Chapter 27 The Search for Answers
The interior of Duke’s unmarked sedan smelled of stale coffee and the damp, heavy scent of a city that had been raining for a century. Outside, the neon signs of the district blurred into long, bleeding streaks of light against the windshield.
Duke drove in silence, his grip tight on the steering wheel, while Mitch sat in the passenger seat, a thick, yellowed accordion folder balanced on his knees.
Mitch looked steady, but there was a flicker of something old and jagged in his eyes. He cleared his throat, his voice low against the hum of the engine.
“My dad wasn’t some conspiracy nut, Duke. You remember him. He lectured sociology for thirty years. Urban poverty, social deviance, religious communities… that kind of thing. He was a man of data, not spirits.”
Duke glanced at him, then back to the road. “I remember. Professor Bennett was the only man I knew who could make a lecture on population density sound like a war briefing.”
“Right. Well, he spent a decade documenting informal support systems in marginalized communities,” Mitch continued, tapping the folder. “Folk healers. Midwives. Spiritualists. People the poor and the forgotten trusted when the institutions, the hospitals, the police, the government, failed them. He was looking for the glue that held the 'invisible' parts of the city together.”
Mitch opened the folder, pulling out a page of handwritten notes. “And this one woman kept appearing in his interviews. Over and over, across ten years of research.”
Duke let out a short, skeptical breath. “A faith healer. Every neighborhood has one, Mitch. They sell herbs and hope to people who can’t afford insurance.”
“No,” Mitch replied, his voice dropping an octave. “That’s the weird part. According to his notes, people didn't go to her for a prayer and a placebo. They went to her after the best doctors in the state gave up. Missing kids were found after she ‘spoke to the spirits’ of the alleyways. Gang leaders, men who didn't fear God or the law, avoided entire streets because she warned them death was coming. My father wrote that the community treated her less like a person and more like… social infrastructure. Like a bridge or a power grid. You don't question it; you just rely on it to keep the lights on.”
“And you think she’s the link to Leo Mendoza?” Duke asked.
“I think she’s the link to everything,” Mitch said, staring out at the darkening streets. “Including what happened to me.”
They found the house tucked away in a cul-de-sac where the streetlights had long since been smashed. The air here felt different; thicker, colder, and vibrating with a low-frequency hum that made the hair on Duke’s arms stand up.
It was a small, weather beaten cottage overgrown with creeping vines that looked like skeletal fingers.
As they stepped out of the car, Mitch suddenly stumbled. He grabbed the roof of the sedan, his face turning a sickly shade of grey. He began to sweat, his eyes darting toward the house with a look of raw, instinctive terror.
“Mitch?” Duke stepped toward him, his hand hovering over his holster. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”
Mitch swallowed hard, his jaw tight. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and rot, Zhil-vae was so dense it felt like walking through invisible cobwebs. To Mitch, whose mind had already been cracked by the city’s darkness, the house felt like a screaming mouth.
“Nothing,” Mitch hissed through clenched teeth, brushing Duke’s hand away. “Just… the air. It’s heavy. Let’s just get this over with.”
They walked up the porch. The wood groaned under their weight. Duke knocked, a sharp, authoritative police knock.
The door creaked open just an inch. A pair of sharp, ancient eyes peered out from the darkness. It was Mama. She looked at Duke’s badge, then her gaze shifted to Mitch. Her expression hardened instantly.
“You brought a broken mirror to my doorstep,” she rasped, her voice like dry leaves. “Whatever rot you’re carrying, take it elsewhere. I don’t serve the law, and I don't serve the dead.”
“We’re looking for information on a student, Leo Mendoza,” Duke said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the oppressive atmosphere. “And another boy. Noah Ware.”
“Names are just labels for ghosts,” Mama said, beginning to close the door. “Unless you have a warrant, you’re trespassing on ground that doesn't belong to the city. Leave.”
“Listen here, you old hag,” Mitch snapped, the pressure in the air finally snapping his restraint. He moved with a sudden, violent desperation. “I know what you are. I know what you’ve done to this city. You and your 'spirits'. You’re the reason I can’t sleep! You’re the reason those boys are turning into shells!”
“Mitch, back off!” Duke warned, but it was too late.
In a fit of manic rage, Mitch lunged. He slammed his shoulder into the door, the wood splintering as he forced his way in. He tackled Mama to the floor, his fingers digging into her shoulders as he pinned her down.
“Undo it!” Mitch screamed, his face inches from hers, spittle flying. “Undo the spell! You and your kind, you voodoo monkeys, you think you can play with our heads? Tell me how to fix it!”
“Mitch! Stop!” Duke roared. He grabbed Mitch by the back of his jacket and hauled him off the old woman. Mitch struggled, kicking out, his eyes rolled back in his head until only the whites showed. Duke threw him toward the door and stood between them, his heart racing.
Mama sat up slowly, adjusting her shawl. She didn't look afraid; she looked pitying. “The darkness didn't come from me, boy,” she whispered to Mitch. “It was always inside you.”
Duke dragged a snarling Mitch out of the house and down the porch steps. He shoved him against the sedan, his face red with anger. “Have you lost your absolute marbles? You just assaulted a civilian! In her own home! I should cuff you right now, Mitch. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Mitch kissed his teeth in a sharp, jagged sound of annoyance, the racist adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. He didn't look at Duke. He just adjusted his jacket and started walking away into the darkness of the cul-de-sac. “You don't get it, Duke. You’re still looking for fingerprints. I’m looking for the knife in the soul.”
On the other side of the city, the rain had turned into a fine, stinging mist.
“Trust me, even a little bit,” Harvey said, his ginger hair plastered to his forehead. He led Noah and Kael toward a massive, rusted warehouse on the edge of the industrial district. The windows were boarded up with rotted timber, and the entire structure looked like it was bowing under the weight of its own history.
As they reached the heavy steel doors, Kael suddenly skidded to a halt. He threw an arm out, physically blocking Noah from taking another step. His brown eyes were wide, the pupils narrowed to pinpricks.
“No,” Kael hissed, his voice vibrating with a predatory alarm. “We are not entering this tomb. A vae-vhalir has woven a ward here, a protection bubble so dense it’s practically a physical wall of iron. If I step through that, it will strip the skin from my essence.”
Noah turned to Kael and asked “A what?”
“A witch or warlock” Harvey turned around, his hands in his pockets, looking remarkably calm for someone standing next to a tense entity ready to strike. “Relax, dude. It’s a selective ward. It’s designed to keep the Shadow Flowers out. If you’re invited in by a resident, you can pass through unharmed. It’s like a digital handshake. You’re with me, so the house won’t bite.”
Kael’s jaw remained tight, his fingers twitching. He looked at Noah, seeking a reason to flee, but Noah’s face was set in a grim mask of desperation.
“We have to, Kael,” Noah whispered. “Harvey, is the only lead we have that isn't a voice in my head.”
Reluctantly, Kael lowered his arm. As they stepped through the threshold, a ripple of cold, electric energy washed over them. To Noah, it felt like a static shock; to Kael, it was a silent scream of power that made his very bones ache.
The interior of the warehouse was a cavernous space filled with the skeletons of old machinery and crates. A single spiral staircase made of wrought iron rose into the darkness of the upper rafters.
The moment Kael’s heel clicked onto the concrete floor, a sharp thrum echoed through the air.
“Get down!” Harvey yelled, but he was too slow.
An arrow, tipped with a shimmering, silver-blue light, hissed through the darkness. It was aimed directly for the center of Kael’s forehead. Kael’s hand blurred, a movement so fast it was almost invisible.
He caught the shaft of the arrow inches from his skin, the force of the projectile making his arm vibrate. The silver light on the arrowhead hissed as it touched his palm, smelling of burnt ozone.
“Harvey!” a loud, booming voice rang out from above. “Why have you brought a zhilkarn into my home? Have you lost your mind?”
Noah looked up. Standing on the landing of the staircase was a young man, barely nineteen, of Native American descent. His long, black hair was tied back, and intricate tribal marks were inked across his exposed, muscular arms.
He stood with his feet planted firm, his longbow drawn back to his ear, another arrow notched and ready to fly.
The boy’s eyes were locked on Kael with a hatred that was centuries old.
“He’s with me, Chayton!” Harvey shouted, stepping into the line of fire. “He’s the tethered demon! We’re out of time! The Flowers are blooming and Noah is already hearing the void!”
Chayton didn't lower the bow. His eyes flickered to Noah, then back to the violet-eyed entity catching his arrows. “Inviting a being corrupted by zhil vae inside is like inviting a fire to a paper house, Harvey. Tell me why I shouldn't do what the ward was made to do.”
Kael snapped the arrow in his hand with a contemptuous click, though the shaft seared his palm black on contact. The moment he let the broken pieces fall, the charred flesh began knitting itself at a visible rate.
His eyes glowed with a dangerous, aristocratic fury as he spoke. “Try it, little bird. I’d love to see how your wood and string hold up against me.”
Zhilerian Words in the Chapter (This is long overdue I’m sorryyy)
1. Zhil Vae (ZHEEL-vay):
i. Short meaning: Dark energy
ii. Full meaning: The shadow pulse. It’s an innate energy all beings have, some more than others. Humans have the least amount.
iii. Derivation: Derived from the roots “Zhil” (Shadow/Darkness) and “Vae” (Pulse/Breath/Energy)
2. Vae-vhalir (VAY-vah-leer):
i. Short meaning: Witches/Warlocks.
ii. Full meaning: The one who masters the pulse/energy. This name is for those who can manipulate and control their zhil vae to perform curses or spells but have not been corrupted or succumbed to it.
iii. Derivation: A compound of “Vae” (Energy), “Vhal” (Weight/Mastery) and the sentient suffix “-ir” (One who…).
3. Zhilkarn (ZHEEL-karn):
i. Short meaning: Demons
ii. Full meaning: Shadow flesh. This is someone that has been corrupted by zhil vae. Not only can they manipulate it but their body is brimming with it though they appear human.
iii. Derivation: A combination of “Zhil” (Shadow in this context) and the root “Karn” (Flesh/Physical Body).
NOTE:
Zhilerian is unique, cursed language as each word is a spell and takes up zhil vae, that’s why in chapter 12 and 11 Kael was shocked when Noah spoke it, Mama said he (Noah) was corroding and Kathleen was unable to say a word.
The more powerful a being is the more words they can say. Warlocks/witches/Demons mostly mix few Zhilerian words with earthly words to cast spells or deliver blows.