn gripped Hawke’s arm and pulled it around his waist before Hawke could resist. It was such a featherlight touch, however, like Hawke was afraid of crushing Vahn. Would have to do. “Are you set?”

“I’m fine. Just make the damned thing fly already.”

“If you say so!” Vahn gripped the broom with both hands. “Lift off!”

It didn’t really need the word, but Vahn hadn’t been able to resist saying it when he’d first learned how to enchant an object to fly with him on it, and he couldn’t resist it now. The magic burst, shooting them into the air, and Hawke jerked both arms tighter around Vahn in fright. Good. Less chance of him falling. Although his grip was incredibly tight, nearly jostling Vahn off the broom with the sudden jerk. Magic evened him out in the end and Vahn patted Hawke’s arms in a comforting gesture.

“The view up here is nice, Hawke!”

“Nope. Not opening my eyes.” Hawke had resolutely buried his face into Vahn’s shoulder. What a sight it must have been from below.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights, Hawke.”

“Only when there is literally a single twig between my legs keeping me from falling!”

It was hardly a twig, but Vahn bit back from arguing. It was a little endearing actually, and Vahn bit back from telling him so. He patted Hawke’s arms instead before taking the broom with both hands to point it in the right direction. The forest was north of them and currently was shrouded in darkness. Thick fog coiled itself between tree trunks down below and shimmered when the moonlight caught it.

“Here we go!” Vahn called out. “Hold on tight!”

☾

The skies were clear all the way to the horizon and back. Both moons were on brilliant display this night, one chasing after the other as usual while they crawled across the sky, and cast enough light for Vahn to see. The forest was a dark tangle below them as Vahn flew overhead, but it wasn’t long before it thinned and cleared where a lone villa sat. It stuck out like a sore thumb with its ivory white walls, its rust red parapets and tiles, and windowpanes shining the moonlight back into the sky. It would have looked picturesque and perfect had Vahn not noticed the glaring hole in the roof, the way the cracks went up and around the walls, and how the windows were in fact cracked and broken despite their sheen. Vahn brought the broom down in the ruined gardens before the main doors and Hawke was all too eager to find ground beneath his feet again.

As the broom’s magic died to a slumber, Vahn peered across the villa’s exterior. Some of the windows had been boarded, but most of them lay cracked or broken outright. Glass shards littered the grass and weeds, shimmering like little stars. Wisps of curtains blew in the autumn breeze, appearing as ghosts of their own had Vahn not known better. Pieces of furniture lay scattered among the gardens as well, likely thrust from the house in a rage. Front doors remained in one piece and although Vahn would have liked to enter the house another way, hoping to surprise whatever spirit may have been inside, he saw no other safe way inside. In through the front it was then.

Vahn peered across the upper level and stopped. A body shifted out of view, or at least what he surmised was a body. Hadn’t held still long enough to see what it really was, but Vahn guessed it was the spirit in some form.

Worrisome all the same, however, was that magic was thick in the air. Spells old and muddled with time, yes, but something had happened at some point. Strong enough it even gave him goosebumps the longer he stood there. Pieces of the spell glittered on the air like an aurora, but they were broken off from what they’d been when the spells had been cast. Curious.

“I do not like this place,” Hawke said.

“I don’t either,” Vahn murmured and rested the broom against the ground. “But we did promise her.”

“You promised.” Hawke glanced downward, frowning. “We leaving the broom?”

“Won’t do us any good inside. It’ll be safe here.”

Vahn hesitated another moment, thinking, and nodded to himself when a plan finished turning in his mind. He fastened his wooden mask over his face, making sure it was snug and secure, and Hawke did the same.

“One more thing,” Vahn said and magicked out a small box from his bag. There was enchanted paper within, each one about as big as his pinky. Hawke eyed it dubiously. “There’s a spirit inside,” Vahn explained and Hawke nodded along with his assessment. “We need protection against possession.”

He grimaced. “Didn’t need one when we were helping Orleia.”

“Different kind of spirit.” Vahn eyed the house and glanced from window to window. “There’s a reason tradition dictates wearing masks. It helps against possession because the spirit can’t discern our faces to take it over.”

“Then we keep on the masks, yes?”

“Of course, but just in case? We should have a way to fix it.” Vahn touched his own lips. “If it’s possession, spirits go for any way to get inside a person. It tends to be the mouth because it’s the largest opening they have access to. That is also the best way to extract them.” He waited to see if Hawke would understand on his own, but the bard eyed him suspiciously. “In the unlikely event I get possessed, I need you prepared. Put this on your tongue after I enchant it.”

Enchanting it was the easy part. “Mind, I beseech thee to impress upon this paper of mine an objection of spirit should one fall folly to its devices.” The spell flowed from Vahn’s lips and into the paper with ease, sealing itself within the fibers. It glowed momentarily before dimming and Vahn held it out.

Hawke carefully took it between his finger and thumb, never once easing up on how suspicious he looked. “How am I supposed to activate it?”

“Just kiss me and it’ll do the work,” Vahn said.

The sound Hawke choked down was something else and Vahn gave him a look.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. Fine. It’s fine. Just put this on my tongue then?

“Yes. The magic in your throat will help it activate.”

Hawke made a face as he pressed the paper to his tongue, but it dissolved as intended and coated his tongue with a shimmer. Magic licked his lips before growing dormant. “There. And you? What if I get possessed? Which, honestly, is way more likely…”

It was, but Vahn hadn’t wanted to admit that aloud. “I can easily do the same without the paper… Oh! If that’s all right with you!” he added in a hurry and covered his mouth. “I’m so sorry. This is awkward, isn’t it? I can come up with another idea if you want.”

Hawke waved him off. “No, it’s fine. Nothing’s wrong with magic kissing. Just unexpected.” He readjusted the mask on his face and exhaled. A hint of the spell twinkled after his breath, ghosting across the air. “Ready?”

“As much as I can be.”

Together, they strode up to the front doors. The porch was small with broken steps leading up into it and on either side of it was once pristine fountains. Now all that lay inside them was moss and black, muddy water. Planters had been tipped over, letting dirt and roots spill over the sides, making the whole place look rather more wild than polished as it once was. The doors themselves were sturdy, made of thick wood, and were very normal, all things considered. No magic inside or wards of any kind. Helpful.

Vahn touched the handles and gave the doors a pull. Cold air pushed outward, frost tinkling by them as it went, and revealed a dark, morose foyer. White sheets billowed as the air escaped to be free, but they were fastened to the furniture they were covering. Glistening cobwebs swayed from corners and ceiling beams, some parts drifting low enough it could have touched Hawke if it wanted to. When nothing immediately came to greet them, Vahn spelled a light in his palm, giving the whole place a ghostly white glow, and led the way inside.

The foyer quickly opened into the main hall which had been cleared of anything in the center—furniture had been pushed to the sides of the room, each one covered with similar sheets. Two staircases led upward to a second level, but one had broken stairs and a banister precariously leaning like it would fall any moment. On either side of the room were more doors, as with the very back, although Vahn didn’t trust going anywhere near the breaking banister.

What drew his attention was the floor in front of them. The wooden planks were once pristine, now scuffed and covered in dust, and atop them in clumps were candles. They’d been burned before, but now lay unlit as the wax pooled around them, sealing them to the floor. Curious. There was nothing else on the floor except a hint of magic, but it hadn’t been cast there. It felt more like an afterimage, drifting from elsewhere. Vahn gazed upward, trying to find the source, but it eluded him.

“It looks like someone was preparing for a ritual,” Vahn explained and Hawke stiffened. Vahn gently stepped over, mindful of where he stepped in case it activated magic. When it didn’t, he bent low to study the candles. “For what reason, I can’t be sure. A binding for a spirit, perhaps?”

“Bet it was a cult.” Hawke peered across the room slowly. “They’re always in areas like this. Far enough away from a Spire City to go unnoticed. Fringe magic doing something or another before they disperse.” He swore quietly and glanced outside. “Should have known. They must have done something bad to make the woods like that.”

According to the Floating World, most fringe magician groups down here were referred to as cults. Whether they were or not depended on what they did, Vahn supposed. He’d studied a few of them who worshiped certain spirits in the past, but those tended to end in a lot of death because once the magicians decided to bind the spirit to make it tangible, it grew violent in its attempt to escape. Rituals were horrid affairs and tended to need a human sacrifice to either be the host of the spirit or a binding agent to keep the spirit near.

“Have you had dealings with similar cults?” Vahn asked.

Hawke’s jaw tightened and he wouldn’t look at Vahn. Lack of an answer was plenty and Vahn dropped the subject. He faced the room instead and inhaled.

“Time, I ask thee to assist,” he intoned, letting magic carry his voice until it echoed back to him. “House of dust and ash, tell me what has transpired here.”

A basic time spell asking for help from the bones of the house still standing tall in the face of whatever traumatic event befell the place. If Vahn knew what happened, he could find a way to counter it. Magic still floated in the room around them, so theoretically, it would coalesce into images he could piece together.

It did, but as a burst of anguish. It pushed into him with enough force, he flew backward into Hawke and Hawke—not expecting the outcome any more than Vahn had—fell back. They clattered to the floor on top of one another and that was when the first piece of furniture flew out from the corner. Vahn pressed Hawke to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut, and it sailed right over them before crashing into the nearby wall. A chair came next, missing them by a great deal, and it shattered across the foyer toward the main doors. A heavier one scraped across the floor and Hawke yanked Vahn upward and out of its way. The poor thing smashed into the wall, reducing itself to splinters and fluff. Vahn lost sight of the next piece of furniture—a piano by the sounds of it—when Hawke yanked him into the adjourning room and slammed the door shut.

“Shit!” Hawke snapped. “What did you even do?!”

“Just a Time Spell!” Vahn insisted. He and Hawke flinched as the piano smashed against the door. It made the room shake and Vahn peered upward. The chandelier above the center of the room swung, its crystals tinkling against one another. “Whatever happened here was just so bad, the house refuses to relive it.”

The chandelier snapped and Hawke pushed Vahn into the wall, shielding him. It came down and smashed itself into the coffee table below it. Glass went everywhere as little pieces, but then everything became quiet.

Vahn peeked out from around Hawke and was undaunted as the house bellowed with rage again. He turned and touched the wall. Floral wallpapered covered it in its entirety and Vahn dragged his nails across it. “Help me pull up the wallpaper. I need to touch the bones underneath—I can soothe this!”

Hawke yanked Vahn aside as another wooden chair was whipped at them. It smashed into the wall and before another one was thrown, Hawke had his knife out and slashed the wallpaper. Vahn pulled it open and there: the wall frame. He pressed his hand against it and focused.

“House! I beseech thee to allow my apology and cease!” The Mind Spell pushed one consciousness against the other to help facilitate intent. It worked with animals—Vahn only hoped it worked with houses. The spell left his lips, magic igniting in his fingertips, and then all was silent and still.

The presence of anguish became soft. Relaxing against Vahn in search of someone to help it. Vahn never thought it possible, but then again, pressing his hand to the bones of the house, it made sense. The house was built right on the leyline. Chances were, the power from it had snaked into the house itself, giving it a sort of presence.

Of course, that would have made a ritual to bind a spirit much stronger. The cult had probably chosen the house for that reason, but then fled when it was evident they couldn’t control whatever they’d done.

Vahn removed his hand, letting the house settle, and turned. Solid cold air met his face so suddenly, he had no chance to brace himself and instead, went flying sideways. He crumpled to the floor, white spots dotting his vision, and he heard his name. There was a flash of silver—a sword being drawn—but Hawke hit the floor hard instead of using it.

Vahn blinked. There in the moonlight coming in from the window was a woman. A whisp of a form, white dress hanging off a spectral body, and blonde hair almost as white as snow. She set her bright ember-like eyes on Vahn. Her face reminded him of stone and would have been pretty had it not cracked apart by an unhinged smile. With a screeching cry, she charged for Vahn. He threw himself out of her path and ignited a spell to get him back on his feet before her next assault.

Getting her away from Hawke was his goal. There was no doubt in his mind she was the spirit the cult had intended to bind—maybe she was bound—but the details didn’t matter now. Hawke was susceptible to being possessed—mask or no. Vahn at least had one university course under his belt resisting the same, giving him a tiny edge over Hawke. He threw himself back into the main room.

And right into the spirit. She must have gone through the wall. He stopped short of passing through her, but she smiled again, blood dripping from her lips, and pushed into him.

It was then he realized the punch had left him maskless. Her breath became his. His limbs disappeared from his own mind. He became secondary in his own body.

“Vahn!” Hawke came out, panicked, and Vahn had no voice to tell him to stay back.

“Air,” the ghost intoned in a mockery of his voice, “bring him to me.”

Hawke’s eyes went wide and the air did just that. The force was staggering; Vahn felt it rip through him like a string plucked too harshly. Hawke hit the floor hard and slid across it until he was in front of Vahn. The ghost used Vahn’s foot to stomp on his chest to hold him there.

Hawke gripped the foot and sent Vahn’s body sprawling. For once, Vahn was glad he was such a lightweight. His body hit the floor hard and the only sensation Vahn felt was the pain as the ghost separated it from herself. She thrust his body to its feet and Vahn pushed his magic together to fight back. A spasm was all he managed. Her hold was too great.

“Oh, just lie down for me, would you?” Vahn’s voice purred. “This won’t hurt a bit.” She pulled his arms upward and magic tingled at his fingertips. “Fire, be my arrow—”

Hawke dove into Vahn before the arrow even formed and the ghost shrieked as they flew backward together. It was the worst move Hawke could have done and Vahn had no voice to tell him to move away. He was too close. Vahn screamed anyway, but all he managed was to make himself breathless. No sound escaped his lips beyond the spirit’s mocking laughter. She gripped Hawke’s face with Vahn’s hand and held it still.

“Air, still my friend,” the ghost chanted and everything ceased. Hawke didn’t even look to breathe; the air held him so tightly. The ghost chuckled and pulled Vahn’s body out from beneath him.

“Hello there, lovely.” The ghost trailed Vahn’s fingers down Hawke’s jaw. “Why don’t you sleep for me, hm?”

The spell was so deceptively simple, most couldn’t resist it. Hawke certainly didn’t. He fell to the floor, asleep. Vahn shouted at him to get up, but it was no use. He turned his attention to the spirit within. The invader in his mind.

Her presence was clearer now. A tortured spirit pulled out of the leyline to be made tangible. She’d been a friend of the house beforehand. Spending countless years with the lady of the house. Other images assailed his mind, too fast to describe, until the spirit chuckled.

“I see you searching,” the spirit said as she dragged Hawke’s dead weight to the center of the room. A spell strengthened Vahn’s arms, unspoken. “I wanted to see the sky with real eyes. See it as she described. They said they could do it for us. I could be like her and she’d never be lonely again.” She gritted her teeth and left Hawke splayed between the candles. “All they did was rip me to pieces to use my power and then bound us together. Without a body—without a way out, we suffer. Trapped. But now?” She straddled Vahn’s body across Hawke’s and with one movement, she tore his shirt open.

“We will be free.”

Another human sacrifice.

Pain shot through Vahn again, his own teeth tearing into his wrist. The warm blood ghosted down his arm, taunting his lack of control over his own body. The spirit drew Vahn’s finger through the crimson and began drawing a circular glyph across Hawke’s bare chest. Vahn didn’t know the symbols, but the power they generated made the room vibrate. Likely drawing from the leyline and using its power through Hawke. It would burn him up from the inside out.

No. No. No! Vahn cried, pushing everything he had to reclaim his own body, but spasms were all he caused. She laughed, the sound rumbling through Vahn, and cold tears rushed down his cheeks. Magic raced through him so fast, it made his bracelets burn. She didn’t care. It wasn’t going to bother her. She splayed his fingers in the center of Hawke’s chest, smearing the blood.

And Hawke’s eyes opened.

She hesitated and it cost her. Hawke shot one hand upward and gripped Vahn’s neck. Soft enough it wouldn’t hurt, but also firm so she couldn’t move. With his other arm, he threw himself into a sitting position. The spirit tried to push back, but all she managed to do was a flail and landed hard. Hawke surged forward and their lips crashed together.

Vahn’s spell ignited, the latent magic in Hawke’s throat fueling it, and it raced across their tongues and down Vahn’s throat with enough force he might have gagged if he’d been in control of his own body. The spirit screamed in his head instead, fighting the spell, and the sound echoed. Vahn fought for his body—the physical sensations. The cold air pressing in on skin. His skin. The warmth of Hawke’s mouth deepening against Vahn’s. His mouth. The touch was so complete and sure. As were the fingers tangled in Vahn’s hair to keep his head still even as the spirit raged against the intrusion.

And there. Vahn gripped the sensations, made them his own, and the spirit left him. Hawke shot back, nearly falling outright, and threw himself to the side to hack up the spell now lodged in his throat. Vahn caught his breath, glad to feel his own body as more than a spectator this time, and by the time Vahn had it, Hawke had spit up the paper.

“Ah!” Vahn yanked his bag to his lap. “Bag, I beg of you—a spelled jar!” The jar flung itself free with immediacy and Vahn slammed the opening over the sodden paper. Just in time, too. The paper morphed, expanding as the spirit tore through it, but she was trapped in the spelled jar. Nothing could get in or out.

Vahn wanted to collapse right there—five minutes to rest, at least—but jerked back to reality when he felt Hawke touching his face.

“Hey, hey,” Hawke whispered. The worry was too clear in his voice. “You good?”

Vahn leaned into the touch and smiled. “It’s me. Yes. You were never asleep, were you?”

Hawke let go and readjusted the mask on his face. Not that it was needed with the spirit in the jar now. “I figured I had to trick her somehow.” He looked at Vahn’s wrist and winced. It still stung and the blood was bright. “Bandages in there, I hope?”

Spelled ones, in fact. They were warm to the touch and Vahn appreciated the soft way in which Hawke worked them around his wrist. Hawke tied it up gently and sat back.

“Bathhouse after this?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

They peered at the jar. The paper now covered it on the inside, spread thin as the spirit attempted her escape. Vahn sighted the shimmer inside that was her, but she was safely there. Vahn dug into his bag for the lid and he and Hawke managed to seal it.

“The fuck even was that?” Hawke asked as Vahn studied it.

“Very angry spirit,” he said. “She said she wanted to see the sky, but she was still trapped inside.” He gazed upward, following the trail of magic he’d felt when they first came in. “The cultists bound her to something—someone. She was referring to another person here. Except if she was still trapped like this… then the body they used to bind her yet lives.”

“Ah, shit.” Hawke peered upward too. “Where is the body, then?”

Vahn focused on the images he’d seen glimpses of in her memory. Masked men and women carrying a woman upward. Ceiling beams hacked apart. Glitter of the moons above. There was only one place they could have done it if the moons were required.

“Attic,” he said and the jar rocked violently in his hands. “Let’s hurry. If we can dispel the binding, that should release this spirit and stop all the other problems if it’s truly caused by this one.”

With the spirit contained, the furniture did not fly at them. The house had settled, either from what Vahn had done to it before or the spirit being trapped, and it was silent in the sense of a death too deep to fully recover from. Vahn and Hawke headed upward as quick as they could.

The entire place was covered in the same dust and cobwebs. No one had actually lived here in a while and each room had furniture covered in white sheets. Magic items had been abandoned in various rooms—likely by the cultists—and Vahn happily put them into his bag to study later. It wasn’t long before they found the attic ladder, but by then there were cracks forming on the jar.

The attic was just as dusty and cobwebby as the rest of the house, but it was also cold. Too cold to be normal and Vahn could see his breath as they ascended. Frost had collected on everything within—old paintings, crates full of belongings, even more covered furniture—and they resembled little white crystals as they shimmered from the moonlight coming in from the hole in the roof. The new skylight illuminated the ritual site and the broken body laying forgotten, bound with enchanted stakes. Clustered around the body were candles enchanted to never go out, giving the body a haunting ember glow.

And though Vahn wanted to look anywhere else, he couldn’t find anything else and studied the poor woman there in the center of the ritual circle. What caught his attention first was her face. Untouched and soft, her eyes were unfocused as she stared at the moons above. Pale eyes, pale hair, pale skin—like she’d fade away if she could.

It was Iris, he realized. The woman from the inn who sent them here.

Vahn caught Hawke’s arm to steady himself and the bard stared as incredulous as Vahn.

The rest of Iris’ body was wrong. Sigils had been carved across her body and the blood had long since dried against her broken skin. Enchanted stakes were driven through her hands and ankles, trapping her there while also binding the spirit to her. As long as she lived—trapped in this state of not quite alive but not quite dead either because of the many spells upon the stakes—the spirit would be just as trapped.

If only the cultists had just freed her before they ran.

“Iris?” Vahn spoke, hardly trusting his voice above a whisper.

She blinked, tears escaping her eyes, and exhaled a shuddering breath. “It worked.” She couldn’t turn to face them. “I’m so relieved.”

Vahn gentle settled on his knees beside her. Hawke stayed frozen at the attic entrance. “I… I can’t save you,” Vahn explained. “This is too much—I—”

“I know.” Iris closed her eyes. “I just want to move on. Release the poor spirit who only wished to see the sky as I did. Then everything will settle. Sleep again down in the roots of the leyline it ventured from.”

Putting aside the how Iris had initially reached out—it didn’t matter—Vahn set about undoing the horror. He settled the jar beside her and it stopped rocking, like the spirit saw what they were doing. First came the enchanted stakes. They were heavy, almost too hot with residual magic to handle, but each one came out. Iris tried not to cry as sensations of her body returned, the spells keeping her suspended in time collapsing. Hawke came over, magic quick on his lips as he whispered soothing words to her. Her eyes trained on him, a soft smile on her lips, and she focused on his words completely—not what her body had become.

When the stakes were free, Vahn went about removing the sigils from her body. They came up easily with the right spell and it was only then Vahn noticed the final stake. The one driven through her heart.

“Last one,” Vahn whispered.

“Thank you,” Iris said, never once looking down as Vahn had to dig into her chest to get a grip on the final stake.

Her bones were brittle beneath skin easily ripped away, and Vahn hated all of it. Except this would be it. He pulled the final stake free and she released a dying gasp so profound, everything else went silent. The single moment stretched on, letting her die finally beneath the gaze of the moons, and the jar ceased moving altogether. She was gone and so was the spirit—the binds released with Iris’ death.

Nighttime sounds returned softly. The song of crickets. The owls in the distance. Even the breeze rustling the dry leaves. Vahn closed his eyes, listening, and let himself sit there for a moment.

“I hate cults,” Hawke whispered. “I really, really do.”

There was a story there and this only added to it. Maybe Hawke would tell Vahn one day, but for now, he was glad he didn’t know. “I agree,” Vahn said. “They wanted a spirit they could control, but it fought back, so… they ran. It was Iris’ friend. All this did was draw out the pain and anguish. No wonder it acted as it did—it probably thought we were the same.”

“It wanted to protect her,” Hawke said.

“And see the sky as she had.”

Hawke whispered funeral words Vahn didn’t catch and once he finished, they covered her in a white sheet and left. Nothing else they could do here. Best to leave it alone. The house was soft now, the anger and trauma abated, and it was no longer host to the evil humans did to one another. Now, it stood as a remembrance of the woman who’d loved her house and the spirit she invited inside.

The broom was right where Vahn had left it and he didn’t have the energy to tease Hawke this time as he reactivated the magic within. They softly rose into the air before long, leaving the villa below them.

“So,” Hawke breathed out, his arms tight around Vahn. It reminded Vahn of a hug, but it was more than likely Hawke just worried about falling. Didn’t stop it from being warm against the breeze so up high. “Yeah. Bathhouse, right?”

Vahn chuckled and turned them toward town. “Yes. I think a good, warm soak is in order. I want to stay inside until my skin melts and reminds me I am indeed in my own body.”

There were certainly other ways to do the same—more carnal ways he might enjoy more—but he was too exhausted to do any teasing. Soaking beneath the starlight would be enough. It’d recharge his magic and let him relax. Forget the night.

“We should stay another night,” Vahn suggested. “Have fun with their festival.”

“You want to?” There was a teasing edge to Hawke’s voice. “We’ll need to find you a new mask. I think it broke when it flung from your face.”

“I don’t mind!” Vahn soared them toward town and kicked his legs. “Iris went through a lot to make sure Herron got to have its festival, so I think it’s best if we go in honor of her memory.” He glanced back at Hawke and grinned. “I’ll even be careful this time!”

Hawke smiled and squeezed his arms around Vahn. “You’d better! I do not want to see another possessed you as long as I live. That was scary!”

“How do you think I felt?” Vahn laughed and leaned into Hawke. “Ready to dive?”

“Dive?”

Vahn let the broom nosedive toward town, cackling all the while, and Hawke couldn’t bite back a yell in time.

🙡🙢

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