Chương 182: 172. Shitshow

"Why?"

"You remember the patented technologies we suspected of using magical ingredients?"

"Hard not to. Brazil was—" I stopped, looking for the word.

"Memorable."

"Well, we confirmed others. By now, we can be quite sure it's our miracle-obsessed cultist who slipped the alchemical materials to a few of the bigger corporations."

"I imagine recovering Mark's daughter didn't fix the whole problem." The cat shook his head with a sour expression.

"The bullet casings."

"The wood from elven valleys? Wait... can they actually get inside an elven valley?" I frowned.

"Not without help..." the cat said in a low voice, earning a sigh from me at the implication.

"Is the Vatican handling it?"

"Well, the biggest issue is the land the valley sits on. It's technically owned by one of the subsidiaries of another company, and mortal law isn't exactly clear about what to do in such a case." I scoffed at that.

"Who gives a fuck about mortal law? Moving elves from their ancient forests is just another way of starting a war with them."

"Yeah, and weapon manufacturers aren't exactly used to taking no for an answer, especially if the law is technically on their side." I looked at the cat with slightly raised eyebrows.

"So an unstoppable force meets an immovable object..." The cat gave me a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"We either stop the force or move the object."

"Or," I began, tilting forward lightly like I was about to share some deep wisdom, "we skin the force as a precaution, then send its body parts to other forces also as a message." Q'Shar looked at me flatly, not gracing my suggestion with an answer.

"For now, the elves sent a delegation pretending to represent an indigenous tribe from those lands."

"Wow. Did the company try to disappear them yet or not?"

"Just to feel them out, they hired some lawyers..." I looked at him, my eyebrows shooting up with each word. Q'Shar stayed silent for a few seconds, looking to the side before speaking in a lower voice.

"... A request for an intervention was filed with the Vatican yesterday."

"Yeeeeah..." I said, nodding slowly.

"Can't you get your people in law enforcement to intervene?"

"We don't have that strong a connection there. Look, Sam... I'm gonna be honest with you. We're stretched thin, really fucking thin. We use external networks as-is, and we are short-staffed. We voted to bring mortal world agencies into the fold, but we can't have them treat us like jokes. We need to pick the people to sit on the council, we need to track the miracle cult, we need to do something about the corporations, and now the FBI is getting involved—""Okay." I made a serious face.

"Jokes aside, if the entire board of directors goes missing, that will buy time. What's the timeline before the mana veins connect? A year? A year and a half?"

"Around that."

"We just need to postpone it."

"That's an option, but... we're supposed to approach the agencies as saviors with a solution for their impending problems. It will make dialogue difficult if our first interaction with them involves us using death and torture to get what we want." I sighed. This sounded an awful lot like politics.

"Yeah, call me when someone needs additional breathing holes. So what happens once the elves go to war?"

"A shitshow." He groaned.

"We'll speed up the search for alliances within the mortal power structure." I chuckled at that.

"The good old 'I'll cure your disease, just sign here,' or 'I come in the name of god'?"

"All at once and then some." The ancient times really were making a comeback.

"For now, speed up the work on the mansion, you might not have that much free time soon."

"Like I have any now. I think Ophelia is ready to start on some easier cases. I'll just have to teach her a few tricks." Ophelia did have enough battle experience and firepower to easily handle first-circle experiments, maybe even a second-circle one, but she still had a weak point, one I intended to fix before she took on any case on her own. But for that, I needed a very specific ghost to appear.

We spent a few more hours on boring details as I gave the cat my list of personal requirements for the demon summoning to build the mansion, as well as the information about the ghost I would need for Ophelia. Once everything was set, I went back to my apartment, trying to speed up everything that needed to be done.

Giving Miss Helena a nod and reassuring her that I didn't know where her cat was, I entered my apartment and began designing the sacrificial circle I would need, while thanking my past self for having prepared most of the bodies for possession before going to the Vatican. The work was getting me more and more excited. I spent the next ten days juggling books, magic, and Ophelia's training. The new staff proved to be much tougher to attune to than expected.

The progress was slow, but that only made me more and more curious as to what the artifact actually did. The more interesting part of the research centered on the machine left by the Butcher. It looked to be part of an unfinished theory, his magnum opus, which he had worked on before turning his attention to revenge. I also picked two new spells to learn: Hellfire in its proper form, which bordered on a fourth-circle spell, as well as Mind Spike, a simple, pure mental attack.

The best news, though, came from a technique Ester used on me during Liam's case, pushing thoughts into an enemy's mind. It was described inside the book I found in the soul cage, and I was able to perform it for the first time around a week after we got back from the Vatican. It still took preparation and considerable effort, and wasn't seamless, but I could do it. The name in the book for the skill was Betrayal Within. A bit dramatic for my taste, but if it worked, it worked.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. I was deep in my books two weeks before Halloween when the call from Q'Shar came. As it turned out, a case I wanted him to keep an eye out for had popped up. It was a simple ghost, an apparition, to be exact, a type of undead well known for changing shapes. It wasn't particularly strong or dangerous. It was very good at causing fear, but that was about it.

The reported creature was around the first circle, a simple grudge-type, and a perfect target for what I had in mind. I called Ophelia, gave her an address and a meeting time, and told her to get ready for a fight. It was time to pass some of my work on to my apprentice, an event any teacher cherished, since it meant pushing my responsibilities onto other people. But first I had to be sure she would deal with trickier ghosts. Ophelia arrived in front of the client's house.

It was a big mansion in the richer part of the New York suburbs. Thankfully, the massive house came with its own sizable yard, so they didn't have to worry about nosy neighbors. She got the case file from Q'Shar before coming here. That was a change, as usually only Sam got those, with her getting the abridged version. The document was hard to read, and she didn't understand everything, but she got the most important parts. The inhabitants were a bunch of newly rich influencers, which meant they paid well.

That also meant Q'Shar did everything possible to keep Sam away from the clients, as, in his words, "they wouldn't get along." Which was reasonable, but it apparently didn't work out entirely, as she could see a group of people leaving the house when she and Sam arrived. The young men and women were carrying backpacks and bags, making clanking sounds, most likely bottles. Judging by the amount of luggage they had, they must have decided to empty the wine bar before Ophelia and Sam showed up.

"You must be the exorcist," one of the young girls in front of the group said with a scowl on her face.

"Look, there aren't any expensive things left, so you don't—" Before she finished, Ophelia felt Sam let his aura peek out, and using the break in her speech, he raised his hand, pointing at the girl's forehead as he rolled his eyes back.

"Alina Richardson, daughter of Gabriela and David Richardson, sister to Daniel and Sebastian Richardson. Age twenty-one," he recited the information Ophelia saw inside the case file, before continuing in a progressively harsher voice, as if he were choking.

"She is the one, the one, the one who destroyed that painting. Born September 2004, died October 10, 2026, at 11: 37 p. m. Drunk driving incident. May the gods have mercy on her sooooul," Sam said, now using the second tongue to make his voice sound inhuman, giving it a grating echo. Ophelia could see the girl as well as the people behind her go pale.

They stood there, stunned like marble statues, with color entirely gone from their faces, as Sam pretended to wake up from the trance, looking at his outstretched hand in confusion.

"Sorry, what happened?" he asked them.

"W-we have to go," the girl stammered, as the rest hurried off. Ophelia looked at him with a disapproving gaze, which Sam promptly ignored.

"Avoiding drunk driving after going through whatever they had in those bags is a good idea. I did a service to the community." He spoke theatrically, as if he had just saved a bus full of kids instead of scaring a few people.

"And scared the shit out of our clients."

"Only until 11: 37, and they technically aren't our clients. The mansion's rented. The owners are the ones who called." Ophelia sighed.

"So we destroy the ghost and go?"

"You destroy the ghost and go," Sam corrected her, and then looked at the sky. It was right at sunset as her teacher began explaining.

"This will be your training, the next step in the mind arts." Ophelia raised one eyebrow, surprised.

"I explained to you about the mind palace, and I imagine you've become proficient in exploring it, right?"

"I can go there whenever I want, aside from the memory labyrinth, as you said." Sam nodded.

"Good. Now you learn how to manipulate it." They stopped before the entrance. The atmosphere of the place changed with the setting sun.

"Okay, so how do you think ghosts can read your fears? If entering the labyrinth is suicide, then how do they know what to change into to scare you, what the relative you are afraid of looks like?"

"The visions are mine, so my brain chooses the image." Sam shook his head.

"That's when you get hit with a spell or a curse. But what about the ghost itself? How does it know the shape of your fear after getting into your mind? No spell needed." Ophelia thought for some time before answering.

"Is it from the soul?"

"Oh no, but you're close."

"Oh." She hit her open hand with her fist.

"Trauma?"

"Yes! Traumas and associations. Ghosts can't really watch a memory, but when something scares you enough to leave a trauma or at least an association in your brain, they can use that. Those scars from traumatic events leave marks on your mind. And if that mark is touched like an exposed nerve, it will bring about the related memory, just as a particular smell can take you back to some place from your childhood. Those scary memories fall into your stream of consciousness, and the creature can read from that.

Your current thoughts, unlike memories, aren't a labyrinth but two streams—conscious and unconscious. You have to guard them in a fight and learn how to cover and control them. They are what will usually betray you and your plans."

"Okay, so how do I do that?" Sam smiled and entered the house with a confused Ophelia behind him.

"Once you feel the ghost extend itself into your mind, find your streams of consciousness and force images into them." As Sam spoke, they approached the upstairs room from which a particular aura could be felt.

"The controls should be instinctive, but you have to make sure any fake visions make sense. If you create a fake childhood, make sure the memories are seen from a kid's perspective, at the proper height, and all. Details like that will give you away if you go up against a smart opponent." They got closer to the source of the cold, strange feeling. The creature wasn't very powerful or intelligent, judging by how obvious its presence was, but an undead creature was still dangerous.

"Ghosts' fighting power usually doesn't rely much on their form, but yours depends on the enemy's form," Sam continued speaking in a relaxed voice, as if they were just tourists touring their rental.

"You most likely trained much more against humanoid opponents, or against a particular weapon. You might struggle against a ghost in dog form, but make quick work of the same one looking like a woman your height." Ophelia nodded in understanding. She had the most experience fighting Myhur by now. She was pretty confident against fists and kicks. As they came closer to the room, she readied her mind for defense and went for the rapier as Sam finally stopped.

"Watch this," he said. They stood right before the entrance, and Ophelia could see a shadow lengthen as someone was approaching the door from inside the room. The creature took a relatively human shape, but shorter, a child's, maybe. Ophelia closed her fingers on the rapier's handle and, with a mental command, sent her snake familiar to coil around the railing of the stairs to her right, ready to strike from the side. The creature closed in on them, finally entering her view, stunning the girl.

"Oh no, son," she heard a deep voice with a thick Italian accent. The ghost took the form of a ginger dwarf dressed in a long trench coat. Its face was half-burned, exposing muscle on the left side. It looked quite idiotic, with a massive ginger beard, also half-burned, growing only on the right side of the face.

"Oh no, papa. It can't be you. You burned in that, oh so horrible, accident," Sam said in the worst Italian accent Ophelia had heard in a while.

"I'm alive," the ghost answered in the same fake accent.

"Oh, papa." Sam stepped forward, as if to fall into the embrace of the creature. Ophelia panicked for a second, but Sam stopped just before the creature could close its hands—now ending in sharp claws—on his back. Instead, he grabbed the enemy by the wrists and rotated, throwing it down the stairs like a sack of potatoes.

"Heh, dumb bitch," he chuckled, seeing the dwarf tumble down the stairs. Ophelia watched with an unimpressed expression as the ghost finally remembered its ability to fly halfway down and began levitating.

"Okay," Sam said, turning his back on the creature.

"I want to see... an older woman. Seventy years old, Chinese, with green eyes, a mole under the right eye, and a British accent."

"Why?" Ophelia groaned, expecting something along the lines of 'because it's funny,' but sadly, Sam had his reasons.

"Because if you can add that much detail, then anything else will be easy." Ophelia just sighed and moved forward, readying for battle. And like that, her lessons began, which would soon lead to her first case, as Sam worked on the ritual. Thankfully, there was a chance she would soon no longer be the only person to suffer through Sam's ideas, as Peter finally called, having made up his mind.