Chapter 1 Power of the moon in my lips
It was still early in the morning when Izabella found herself knocking on the heavy, oak door to her brother’s place. This was the usual time she came around, so she was sure that he wouldn’t be sleeping. Besides, Brandon was never much of a sleeper which came in handy when they needed to stay up all night for work. Even when he slept, he did it with one eye open.
She pressed the miniature bell, which released a sweet, musical sound, notifying the home owner that someone was at the door. The song lasted a few seconds, during which Izabella looked around. She frowned upon seeing that one of the flowerpots had been knocked down. There was dirt everywhere but at least the flower wasn’t broken. She bent over and placed it back as it was before, blowing away the leftover dirt.
“There you go, little flower,” she smiled.
Brandon always made fun of her, ever since they were kids, for treating everything like it had delicate feelings. Izabella, of course, begged to differ. To her, everything had a soul and needed to be treated with respect and care. There was no other way about it.
Izabella looked up and glanced at the door, expecting it to be opened any second now. She was ready to make fun of him for sleeping in on such a lovely sunny day. She might even punch him playfully in the shoulder, as she usually did, but nothing happened. The door remained closed. No familiar face appeared. She leaned a little to the side, trying to see inside through his window, but the curtains were drawn, revealing nothing but
darkness.
She sighed, ringing the bell again. The sweet melody played once more and it soothed her impatience. A few more seconds passed. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Nothing. Not a sound. Not a sight. Just silence.
Izabella was becoming increasingly worried. This was unlike Brandon. If their plans were changed, he’d let her know. He wasn’t so mean as to let someone get to his door, only to realize that there was nobody home, especially since he lived out of the city and it usually took her about half an hour to reach him. He’d call. He’d message. Anything.
Izabella fumbled inside her purse, then got out her phone. She dialed her brother, then waited. A moment later, she heard the phone ring inside the house. Fear started creeping up her body, like a six-legged spider, making her feel every single step. She swallowed heavily, her free hand immediately resting on the little knife she always had in her pocket.
“Brandon?” she called out to him loudly.
She quickly bent down and moved the loose tile on the porch, revealing a little hole, just big enough to hide a set of keys. She grabbed them, then unlocked the door, opening it violently. What awaited her inside, was the sight of her worst nightmares.
The whole place was a mess. All the books from the shelves lay carelessly scattered around and the glass surface of the coffee table was broken into millions of little pieces. The sofa was torn, the pillows looked like a wild cat had gotten a hold of them and did some claw practice. There, on the floor, next to where the carpet had been rolled, she
could see smeared blood.
Izabella started to shake. It was like the ground beneath her feet was moving and she had nothing safe to hold onto. She was left on her own. Despite that crushing feeling of fear, she rushed over and touched the blood. It was still fresh. Whoever was here, left a short while ago, taking Brandon with them, dead or alive. She could only hope it was the latter one.
She turned around, trying to figure out what she could do, who she could call, but there was no one. Ever since they were little, it had always been just the two of them. Their mother had died a mysterious death when both of them were too little to have any memory of her, apart from an old, worn out photo Brandon had, tucked in his wallet. Their dad was an estranged piece of shit who preferred a bottle to his own kids. So, Izabella and Brandon silently agreed that it was easier and less emotionally straining to just stay together, the two of them, not needing anyone else. They were all the family they needed and things were just fine.
Suddenly, she remembered something. She rushed over to his bedroom. It seemed that whoever was here, didn’t leave out the bedroom, either. All of Brandon’s clothes were thrown out of his wardrobe, his shirts, shoes, pants, everything but she knew Brandon was too clever to keep anything of value in his wardrobe. She glanced at his desk. The drawers were gaping open, empty. She extracted the middle drawer, then bent down to take a look at the desk. She could only hope that they didn’t know about the secret compartment where Brandon kept the book. She couldn’t see very well, so she used her fingers, trying to find the latch, which she was supposed to pull a little to the side, and then, the secret compartment would be revealed. She tampered with it for a while, even cursing once.
Brandon had showed it to her once and now she wished she’d paid more attention.
Unable to hold it in any longer, she broke down. Sitting on the floor of her brother’s ransacked home, with him missing and maybe even dead, she cowered helplessly in a fetal position, wrapping her arms around her legs. She felt an urge to cry, to scream his name violently, so that whoever had hurt him would know that she was coming after them.
She allowed the tears to roll down her cheeks freely, not even wiping them. Salty and warm, she could taste them in the corners of her lips. She wanted to feel her brother’s arms around her and hear his voice telling her it would be alright, as he always did, but he was gone. Someone had taken him away from her. There was nothing but silence, cold and oppressive, but it offered at least some hope that Brandon might still be alive. It was this hope that would keep her going, ’til the very end.
When she finally managed to calm down, she wiped her tears with her sleeve. Then, she reached for the latch, slowly and deliberately. This time, her fingers knew exactly where to pull. She wasn’t thinking. She just let her fingers feel for the latch. It was like an invisible force was guiding her fingers, dictating the position and the exact force of pressure. A second later, and there it was: the opening, to the side of the desk. Izabella quickly looked inside.
It was empty, the vast unoccupied space gaping at her violently. The book was gone. Someone else had it now. A million thoughts started swarming inside her mind, like angry wasps. Were they looking for the book? Was that what they came for? If they got the book, why would they take Brandon, too? Unless…
But, she didn’t want to go there right now. It was crucial for her to believe that Brandon was alive. For all she knew, he was. Why would anyone kill him, then take his body? It didn’t make any sense. Someone had hurt him badly, hence the blood, but he was still alive and taken away somewhere. This meant that she still had the chance to bring him back, to save him, just like he would save her if their roles were reversed.
And, the book… she needed to get it back. If it fell into the wrong hands, who knew what might happen. She shuddered at the very thought of Malleus Maleficarum, otherwise known as The Witch’s Hammer, being out there, unguarded. Its power was immense. Only someone worded in the ancient knowledge of witchcraft would know what to do with it.
Izabella got up and slowly walked out of the house. There was nothing left for her here.
The answers were out there and she needed to find them before it was too late.