Chapter 6
Gaetano
In the fifteenth century, when I was still free of the curse, I enjoyed visiting taverns.
We called them “alehouses” at the time, and there was no place more fitting for a joker to unwind.
Alcohol didn’t affect my immortal body, but as a witcher, I could enchant it to produce a more intoxicating effect.
Drinking, however, was far from my single amusement. I could spend hours playing cards—sometimes for pleasure, sometimes for profit, and often just to see how long I could cheat until anyone caught on. It was quite a while.
I was no stranger to female company either, especially when I grew tired of schemes and tricks.
But then the damned leader of our coven cursed me, trapping me inside the castle she crafted through magic for me.
(Oh, the honor!) Now, to materialize in an establishment—or anywhere else—one of my harvests must be nearby.
In fact, the only way I can leave the castle at all is when I have an active contract with a harvest, because of the invisible thread connecting us.
It lets me track a harvest and use a portal to reach them, while also serving as a channel they can use to summon me. Most of them never do.
Thanks to the Little Baroness, I get to enjoy dinner at a restaurant tonight. After our first encounter, I expected to find her locked away in her room, face buried in her hands, trembling with sobs. Yet, here she is, out on a romantic date.
Unexpected, but not unwelcome.
I debate whether to show myself and watch her panic, but then a better idea occurs.
I cloak myself in an illusion that bends light around my body.
The effect makes me practically undetectable.
In my invisible form, I drift past the booths until I spot my harvest in a dimly lit corner.
Her chin rests on her curled fist, lashes fluttering, while the rich boy across the table drools over her as if he’s already picturing her naked.
I sit myself between them, equally distant from both.
Unaware of my presence, Nicole keeps recounting some ordeal from her last exam session.
I’m already bored, but I’ll give the man credit because he acts interested.
I’d believe him, too, if he didn’t keep glancing at the enormous television screen behind her.
I settle back in my seat and tune in again just as the Little Baroness shifts the conversation elsewhere. “So, you work at your dad’s firm? Honestly, I wouldn’t have guessed you’re a lawyer.”
He leans forward. “Oh yeah? What would you have guessed?”
“Porn star.”
Both I and Mr. Porn Star raise our eyebrows at the same time.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. I was prepared for a lot of answers, but not that.”
She adds in an innocent tone, “Not that I’ve ever watched porn, of course. Just… rumors. They say the actors are hot.”
He lifts his glass, spinning it between his fingers without breaking eye contact with her. “I think you just lied to me, Nicole.”
She smirks, then peers over the rim of her glass. “Are you happy working with your dad?”
The sudden change in topic makes him hesitate. He shrugs. “Sure. I mean… I’m learning a lot. He’s got connections. One day, the plan is I’ll take over the entire practice.”
Her earlier playfulness fades from her face. “That’s what you want?”
“Yeah.”
A shadow passes across the Baroness’ expression. “Ever thought about building something yourself? Starting from scratch, making your own rules.”
“You sound like your dad,” he says.
Her lips part in surprise. “You’ve heard my dad speak?”
“You told me he’s the Construction Baron. I read this interview with him in Forbes a while back.”
“Oh, right…”
The smile that follows says more than the words that preceded it. Smugness, yes; pride, too, but tinged with a layer of regret. I’d bet her father’s name is a title that weighs on her shoulders. Yet, one she wouldn’t dare take off.
Mr. Porn Star, however, has no interest in digging deeper. “Your dad’s one of the biggest developers in the country. You probably can’t wait for the day he starts building your designs.”
“Actually…” She glances down. “That’s not the dream.”
His gaze lingers on her lips for a beat. “Then what is?”
A ray of light touches her face, softening it. “An exhibition. I want to showcase my paintings. That’s the real dream.”
“You paint?”
Her expression falters, and the brightness dims, as if she just changed her mind. “I used to, yeah. But between architecture and everything else, I don’t think I’ll ever get back to it. It’s one of those dreams that sound nice in theory, but you never really make time for them.”
Oh, tell me about it, Baroness. But don’t worry. Unfulfilled dreams won’t be your problem for much longer. And thanks to you, they won’t be mine, either.
Mr. Porn Star takes a sip of his wine and veers the conversation elsewhere. “You know, when I saw you in the VIP section that night, I couldn’t stop staring.”
“Oh?” She blinks.
He runs a hand along his jaw. “I mean it. I physically couldn’t look away.”
“Why?” she teases, fingers running through her hair. “Was something wrong with me?” There it is—that fire again, rising behind the warm hue of her irises.
“Because I didn’t believe I’d ever stand a chance with you.”
I don’t need to check under the table. Her legs are jelly.
For a brief moment, I consider showing some mercy and letting the little flirt enjoy one last bit of fun before I set her world on fire.
See? I’m not completely heartless.
So I stay tucked away in my invisible corner and allow the horny bunnies to finish their evening. And if their porn is worth the hype… I might even watch. Like I said, entertainment at the castle is limited.
* * *
I’d assumed the evening couldn’t grow any duller, but the Baroness and her porn amateur are about to prove me wrong.
I granted them the freedom to indulge in one another, and they’re acting like prudish schoolchildren.
After that bold little conversation, I expected them to sneak off somewhere or at least exchange some dirty talk.
Instead, it’s all architecture and bullshit.
Very well. If they won’t take advantage of my generosity, then I’ll take advantage of them.
Time to stir the shadows.
I focus on the Baroness’ phone, a silent sentry on the table. The screen glows, but the notification is ignored. She’s too engrossed in her companion’s neatly packaged story about a failed tennis career.
Music starts playing from the phone. A dark tone that pulls their focus to the device. It’s almost a growl. Low notes swelling in intensity.
She stares at the screen for a beat, then swipes the melody away. “I’ve no idea how YouTube opened, and I’ve never heard—”
Her thumb pauses on the display. At last, she’s seen the message.
Thinking about my riddle, Baroness?
Her body freezes, and her fingers twitch above the screen.
“Something wrong?” her companion asks.
Her lips tighten into a pale, thin line. “I…”
The next message begins to write itself on the screen, letter by letter.
At times, I’m all you wish to see
Her hand flinches, but she doesn’t move.
At times, I’m what you wish to flee
Her pupils track the words. Her fingers are bloodless with the grip she’s keeping on the phone.
But I’m mere shape, no true possession,
An entity formed at your discretion.
She holds her breath until the final line appears.
What am I?
The riddle is simple—maybe too simple for a first trial. Considering what I’ve planned for the upcoming ones, let’s just say I don’t intend to claim her soul right away. Besides, no one tells them, but it’s the games between the trials that cause the real damage.
I notice the exact moment her jaw tightens and her expression becomes determined. She takes a slow, deep breath, places the phone on the table, and smiles. “It’s nothing. My mom’s just texting me some nonsense, as usual.”
“I hope it’s not urgent?” Mr. Porn Star asks.
She waves a hand. “Nothing important.”
Irritation cuts through me. Nothing important. There are countless ways to play this game, but none of them involve me being ignored by my harvest.
I step out of the invisible shadows and position myself behind her. My hands reach for her temples, like two streams of creeping darkness, ready to envelop her mind in nightmares. The warmth of her body intertwines with mine before I even make contact.
She shudders and begins to cough. Mr. Porn Star’s chair scrapes as he leaps up, moving around the table.
He reaches for her, clumsily patting her back.
I move aside, curious where this will go.
Still, in his well-meaning idiocy, he brushes past me.
His palm stiffens against the Baroness’ back.
He can’t see me, but he feels it—the density, the resistance.
My form isn’t hollow. Presence, even cloaked, has weight.
They say coming into contact with me in this state is like brushing against a body wrapped in cold air.
The Baroness takes a breath. She’s the first to gather herself, straightening her shoulders and easing the tension with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Mind if we pick this up another time? I’m feeling a bit off…”
Her voice is almost casual, except for the subtle tremor I catch with my trained ear. She masks her fear well. Fortunately, unmasking is one of my specialties.
“Of course. Let me walk you home,” he says, then calls for the check.
While he pays, I use those final seconds to slip a small piece of paper onto the table—the incantation for summoning me. I can remain in the establishment only as long as my harvest stays here, but once she leaves, I have to follow if I want to stay out of the castle.
It would be a wasted opportunity if I didn’t use this time to gather more unsuspecting souls in my net. After all, I need new contracts to add to my portfolio if I want my freedom. Nine more, to be exact.
Harvesting souls has become harder in recent years. People no longer believe in magic the way they used to, and without belief, there’s no desire to offer blood in exchange for calling forth a witcher.
After cursing me, Madeline used to spread the summoning spell among children herself, binding me to the task of claiming innocent souls. She found joy in forcing me to do the unthinkable. But with each harvest, the task became easier, and the end of my curse grew closer.
When Madeline realized I was nearing freedom, she stopped spreading tales of the Black Joker who grants wishes. Now, I must seize every chance to gather new harvests.
After the Baroness, I have one signed contract left to complete—one last soul, destined to ripen on their twenty-first birthday. That’s one of the many inconveniences of the curse: I can’t claim a soul before that age.
I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait to find and sign the final ones, let alone claim their souls.
But I’m a patient man.