Ollie had to say, he was starting to love the glowing books—even if the first glowing book he’d come across was still a pain in the butt. Though, thinking about the fact that it was hard to know exactly what he’d find in the books on the shelves, it would be good to start writing down each book he read, so he could at least attempt to organize the books within their individually categorized bookcases, while beginning a full write up of what was actually in there.
Opening the book, he thankfully found that it wasn’t handwritten, which served him well as it was in German—old German. There wasn’t a table of context, but it was only around fifty pages, if that.
The title was one word, ‘Jagari’, which simply meant ‘Hunter’.
Flipping to the first bit of text, he read out loud as it helped his brain translate. “‘Though we call them witch hunters…the true name they have taken for themselves is…The Parables of the Righteous Hunt…’”
He scoffed. Well, they definitely sounded full of themselves…which usually fit most overly ‘righteous’ organizations.
Tsking, he continued. “‘The group lures in new members through various ways. Some with the promise of power, others with acts of…violence or revenge, and some with righteous…religious retribution.
“‘Regardless of the reason, if the individual successfully lives through the...initiation years, what follows is what makes true hunters a danger to witch kind, and the very reason I am…risking exposure by recording this. While it is a risk, it is one I am willing to take in the hopes that this be a…warning to any witch who is lucky enough for the book to fall within their hands.
“‘Now, the…initiation years I cannot speak about with…absolutes, when it comes to how long they take, but I can say for certain what happens afterward.’” Ollie’s hand froze as he turned the page and found a word that translated to simply mean‘The Ritual’, but it was what was underneath that had him hesitating—a somewhat looming black and white block print of a person with a wicked-looking blade, standing menacingly before an individual who was overly bound to the ground. Staked chains were wrapped around the bound person’s wrists, neck, elbows, chest, hips, thighs, knees, and ankles.
Forcing himself to look away, he translated the German underneath. “‘While it is often commonly called ‘The Ritual’, in truth, it has another name—The…Ascension. It is this ritual, this Ascension, by which hunters gain the upper hand. Because it is in this moment that they completely strip away their own…humanity by draining the vitality of a witch… Hypocritically using the very arcane they claim to despise to do so. Through this process, the hunter gains immortality…increased physical strength, increased senses, faster healing…along with gaining minor protection against magic as a whole.’”
Ollie’s stomach twisted as he turned page after page and found one horrifying print after another, with almost a step-by-step guide to the process in between. It was only when he reached the last page that he found himself swallowing hard, just staring at the block print that took up most of the space.
It was similar to the first, but had gone from menacing and looming to horrifying and gruesome. The bound person was no longer whole, but had been cut into thirteen pieces. Blood, intestines, and so much more spilled out, as the chains remained, holding down the remaining pieces. Two for the arms, one for the neck and head, one for the torso, one for the hip area, two for the thighs, two for the knees and the rest of the legs, and two for the ankles and feet. It was more than a cut, the witch had been shredded. The long, jagged strikes were like that of an animal, having sliced and clawed through each section, speckling blood everywhere. In fact, if the illustration of a head wasn’t still visible, he’d likely just think they were chewed pieces of animal…meat…
Swallowing hard again as bile tried to rush up his throat, Ollie took a deep breath before slowly reading the single line underneath. “‘As the hunter gains, the witch they stole from is torn apart, their very soul shattered and often left to…linger behind…for eternity… N-never to become w-whole again…’”
Ollie licked his lips, sweat forming on his brow as he continued to stare, as other words he’d read aloud floated to the surface. As a tear finally broke free, he softly rasped, “‘If on the morrow, my words are not written, death has found me, and with it, my comfort is forever denied.’...‘In the morrow, my words will not be written, death has found me, and with it, my comfort forever denied.’... Oh, God…”
Ollie gagged, choking back tears, as he struggled to take a shuddered breath. He stared at the page for a moment longer before it became too much. Slamming the book closed, hefocused on breathing, desperately trying to shove back the rising fear and panic. But the thoughts still came, as the clarity refused to be ignored.
A fragment… Annabel was a fragment of a soul! She was a fragment because a witch hunter had shattered her! And the reason she hadn’t wanted me to try to see her Death Mark was because her death had moved far beyond gruesome, and was in fact the result of the shredding of her very being, heart and soul…
With shaky hands, he ran them over the small book. “Annabel…was shattered…so a hunter could become stronger…” Ollie trailed off with a frown.
How…how had Noble been able to beat—well, duh, it wasn’t like Mikael had exactly been in great shape by the time Noble got to him. The man had been stabbed multiple times by Red, and not to mention, severely burned, and…possibly partly rotted…
Okay, he wasn’t entirely sure about that last part. Either way, stronger or not, it didn’t matter when you were that injured and against someone who knew how to fight and defend himself like Noble did.
Taking a calming breath, he glanced around.
Meow!
Even though Ollie jumped at the high-pitched sound, he felt relief hit him at the appearance of a distraction. “Pumpkin, come to daddy, my cutie baby!”
Noble smirkedwhen he found Ollie teasing the ghost kitten with a cat toy, which happened to be a stuffed fish attached toa stick with a string. The witch hurriedly hid the toy behind his back as Noble mused, “Busy at work, I see.”
Ollie stared at him, feigning innocence for a moment, before giggling. “Well, I’ll have you know, I was working and reading up until about ten minutes ago, after failing to make the mirror again. Oh, also, I made a request for Irene’s cold case files with the local Police Department, so we will, at some point in the future—three to five business days—know what the police found out.”
“Oh? What were you reading about? And I suppose three to five business days is better than nothing.”
“Witch hunters. And all of it was horrible and somewhat nightmare-inducing, but, um, yeah! Learn anything new about Georgie Babs?”
While an almost instant wave of panic and guilt at the mention of hunters hit him, Noble feigned a neutral smile as he said with certainty, “The man is for sure hiding something. He knows more than he claims, and I’m thinking he possibly even knows where she died, or is buried.”
Ollie frowned. “Are you sure?”
“I watched him repeatedly talk himself out of going somewhere, so yeah, pretty sure.”
His little witch sighed. “I just find it so hard to believe he’s involved. He’s always been so kind to me, and almost everyone, aside from Rowden…”
In Noble’s opinion, the man got points in his favor for that last part. He couldn’t help but think that maybe Georgie Babs was in fact a kind man…who had possibly made a horrible mistake.
