9th of Thermidor, 1535

There was a loud pounding at the front door. Oleander tumbled out of bed. “Piss Off!” He grunted, lifted himself off the floor, and rubbed at the sharp pain coursing down his neck. The stern knocking continued. “For fuck’s sake, I’m coming already!” Oleander snapped as he threw on a pair of trousers.

The drowsy monster hunter stumbled through the kitchen before yanking open the front door. In front of him stood a group of knights. The morning light glistened off their armor and assaulted Oleander’s eyes, but he was able to ascertain that there were at least six of them.

Oleander grunted, “What do you lot want?”

The leader of the troop strode up to the burly hunter, “Oleander Swine, I take it?”

“Yes. I’ve already told you people before that I own this land, you can’t sue—”

“—You’re mistaken sir,” the leader clarified. He took out a letter with a black wax seal and handed it over, “Direct from the desk of the lord mayor of Ravenhold.”

“What’s this about?”

“We were not told. We were simply hired to deliver the letter. All we do know is that this is an urgent matter.” He nodded to Oleander before mounting his horse and leading his troops back to the main road. Oleander shut the door, fell back into a chair, and tore open the letter.

“What is with all the noise?” Moira asked.

Oleander looked up to see Moira perched near the ceiling in a hammock of her own creation. She stretched out her arms and legs before scuttling down the wall and joining Oleander at the kitchen table.

“Might have some decent work for a change.” Oleander unfurled the message and read aloud, “Dear Alexander Swine, this is a formal letter requesting your assistance with a matter your skills are most suited for. My youngest daughter, my dear sweet Maisie, has been possessed by a malicious spirit. She has attacked the majority of my staff and I worry about the damage the spirit is doing to Maisie herself. Your immediate arrival is requested. A payment of one thousand—ONE THOUSAND TALONS!”

Utterly gobsmacked, Oleander stared at the letter in disbelief. “That’ll pay for a least four or five licenses,” Oleander muttered. Moira snapped her fingers to get Oleander to focus. He continued reading aloud, “A payment of one thousand talons will be given upon completion of the contract. Further details will be explained upon your arrival. Cordially, Gabriel Massengale.”

“You know how to perform exorcisms?” Moira asked.

“I was a part of one when I was with the Red Wolves Hunting Company. I didn’t lead the exorcism, but I remember taking notes. They should be here somewhere.” Oleander paused for a moment, “How’d this Massengale bloke know where I live?”

“Being the lord mayor of a city, I would expect him to be well connected.”

“This little place we’re sitting in, Fawksden, barely anyone knows this place exists. Someone specifically had to recommend me.”

“Well, you’ll get an answer soon enough,” Moira remarked.

“Fair. Wanna tag along? I could use the extra hands. Besides, it’s going to be pretty lonely here.”

“Are you sure you want me with you in public?”

Oleander thought for a moment. “Ah! My mum asked me to take a bunch of old shite from when I moved out here. Go check in the shed out back. I’m sure you can find something to disguise yourself. Get creative.” Oleander tossed her the key.

Moira set off outside, while Oleander went around the house gathering his supplies. He grabbed his hunting belt with three large pouches on it. He refilled the first pouch with salt. He noted that he’d have to get some more as he was finally scraping the literal bottom of the barrel now. Oleander then returned to his room to search through a mountain of crumpled sheets of paper. He eventually fished out a page scribbled with strange symbols; he folded it up and slipped it into the second pouch.

The burly hunter pulled his bed away from the wall and then lifted up some of the floorboards. Underneath was an iron safe with the bottom half-buried in the ground; inside was an old doll, a small bundle of talon banknotes, and two pieces of chalky light green substance—orichalcum. He placed the two sticks in the same pouch as the paper.

He hopped over to his desk. The white sage from the other day was finally dried out. Oleander tied most of it into a tight bundle with twine—that went into the third pouch. With the remainder of the white sage, he took out the last few dark tobacco leaves he had and rolled up a cigar. That went with the bundle of sage.

As Oleander walked from his room to the kitchen, he patted each pouch and mentally checked off all he needed to bring. Moira was already patiently waiting when he approached her. She managed to dig up Oleander’s mother’s old vestments—a white-ish robe with black trim. It only just occurred to Oleander that Moira and his mother were the same height. She also had her hood drawn over so her face wasn’t visible.

Oleander spoke up, “There you are, I’ve got just about everything so we can…”

Moira pulled back her hood to reveal a mask made of burlap.

“I found a couple of dolls in the shed. I used the material from their heads to make this. I painted over the seams as best I could. Is this mask satisfactory?”

“I-I don’t know what’s worse, that fucking thing on your face or the fact that there is now a pile of headless dolls somewhere on my property.”

Moira repeated, “Is this satisfactory?”

“I mean…yes.” Oleander went over to her. He pushed some of her black hair over her mask and then slowly pulled up her hood. Now it looked sort of passable…maybe. “It’ll do. If anyone asks, just say you were a resident of Blackburn Hollow's Ember Quarter. That should get the point across pretty quickly. Also, try to keep your arms in your sleeves for the most part.”

“Understood. Ready whenever you are.”

“Alright, then let’s get moving.”

12th of Thermidor, 1535

Oleander and Moira approached the city gates of Ravenhold; they were larger than the ones in Blackburn Hollow and the top half of the gates were stylized with a raven holding a pickaxe in its beak. Ten armed guards were forcing people coming in and out of the city to stop—the two of them were no exception. One knight walked directly in front of their path; his words were quick, “State your business.”

Oleander flashed Massengale’s letter. The guardsman ripped the paper out of Oleander’s hand. He called over two others, one of whom immediately recognized and validated the distinctive black seal.

“Sorry about that. You can’t be too careful these days.”

Oleander inquired, “What’s going on out here? Monster troubles?”

“We’re looking for a rich bloke named Adrian Comstock. He’s under suspicion for the murder of his wife and children. He’s been on the run for the past couple of days, but we have reason to believe that he’s still somewhere in the city. We’re posted here to make sure he doesn’t sneak out. We’re also checking people coming in, just in case he hired anyone to export him quietly.” The guard grabbed one of the wanted posters and handed it to Oleander. “If you see’em let us know. There’s a reward in it too. Thank you for your cooperation, you’re free to go.”

Oleander and Moira rode into town, but the monster hunter’s focus was on the poster; it wasn’t as much as what Massengale was going to pay him, but if he could find Comstock before leaving, then he’d end this trip to Ravenhold with a nice stack of banknotes. Moira’s attention shifted towards the flocks of ravens muddling about the city walls’ parapets. There were dozens of them, and even more flew overhead and into the city.

The dirt path they’d been traveling on rapidly transitioned into a cobblestone-paved road. Despite the setting sun, the town center was exceedingly busy. Horses and carts had to pass around Oleander and Moira because of how slow they were moving. Oleander and the various drivers exchanged colorful obscenities. The spiderkin noted at least eight different establishments that sold silver or products made from silver; she also spotted more black birds perched on various street lights and businesses.

“Oleander, have you noticed all these birds? Is this normal?”

“What? Are you scared? This city is called Ravenhold. Look, don’t worry about them. Ravens, crows, and the like don’t attack unless you give them a good reason.”

“If you say so.”

A nearby shop owner was kind enough to point out the Massengale estate; it sat atop a hill looming over the rest of the populace in the northwestern corner of the city. The duo rode across town and up to the manor’s front gates—a large silver “M” adorned the barrier. The same group of knights from the other day rode up to greet Oleander and Moira. The two were then escorted to the manor’s front doors and let inside by the butler.

The opulent den was furnished with many couches, each draped in an embossed, velvet blanket. Half a dozen silver blades hung above the marble fireplace. Every wall had a bookcase practically overflowing with texts, journals, and old tomes. Any shelf, even if it housed only one trinket, had something made of silver.

“I shall go fetch Lord Massengale,” the butler explained before leaving, “Please do take a seat.”

The burly hunter dropped onto one of the couches—the wooden frame creaked loudly. Moira was fine with standing and chose to peruse the bookshelves; it didn’t take long to annoy her as there was no rhyme or reason for their placements. Her attention turned to the silver swords on display; they looked beautiful…enough. Moira grabbed the tip of one of the blades and managed to bend it upward.

She sneered and mumbled to herself, “Impractical rubbish.”

The butler returned with a spindly-looking man with short black hair clad in a crisp, dark suit.

“Mr. Swine, excellent of you to show up,” Gabriel Massengale greeted Oleander with a handshake with no weight behind it at all. His demeanor changed when he saw Moira’s attire. “I…was…unaware you were bringing an extra, let alone a member of the Church of Careena.”

Oleander reassured, “The local sect has no knowledge of this—”

“—Perfect, that’s all I needed to know.” Gabriel Massengale tapped his foot on the hardwood floor. The butler instinctively went around the den shutting windows and locking doors.

Gabriel explained, “Now, before I go into the details, I would like a legal signature from both of you. You two are not to discuss the events that transpire in this house, the premises of Massengale Manor. If word of my daughter’s spectral possession leaks to the populace, any word at all…even just a hushed whisper, then the level of harassment she and my family will suffer will be immeasurable. I may even lose my position as lord mayor. So please, for me and the sake of my family, would you please sign this contract.” He bit down on his knuckle and was trying to hold back tears.

“The payment is still one thousand talons, right?”

“I’m willing to push it up to eleven hundred talons for the burden of secrecy.”

Oleander sighed his full name in a heartbeat, while Moira was a little more hesitant.

“Please miss, I just want what’s best for my daughter.”

Moira signed her name as well.

“Real quick, before we go any further, who tipped you off about where to find me in the middle of the Patchwork Woods?”

“I had never heard of Fawksden myself, but a gentleman from the Red Wolves recommended you. He wished to remain anonymous I’m afraid. They were my first choice for handling this, but their leader, Mr. Graves, I believe, adamantly refused to sign—”

Oleander slapped his knee and howled with laughter. He remarked, “No way in Hell he would’ve signed that. Son of a bitch is too prideful—”

“—because he wanted to put the events in the local newspaper.” Gabriel cleared his throat, “Now, if you’re quite finished, then I need to inform you that the situation has changed since I sent you the letter.”

As Gabriel paced back and forth, Oleander could get a better look at the man each time he drew closer; the areas around his eyes were red and there were dark bags under his eyes.

“It started eight days ago. I was out at the market with my wife, Helen, and my youngest child, Maisie. All of a sudden she drops to the ground convulsing and babbling incoherently. We rushed her home. The doctor waived it off as nothing more than a seizure, but that night she got paler. She kept speaking in tongues. The next morning we found her climbing the walls, by lunch, she was floating in mid-air. That night…she got violent.”

Gabriel pulled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a dozen scratches and bite marks. The butler showed off some of his injuries. “I immediately sent word for the Red Wolves and asked them about performing the exorcism, they referred me to you. In that time, we had to barricade Maisie in the west wing of the manor. Three nights back, after I had already sent you the letter, my youngest son, Elijah, then went missing. It wasn’t until the following morning that one of my staff suggested we check in the west wing. We-we found his body…”

The butler put his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder for support. The butler continued, “We found the poor boy with his throat ripped open. We were too late to save him.”

“Is Maisie still locked up?”

“...Yes. We’ve boarded up the entrances to the west wing. We also boarded up all the windows just in case she attempted an escape,” the butler explained.

“I have one more question,” Oleander asked, “ If Maisie is locked up, why do you still have a contingent of knights outside patrolling the area.”

Gabriel’s eyes rolled and he let out a labored sigh, “I thought that dealing with my daugher's possession would be the end of my worries, but no, I have to worry about my former business partner losing his mind. I have reason to believe that he might come and kill me and my family.”

“Do you think the whole possession might be some way to distract you?” Moira suggested.

“Well, then I’m distracted. Beyond words am I distracted, but no one’s seen hide nor hair of Comstock for days. I can barely focus nowadays because he’s still out there.”

“Once we take care of Maisie’s possession, we’ll track down Comstock,” Oleander said.

“You have my thanks for that,” Gabriel replied.

“Alright then, would you allow us a room to get prepared?”

“Certainly, Wallace, get one of the third-floor rooms ready for our guests.” The butler excused himself from the conversation and left. Gabriel spoke, “You two are welcome to join us for dinner, maybe my other children meeting you will boost their morale—let them know that the professional will make everything right as rain.”

Before Gabriel unlocked the door for them, he turned back to Oleander and asked, “I’ve heard of exorcisms on adults, but I’ve never heard of one on a child. This won’t hurt my daughter, will it?”

“Look, I can only promise that I’ll try my best. It’s already a painful process as it is,” Oleander answered.

Gabriel nodded somberly. He brought the two into the east wing which housed the dining room. The house staff was setting up sterling silver plates and cutlery on the table. Three of the other Massengale children sat quietly at the table. No words were shared.

Gabriel cleared his throat, “Henry, where’s everyone else?”

The eldest son replied, “Mum still hasn’t left her room and Adalaide says she isn’t in the mood to come downstairs either.”

Gabriel held his head in his hands. He muttered, “Is trying to restore some degree of normalcy in moments like this too much to ask?” He sighed, but then introduced Oleander and Moira to his family. “This is Henry, and the twins Breton and Brynn.” Their welcomes were lukewarm from the rest of the family; Brynn didn’t even bother to speak up.

Henry took after his father when it came to looks, except his nose was taller and his hair was slicked back. The twins had the two ends of the auburn hair gradient—Breton had brighter red hair and Brynn had darker red hair. Breton’s head shape was round with a small nose, while Brynn’s was square-shaped with a tall nose. The only thing they shared were hazel eyes; Oleander would’ve never believed the two were twins unless specifically told.

Oleander and Moira took their seats as the food was brought to the downtrodden dinner party—A hearty steak with sauteed asparagus and roasted mushrooms. Oleander had to control his drooling and the urge to eat with his hands. Moira on the other hand stared at the plate; she rarely, if ever, ate cooked food.

The silence weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders. Gabriel put down his utensils and asked, “Well…um…Bret, Brynn, what classes are you two looking forward to when Academy resumes?”

Bret perked up, “Ah, I’ve been excited about getting into advanced geography, Kassedian language studies, and there’s this class on the history of the Great War of Altabaster.”

“Good, good. That’s great. And Brynn, anything piques your interest this upcoming semester?”

Brynn replied, “Human anatomy and organic chemistry. The school physician also said he'd allow me to continue assisting him from time to time.”

Oleander saw Gabriel’s forced smile falter a bit. The businessman asked, “Well that’s…good too. Uhm, Henry my boy, your bar exam is coming up very quickly, I know several attorneys who would love to take you under their wing—”

An ear-piercing scream shot through the manor followed by a series of banging. The screeching devolved into incomprehensible yelling. Gabriel froze in his seat. Berton and Henry gave each other sorrowful looks; Brynn covered her ears. The yelling was relentless. Eventually, Brynn threw down her utensils and stormed off, “I can’t listen to this anymore!” She ran out of her seat and stormed out.

The Massengale patriarch spoke up, “Young lady—Brynn! Get back here! I told you no one is to leave this house…” He followed her out of the dining room. While Oleander couldn’t make out any fine details of their argument, he could still hear their muffled shouts from the other room. With all the loud noises bouncing back and forth, Breton and Henry excused themselves from the table. Oleander and Moira were left alone; he took this golden opportunity to take the rest of Henry’s and Bret’s steaks.

Moira asked, “Do you usually encounter situations like this when you hunt monsters?”

“Normally there aren’t as many family members around,” Oleander replied as he shoveled the prime meat down his gullet. Moira ended up giving Oleander the rest of her meal, she didn’t have an appetite for cooked cow meat or vegetables. Soon, a frustrated Gabriel returned to the dining room. He didn’t bother retaking his seat at the head of the table; he instead asked Wallace to show Oleander and Moira their room.

Once in their modest accommodations, Moira asked, “Do you have a plan herr Swine?

“I did. I just need to think…”

“What changed? Was it that Maisie killed someone?”

Oleander explained, “No, Gabriel said she could float and climb walls. Most possessions are partial possession—the ghost has some control of the body. This is a full possession meaning that anything a ghost can do, the host can do.”

“If a ghost can float, why would it climb walls?”

“My buddy Cormag described it like this: ghosts are able to tap into their host’s soul for energy, and certain things like floating a physical body cost more energy than giving the body increased strength.”

Moira asked, “So a ghost could bleed a person’s soul dry?”

“Correct.”

“Can the ghost become intangible?”

“In-what?”

“Can it phase through walls?”

Oleander elaborated, “No, the ghost would phase right out of its host. In order for a possession to happen, the ghost has to give up its ability to phase through things. When I exorcise the ghost, however, that intangible-thing, that’s fair game at that point.”

Moira asked, “Well if it can’t phase through walls, then what’s the problem?”

“I might not be able to catch her is the problem. I honestly don’t know if I can restrain her without hurting her.”

“I can tie her up with my webs. If she climbs up the walls to escape us, well I can do the same too.”

“How well can you fight though? I can take punishment, I just don’t know about you.”

“I can manage.” Moira’s attention was drawn outside. She motioned for Oleander to come over. They saw Brynn running through the back gardens of the mansion, avoiding the sight of the patrolling knights.

“Where do you think she’s going?” Moira asked.

“No idea, but with that Comstock guy on the loose, I think it’s a good idea to keep an eye on her. Follow my lead.”

Oleander and Moira snuck their way outside and followed Brynn’s boot-prints over a nearby hill and towards a cemetery.

Moira asked, “Could the ghost possessing Maisie have come from here?”

“This looks like a church cemetery, each grave should’ve been purified with salt and Signum markings. There should be no lingering spirits here at all. Even the strongest necromancer couldn’t pull anything out of this soil.”

Oleander and Moira crept around the graves before hiding behind two large headstones. They carefully observed Brynn. She stopped in front of one grave in particular. It looked new. She reached into her satchel and pulled something out, neither Oleander nor Moira could identify what it was, but whatever it was—it started radiating a blue aura. A few moments later, an equally blue spirit rose from the grave. Oleander’s jaw dropped in astonishment.