Chapter 135 - Magic Shop

Down a lonely street, with little more than the occasional abandoned farm or trailer, or a side road marked with a faded “Private Property” sign—an orange Jeep rumbled along, blasting heavy metal music.

As Hilda passed a sign reading "Atomyst’s Magic and Occultism, three miles ahead!" she turned the volume down slightly. She hadn’t visited the shop in a while, despite having plenty she could share with Arrietta. Right now, though, she needed help.

She had combed through her mother’s journals, trying to find information on changelings, but with no luck. It was likely buried somewhere in her massive, disorganized collections, but sifting through it all would be nearly impossible. Consequently, Hilda decided her best option was to consult other experts on the blacker side of the supernatural world.

She was deeply troubled by the fact that the changeling flesh seemed to be affecting more and more of Morrigan’s body. It wasn’t too surprising—this was uncharted territory, after all—but Hilda feared just how far it might go. Could it take over entirely? Since Morrigan was a reaper, there was a worst-case solution of simply disposing of her mortal flesh, but Hilda did not want to do that to the poor girl, and she knew Morrigan absolutely did not want that either.

Finally, Hilda pulled into the gravelly, unmaintained driveway. The shop looked damn near abandoned, with dusty windows and peeling paint—though she supposed it added to the atmosphere. Muggles especially seemed to appreciate that kind of thing. Even Arrietta’s car, if she were here, wasn’t in sight. It was probably bewitched. Hilda scanned Arrietta’s usual parking spot and saw four evenly spaced indentations in the dirt, where tires would have been sitting. Yes, the car was here. As Arrietta and Atomyst liked to say, something as mundane as a car would ruin the illusion of the shop they aimed for. People tend to feel like things are less magical if they are too modern, for some reason, which was silly, of course, but that’s just how muggles are—so, oh well.

Hilda stepped onto the porch and entered, the bell above the door chiming. The familiar shop looked just as it always did: dusty, cluttered, and smelling of herbs. Rays of sunshine that managed to breach the dirty windows revealed motes of dust dancing in the air. Hilda peeked toward the front counter and, finding no one there, began browsing the shelves. They would know a witch had entered and come to greet her shortly.

She wandered over to aisles containing the jars of animal parts, always a fun section to peruse when she didn’t have a specific shopping goal. She was familiar with the basics of curses but rarely practiced them herself. Her mother had insisted on giving her a foundation in protective and healing spells rather than the “fun” stuff—which was fine by Hilda, since that on-the-surface “not-so-fun” stuff still had its own appeal.

As Hilda picked up a jar of eyeballs floating around in some green-tinted liquid, she heard a rustling of robes but didn’t bother looking up, even as Arrietta said, “If you break anything, you buy it.”

Hilda continued turning the jar in her hand, watching the eyeballs bob against each other. “Drop the theatrics, Arrietta.”

She chuckled softly. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you, Hilda?” She looked the same as ever: clad in dark clothing and a witch’s hat, with black makeup around her eyes and lips. Her black-painted nails were adorned with carefully painted white runes.

“I’m doing good. I’ve just had some interesting stuff happen recently. I wanted to bounce a few things off you—and maybe the old guy, if he’s in.”

“He’s always in, of course,” Arrietta confirmed, folding her arms and giving Hilda a suspicious once-over. “Might I ask what this ‘interesting stuff’ particularly pertains to? Thinking about cursing someone?”

“Ha, no, not quite.” Hilda set the jar of eyeballs down, then smirked as she returned her gaze to Arrietta. “Demons.”

The fair-skinned witch raised an eyebrow. “Demons?”

“Why do you look so surprised? I like to have fun every now and then too, you know. Anyway, I’m specifically trying to learn more about changelings.”

Arrietta frowned, the sharp corners of her makeup pointing downward and exaggerating the expression. “Changelings, huh? Are you doing okay, Hilda?” Her tone was uncharacteristically soft and concerned.

Hilda waved it off. “It’s not like that. I happen to… hmm… how to explain it.” She placed a hand under her chin, thinking over how much to divulge to Arrietta. This was mainly Morrigan’s business, and though Hilda trusted both Arrietta and her grandfather, she knew witches better than anyone, and they may end up being just a little too interested if she wasn’t cautious.

“Hilda… what happened to your parents is in the past now,” Arrietta continued. “I know it’s not easy to move on, but you really must—”

“I already said it’s not like that,” Hilda replied humorously, cutting her off. “Seriously, it’s not. I just… well, I happened to come across another one a while ago and…” She sighed as Arrietta's brow perked up. “Okay, you remember my little cousin’s unusual friend, right?”

“The reaper,” Arrietta said. “How could I possibly forget?”

“Apparently, you left an impression on her as well.” Hilda grinned. “Anyway… uh, so, how much do you know about how she became a reaper in the first place?”

Arrietta shrugged. “From what Morrigan told us, her soul was defiled, but the reaper assigned to her took pity on her and made her his apprentice.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a bit more to that story.” Hilda paused, a mental drumroll sounding in her head. “Turns out, the ritual was successful—they summoned a demon. A changeling, that is.”

Hilda wasn’t sure what reaction she expected from Arrietta, but she didn’t anticipate it would shock Arrietta to the point of her taking a physical step backwards. “Uh… surprise?” Hilda muttered, wondering about the tension.

Arrietta turned, tilting her head so that her hat shadowed her eyes. “You are aware that incident was troublesome for my family—especially for my little brother.”

“Oh… right. Yeah, how is he by the way?”

“He knows Morrigan is alive, which has only confused him more. I didn’t tell him she’s a reaper—he doesn’t even know what a reaper is—but I assured him she’s okay and that the boys who caused everything won’t trouble him again.”

Hilda’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So… just what did you do to those boys?” She caught Arrietta’s lip curling slightly and knew the answer to that question wouldn’t be a pleasant one.

“They have stolen from us and wrought the wrath of a family of witches. I need say no more.”

Yikes. That doesn’t sound good. Well, hopefully she didn’t go too, too far.

“But you say they’ve summoned a changeling?” Arrietta asked, turning her gaze back to Hilda. “If you know where it is, I can help you defeat it. I’m glad you didn’t try to handle it alone.”

Hilda winced. “Uh… that’s not exactly it. Let’s just say, yeah, I didn’t handle it on my own, but it’s been dealt with.”

“The reapers?” Arrietta guessed.

“I’ve got some interesting friends these days, lets just say that.”

“I wouldn’t expect reapers to help a witch,” Arrietta remarked.

“Well, it’s their job to handle things that don’t belong in this world. Besides, the changeling latched onto our mutual friend.”

Arrietta’s eyes widened. “Morrigan?”

Hilda nodded. “It happened a little after you met her. According to Emma, Morrigan started behaving like a wandering spirit—drawn to her place of death, the graveyard. Turns out the changeling that spawned from her blood was calling to her.”

“I see. But you managed to save her? That’s fortunate. It must not have gotten far in consuming her.”

Hilda winced again. “Aaaactually…”

Arrietta’s eyes narrowed. “Just spit it out. Where is this all going?”

“To make a long story short… We managed to separate them, but Morrigan’s body was largely consumed, soooo…” She cleared her throat. “I had the idea to use the changeling’s flesh to repair her body and grafted it into her.”

“You what?” Arrietta nearly snapped. “Impossible! You’re no expert in such things, and—”

“A voidling helped,” Hilda cut in. “He did most of the surgery; I did the healing and purifying. It went better than expected.”

“You're making no sense,” Arrietta objected. “You cannot graft—” She scoffed, as if annoyed at the trouble of explaining something so obvious, until she concisely declared, “Changelings consume humans.”

“We just used its flesh. It wasn’t technically alive anymore. Death assured us of that,” Hilda explained.

Arrietta’s eyes widened, intrigued. “And it… worked?”

Hilda nodded. “Yes, and that’s why I’m here. The graft is only on her back, where the changeling first fused with her, but she recently received a deep wound on her stomach, and it healed way too quickly. Not only that, the graft appears to be spreading—albeit slightly —but the area it covers is definitely expanding. I can only imagine it's doing so not just on the surface but possibly inside Morrigan as well.

Arrietta nodded. “That’s reasonable to assume. But you don’t believe its presence has reached all the way through her body, to her stomach where she was wounded?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hilda said. “I assume that means individual cells are migrating across her body at this point. Maybe they’re in her bloodstream or something.”

Arrietta cast a quick glance toward the front of the store, making sure no one else was around. “While I can barely wrap my head around how you pulled this off, I believe it was reckless.”

“She would have died—well, not exactly died, but she’d have had to abandon her flesh,” Hilda explained. “Her wounds were far too severe. A normal person wouldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes with injuries like that.”

“Even so,” Arrietta countered, “this may have caused her greater harm in the long run. You say the changeling is dead—how can you be certain?”

“As I said, Death confirmed it. Even Morrigan says the changeling doesn’t seem to have any consciousness of its own and simply reacts to her. It replaced part of her spine, so it’s not surprising it’s sensitive to whatever's in her head.”

Arrietta’s gaze drifted upward as she touched the brim of her hat. Then she spoke to the air: “Grandfather, you’ve heard all of this, correct?”

“Indeed I have,” came a voice. With a soft rustle of robes, Atomyst came forward, as though stepping through an invisible curtain.

“Hey there, Gramps,” Hilda said with a smirk.

“Hilda Eastbourne, always a pleasure,” he greeted with a theatrical bow. “Now, I must say, I’ve missed the trouble your mother used to bring to my shop but am delighted to see you are filling her shoes.”

Hilda felt a prideful swell in her chest at his words, though she laughed it off. “I doubt I’ll ever match Mom’s power, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, but I disagree. With the foundation your mother has laid out for you, reaching or surpassing her level is well within your grasp.” A fond light filled his eyes before he waved it away with an exaggerated gesture. “But let’s not have the idle prattling of an old man dominate this evening. Come, please, to the back. A topic this sensitive should be discussed in private.”

Hilda followed the two masters of black magic into the rear of the shop. Well, Hilda suspected Arrietta would hardly consider herself a true master, but her attunement was the strongest of any witch around. Hilda had seen her conjure a display of explosive spells to create a magic-fueled firework show at the last Walpurgisnacht they attended. The sheer volume that Arrietta was able to produce while hardly seeming phased was something every witch and wizard gathered on that day envied.

Atomyst, on the other hand, was a mystery. Hilda had rarely seen him cast more than a simple spell, and gossip among other witches swung between legendary feats of power and utter skepticism. What was not up for debate, however, was his knowledge. He was knowledgeable about all forms of magic—protective, healing, warding, sealing, curses, rituals, potions, summoning, binding, and more. If anyone brought him a question, he was sure to have at least some detailed insight. That was only natural, considering his lifetime of running the shop and trading in esoteric secrets.

They stepped through the backroom, which stored some of their more advanced tomes and artifacts as well as properly infused staves and wands. It was a dimly lit area with white runes painted along the walls, most of which Hilda recognized as they were protective runes and she even had tattoos of some of them, particularly on her arms, along with others of various purposes scattered across her body.

Atomyst led them to what appeared to be a solid wall—but walked right through. It was actually an open doorway that was simply bewitched to appear as a solid wall.

Inside was a small, candlelit room lit room with a circular table that held a crystal ball, melted candles, and a short stack of books, presumably Atomyst’s current research. Hilda eyed the volumes curiously; they had no visible titles, so she’d have to leaf through them if she wanted to know what they were.

Atomyst lifted the stack and set it onto a nearby shelf. “So, you’re hoping to keep your young reaper friend from being consumed by changeling flesh, which you used to save her life… Well, her body, in any case, if I understand it.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it,” Hilda answered, resting her forearms on the back of a chair, not sitting down yet. Arrietta leaned casually against the wall by the doorway, which on this side appeared transparent, offering a view of the next room. Likely she was listening for anyone entering the shop and would tend to them if they came in.

Atomyst steepled his fingers and leaned forward over the table. “You’ve bound foreign flesh to her—flesh that once driven by towards a purpose—to consume. Even though the entity it belonged to is dead, I’d suspect echoes of its will remain, and physically spreading would not be the only concern here. If it’s bound to your reaper friend, she may unwittingly be inheriting certain… impulses.”

Hilda hesitated for a moment before she spun the chair around and sat down. “So you think it could influence her?”

“If her consciousness is affecting the graft, then the graft can just as easily exert pressure on her mind as well. It is not a one-way street.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Dead or no, demon flesh is more than just lumps of cells. You didn’t just sew dead tissue onto a living girl; you tethered something ‘other’ to her essence. And if that essence still carries the creature’s original impulses, they may start to awaken in her—emotionally, subconsciously.”

Arrietta stood still by the door, arms folded tight, her expression unreadable.

“She hasn’t said or done anything to suggest that,” Hilda murmured. “She’s still herself. A little distant maybe, but that’s normal for her.”

“For now,” Atomyst said gently. “But keep a close eye on her. Not just her body—her desires. Changelings are predatory creatures. They mimic, feed, and above all—they hide.”

“They hide…” Hilda echoed. “So she’ll avoid showing any changes in her personality?”

“To the extent that it conflicts with what she expects her friends will view as normal for her.”

“Why are you so sure about this?”

“Because it’s logical. You said it’s spreading, so what happens when it finishes spreading?”

“A total takeover. That’s why I’m here. I need a way to stop it. So… got any ideas? After all, the demon was spawned from your book in the first place.” She noticed Arrietta tense by the door. Atomyst also sat up a little straighter. Hilda hadn’t intended to sound accusatory, but the fact remained: this was partly his fault.

“Are you saying I ought to take responsibility?” he asked.

“I’d say it’s only fair.”

Atomyst chuckled softly. “Indeed, you are truly Claire’s daughter. She would not have hesitated to say the exact same thing to my face.”

“Don’t soften me up by bringing up my mom. What are you going to do about this?”

“Unfortunately I’m not sure what you expect from me. My knowledge of demons only goes as far as identifying what they are, what they do, and the basics of banishing them. I have no expertise in demon grafts, nor do I know anyone who might. However… since it’s a changeling, there might be one person.”

Hilda tilted her head. “Who?”

He laughed quietly. “Your mother, of course. She was doing extensive research on changelings specifically. Of course, in the end, she may have made a dire mistake or two, but I’m sure her notes are hidden somewhere in her inheritance.”

“You mean her house.”

“No—your house,” he said, leaning forward. “She left everything to you, and all of her secrets remain locked away there. Considering her fascination with this particular type of demon, I suspect she left an abundance of relevant research. You only need to find it.”

“Look, I’ve been through her notes. Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s all a mess. Mom wasn’t… very organized. She wasn’t exactly trying to neatly pass on her knowledge.”

“Now that’s where you’re mistaken. Claire was truthfully quite systematic in her own way, and what better place to hide a treasure than amongst a mountain of rubbish. You just have to know what to look for.”

“I’ve searched that place top to bottom. If she set up some secret lab or library, she hid it really damn well.”

“Of course she did,” Atomyst said, with a glint in his eye. “It wouldn’t be much of a secret if you could just stumble into it by simply moving some furniture around. No, if she followed through on her usual patterns, it would be cloaked and locked behind a ritual—likely one only a blood relative could break. Since it is your inheritance…” He let his words trail off.

“Yeah I get it, I’m the only one who can find it.” She had suspected as much herself, but she wasn’t going to start heading down this road with Atomyst. She knew he’d be a bit over-eager to “help” her in such a search. She couldn’t blame him, though. If her mom could truly live up to the legends Hilda had heard about her, then whatever hidden research she may have would surely be a treasure trove for any witch or wizard. Fifteen years after her death, her feats were still a topic of discussion at the Walpurgisnachts.

“Anyway,” Hilda continued as she began to stand up. “Thanks for the warnings about Morrigan. Sounds like I really need to figure this out.”

“Are you leaving?” Atomyst asked.

“Well, if you don’t have anything else for me… I guess heading over to my mom’s place is all that’s left.”

As Hilda turned to leave, Arrietta shifted. "I could come with you," she offered, her voice steady but soft. "You shouldn’t face this alone."

Hilda shook her head, a small smile curving her lips. "Thanks, Arrietta, but I think it’s best that I’m the only one who goes through my mom’s things." Arrietta was her friend, but this was a boundary Hilda had to maintain.

Arrietta nodded in understanding. "Alright, if you do need anything, let me know."

“I will,” Hilda assured, moving towards the door. But before she could reach it, Arrietta’s put up a hand to stop her.

“Wait… someone’s here.” Hilda raised an eyebrow as she watched Arrietta splay out her fingers, then curl them inward as she touched the brim of her hat. The dark-haired witch observed the runes on her nails as they began to glow softly.

“What is it?” Atomyst asked, standing up.

“It’s not a witch…” Arrietta said.

Hilda reached into the neck of her shirt and pulled out her warning talisman. It was vibrating softly in reaction to ill-intent. “Probably not a muggle either,” Hilda muttered.

“My runes are also reactive. Grandfather, what shall I do?”

“Go see who it is. I’ll be watching,” he answered calmly, steepling his fingers as he sat back.

Arrietta nodded, stepping through the doorway and into the back room with the runes on the wall. She reached out her hand and a staff flew free from the opposite wall into her grasp. Hilda likewise reached her hand out and softly felt for her own staff’s ethereal form, prepared to pull it into existence if needed.

Arrietta moved with careful steps, reaching forward to part the beads, and Hilda kept a pace behind her.

The shop looked peacefully undisturbed but for a new figure. It was a short person, hooded and wearing a black cloak, standing with their back turned as they idly turned over a polished obsidian pendant as they examined it unhurriedly.

Arrietta spoke, her voice sharp but polite. “Apologies, but the shop is closed for the day.”

“I’m not a customer,” came a soft, female voice.

“Then state your business.”

She returned the pendant to the shelf, and Hilda noted the pale skin of her hand. Then as she turned, just the curve of an equally pale cheek and a few locks of white hair were revealed. “Two things. First of all, if Alarich Nachtstern is in, I would like to speak with him.”

Hilda raised an eyebrow. That was Atomyst’s true name, but nobody referred to him by it. As for this girl…

“I’m afraid he is out,” Arrietta replied, staff braced in one hand.

The girl chuckled softly. “I suspected you would say that. Then on to my second order of business.”

She reached up slowly to push her hood back—her skin wasn’t just pale, it was unnaturally white. Hilda already knew what she was, but then there were the scars around her lips. It was like her mouth had been sewn shut and then torn in an attempt to forcibly reopen. From the shadows of the hood, two red eyes glowed.

“Hilda Eastbourne, I’d like you to come with me.” The reaper's scarred lips curled into a smile. “You needn’t worry—you are not on my list.”

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Chapter 136 - Rideshare