The Spellbook
Two weeks later…
Eight exact days had elapsed since that frightening night at the Carey house, and there was an eerie quietness over Greenly Bay. The fog had rolled away, uncovering crisp autumnal air, and the town buzzed with a restless tranquility. There was a buzz in the air and it carried a wave of joy and peace with it, sweeping across all the working parts of the small town. Kids roamed the streets, their laughter echoing off worn-down houses, kicking footballs and exchanging cards without even a suggestion of fear. Parents remained on porches, chatting over coffee cups, their voices cheerful for the first time in months. No murders. No kidnappings. It was almost like the curse that had kept the town in its thrall seemed a far-off memory, a dream that faded with dawn.
In the precinct, the mood was indicative of the streets. Matilda Willock sat at her desk, filing with an odd smile, hands steady after sleepless nights. "You can't believe it?" she asked, glancing over at Jack Hayes, who leaned back in his chair, boots on the floor. "Two weeks. Nothing. Maybe it's done."
Jack nodded, taking a drink from a mug with a cracked rim. "Yeah. Kids playing out there—haven't seen those since summer. Feels like the weight's off. Martin's quieted down."
Matilda stacked a folder, a look of hope on her face. "Maybe that medallion did its work. Sent him away for good."
Jack snorted, setting his mug down on the table. "Either way. Or Moriah got bored. Either works."
But not everyone was so hopeful. Kane Baker stood against the window, arms crossed, eyes watching the children outside. His jaw was set, his forehead furrowed in a scowl. "Too easy," he muttered to himself rather than to anyone. "This ain't over."
Matilda's focus fell on him, puzzled. "What? Why not? No signs, no trouble."
Kane shook his head, turning to her. "Feels wrong. Martin's rage—it didn't just evaporate. That man is pissed off with this town and there’s nothing any of us have done that would have quelled his anger or cast him away to the otherside. Moriah's magic doesn't let go like that. We hit him, sure, but he's still plotting and I have a feeling that when he comes back, he’ll come back fully swinging and a few tricks from us won’t bail us out then."
Jack's eyebrow rose. "You think he's lying in wait. And if he’s waiting around, what’s he waitin’ around for something?"
"His revenge is not yet complete," Kane replied, his voice low. "Or something more. That oath—he meant it."
Down the hallway, Vera Kingsley sat by herself in her office, the door ajar. The spellbook and medallion rested on the desk before her, its presence a reminder of the things not done. She stared at them, fingers tracing over the worn cover of the book, the three-pointed star cut deep. Two weeks of silence, but the enigma gnawed at her. The book would not open—medallion slid loosely, nothing. She turned the metal around, twisting it, forcing it into the hole.
"Come on," she pushed harder. The edge of the blade caught her thumb, a snapping nick. A bubble of blood welled up, trickling onto the medallion as it wedged uncomfortably home.
She cursed at herself, licked the cut—then froze. The medallion was glowing, absorbing the blood like a sponge. Seconds passed, and it grew, edges fitting into the shape of the lock. A soft click echoed.
“What the…” Vera said panickedly, still holding on to the book while on her seat. She knew something serious was about to happen and ought to run, but she was stuck to that chair; no escape for her.
The book shuddered, then opened, a blinding light spilling out. Vera's vision went out of focus, her body stiffening in trance. The office receded, filled with the dark riverbank below a starless night. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her or what was real anymore, but something certainly was. All the evidence pointed to the supernatural– etched in unravelled mystery still to be uncovered.
The river’s water rippled softly by itself, a shiver crawling into her bones. A voice drifted through the night—soft, melodic, otherworldly. Vera turned, heart pounding. A woman stood there, radiant yet unnerving—long hair flowing like shadows, eyes deep and ancient. Beauty with an edge, like a storm disguised as calm.
“Who…?” Vera whispered.
The woman smiled, stepping closer. “Take a wild guess. You already know my name, child.”
“You’re the Moriah demon?”
“Very formal, putting it that way but quite correct. You’ve intrigued me, Sheriff. Your persistence—it’s quite rare in mortals. Most would have turned back by now, or have lost their lives.”
“Maybe that’s not happened simply because Martin Carey is a coward who can only slaughter little children who can’t defend themselves against him. Now that he’s facing people who can actually fight back, it shows that he’s not as much of a threat as he thinks he is…”
“He’s fuelled by my power, and I’m no corpse on a killing spree. I’m an immortal being,” Moriah zipped, appearing much closer to Vera— the sheriff could feel the demon’s aura oozing into her.
Vera’s breath caught, instincts screaming danger. “Why am I here? Do you want something from me?”
"Indeed I do, but it’s more like I want to give you something," Moriah breathed, her voice a warning and a caress. "Your blood offering—unknowing, but claimed. A drop, freely given, is powerful. I permit you to see—to read my words."
Vera blinked, stunned. "See? What—"
She never had the chance. The riverbank vanished. She stumbled back into her office, light to darkness. Her knees buckled, and she crashed, chair splintering. The noise jolted the others.
Matilda leaped up. "What was that?"
Kane was already moving, axe in his hand. "Vera!" He rushed into the office, with Jack and Matilda after him.
They found her on the floor, book open beside her. Kane knelt beside her, helping her up. "You okay? What's happening?"
Vera clutched at his arm, panting. "Moriah. She appeared to me. We spoke by the riverbank. My blood opened the book, and the demon, she— she did something to me." She snatched up the book, eyes wild.
Jack supported her. "Wait. What did she do?"
Vera turned a page, reading. "Lumen ex tenebris— The spell for a plague of bugs"
The words rolled off her lips with ease, causing her to gasp. She held the page out to them— not written in any familiar language.
Matilda frowned. "That's not English."
Vera quivered. "No, it’s Latin, and I just read it. But here’s the kicker; I never learned Latin."