Page 38 of Demons Treasure Warlocks

But then spread throughout the pages were letters written by another person offering consolation and positivity. The journal was alive. And it had brought hope to Darius. And inspiration.

Grabbing his own notebook and pen, Darius unleashed every bit of pain and unhappiness on the unsuspecting pages. His anger toward Bale for leaving him to Hastur’s devices and the fear that followed his every move regarding their current situation.

Every word he threw down was an attack on Hastur and what he was to the town of Granite. He was dangerous and poisonous. He pitted friends against friends while laughing. Hastur’s attempts to unite the residents was working in an opposite manner, placing everyone on sides. It wasn’t what the humans and cryptids wanted. They liked the cohesion of the two cultural groups, but that wasn’t Hastur’s end game.

Darius had to find out what it was, and he had to stop Hastur’s plan before anyone else got hurt. No one was allowed to suffer as he and Bale had.

No one deserved that taint of pain and terror because of one man’s mistake.

Darius wrote furiously onto the thick paper. His hands glowed as he wrote, and though it was invisible, the magic he used sank deep into the ground, waking up the land under his feet.

“Darius, you okay?” Bale’s concerned voice startled Darius from the deep concentration, and he blinked as the world came back in focus.

“Umm, yes?” he wasn’t sure about physically, but mentally he seemed almost cleansed. A tiny bit. He was on the road to somewhere good.

“Maybe you should work upstairs?” Bale called from the top of the stairs.

With sleeping legs, Darius painfully made his way upstairs to a fresher space.

Bale stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand as he gazed outside. Darius limped to the window and peered. It seemed to be the same since he went down to the basement.

“It’s the outside. There’s still snow on the ground.”

“First of all, it’s past twilight. You’ve been down there for a better part of the afternoon. Then take a sniff and I promise it’s not bad,” Bale ordered. He passed a mug of hot chocolate to Darius before nudging him outside.

Darius rolled his eyes at Bale’s caretaking ways before stepping out onto the cold deck. He dutifully sniffed the air as Bale wanted him to, and there it was. Something different.

It wasn’t good or bad. More vibrant somehow. Darius lifted his face to the ice crystals and soaked in the ambiance, trying to understand.

A change had occurred in the evening. The oppressive nature of being watched had retreated. Darius cocked his head and turned his gaze toward the soccer field where the two portals sat dormant.

“Can you tell?”

“There’s a shift in magic. It’s like fizzy pop, almost effervescent. I want to cling to it and bask in it,” Darius said quietly. He reached out with a finger to touch the mysterious aura, but nothing was there. “I think it’s a good thing.”

“Do you know where it came from?” Bale asked curiously. He draped a blanket around Darius’s shoulders and leaned on the rail.

Darius closed his eyes and opened himself to the cosmos. It wasn’t a trick he did often because it usually brought pain and suffering. The land under his feet was proud and happy. Someone had stepped up and regained a lost sense of self. There was also a bit of relief. The future wasn’t trapped on one track. There was hope that things would change.

“Town. I’m getting a feeling toward town. The land is thrilled.”

“Land? Like under our feet?”

“It’s like the trees, Bale. The land has a spirit attached to it as well. It’s usually sleeping, especially in the winter. But there’s been so much upheaval that it hasn’t had a chance to do anything. I don’t know, man! It’s still working out in my head. It’s all messy and higgledy-piggledy. I just know that the big guys are stoked.”

“You have to give me more than that. This isn’t like you, Darius, to be so inarticulate. You slay people with words.”

“The land is sentient, like the trees. It’s been restless and unhappy since the portals opened because the energy it absorbs is wrong. But something happened that I don’t know about because I’m fucking kilometres away and not psychic. All I can tell you is that there is hope.” Darius pulled the blanket tight around himself. “I’m going to bed.”

“Ahh, come on, Darius.” Darius heard the words and ignored them. Bale’s desire for a good answer was too hard. Why the fuck did everyone expect answers from him all the time? He wasn’t the fucking Wizard of Oz.

Darius slipped out of the house before anyone noticed. He wasn’t sure where Bale was, and honestly, he was happy to have a moment alone to think. Everything lately had been so rush, rush, rush, and he didn’t have the space to react to anything. The afternoon in his basement offered some catharsis, and Bale’s presence upstairs diluted some of the anxiety, but he was still antsy. He avoided the downtown core. Though the morning was quiet, the buildings were still oppressive, and he wasn’t sure of his welcome. There was a shift in opinion. He didn’t feel safe.

Taking the small winding streets, he pointed his car toward the museum and parked. There were two other vehicles in the lot, and he dropped his head against the steering wheel. What was he even thinking? This was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. He was alone and vulnerable, and he'd just told himself why he didn’t want to go downtown.

A tap on his window startled him, and Darius rolled it down. It was Caden, an old friend from high school.

“Hey, thought that was you.” Caden smiled, and it reached his eyes. “Been a long time, Dare.”

---