Chapter 37 Nicole
Nicole
In the morning, I sip my coffee and watch the news. I half expect my face to flash on the screen with a big red banner that reads “MISSING.”
Daria is on the phone, trying to find anyone who might have information about breaking curses, witch contracts, and soul theft. No one knows anything, except those who suggest she see a psychiatrist.
Around noon, Julieta finally answers, “I already told you—no guarantee and no refunds!” and slams the phone down. We exchange glances, and this time even Daria’s expression darkens with worry.
“Let’s try the library,” she says, her face regaining a flash of resolve.
She forces me into one of her oversized T-shirts and a pair of jeans, then drags me out onto the street.
The harsh sunlight makes me wince, cutting through my sleep-deprived haze.
Daria suggests we take the bus, I insist on a taxi.
I’ll vanish from this world soon, anyway. No point in saving my mom’s money.
In the library, we ask for the occult section. Turns out there isn’t one, but we’re directed toward a maze of corridors filled with esoteric books. The air smells of old wood and forgotten pages. We’re nowhere near prepared for the volume of mystical texts waiting for us.
My eyes land on a dark cover titled A History of Witchcraft in Europe.
I open the book, and dust scatters in my face.
The print is so tiny, it would take me days to read.
I flip to a random page and find a sketch of a man with horns above his ears and hooves for feet.
The caption reads, “Drawing of a medieval witcher.”
Images of my hours in the castle with Gaetano flood my mind.
His body, free of illusions. His sculpted muscles.
The intensity in his expression. Pain knots through me.
Maybe it’s time I admit I’m not broken just because he hid the truth and let me believe I had a chance to win.
What hurts even more is realizing I thought what we had was real. No masks, no lies.
Too bad it was all a game.
I want to collapse to the ground, but Daria is flipping through old tomes with fierce determination. Because of her, I keep going.
I perk up a little when Daria exclaims she’s found a chapter on breaking spiritual contracts. Unfortunately, it ends up being about contracts humans inadvertently make with demons they summon through Ouija boards.
The clack of heels warns us someone’s approaching. The librarian rounds the corner, peering over her huge glasses. She wrinkles her nose, inspecting the room as though expecting damage. “We’re closing,” she announces at last.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Daria tells me, trying to sound upbeat.
I don’t say it out loud, but I leave with eagerness. Every mention of magic or witchcraft drags up another memory of Gaetano. As if I don’t already think about him all the time.
We head back to Daria’s in silence.
At some point, we go to bed. Once again, I toss and turn for hours before sleep finally takes me.
I have four days left until the final trial. Will I fall asleep each night seeing the face of the one destined to end me?
* * *
Day 18
The next day, we head to the library again.
Today, I feel more relaxed than yesterday. I’m wearing loose jeans and a T-shirt, and I have no makeup on. I haven’t walked down a street like this in years. No one would recognize me anyway—no need to worry about paparazzi shots.
I never imagined that the “death” of the Little Baroness would lift such a weight off my shoulders. No more social media to maintain, no exhausting stories or likes to give in exchange for my own. I don’t even have a phone. No Viber messages from Boyana. No calls from my father.
No daily agenda filled with endless appointments and a rigid schedule. No to-do lists stretching into oblivion. No invitations to events where I’m expected to show up and play a role.
No fear of the future.
Just Daria and I, flipping through mountains of books for hours.
We eat a quick lunch and keep stacking books around us. Daria flips through the pages in frustration, her fingers leaving faint smudges on the yellowed paper. Her gaze darts from line to line, then over to me, then back to the text.
After a while, she exhales sharply and tosses another book aside. “I feel like we’re this close to finding the right information, and it keeps slipping away.” She scans the shadowy corners of the library. “Is it possible the Black Joker is here… hiding the books that could help us?”
Her words leave cold trails along my skin. “He’s not here.”
Daria’s large brown eyes meet mine with unsettling clarity. “Niki…are you in love with him?”
My back straightens in an instant. I frown, trying to mask my reaction, but anger simmers low in my veins. “Of course not!”
She leans forward, intent, as if she can read every thought I’ve tried to hide. “Even if you were, it would be completely normal. You slept with him…”
Pain flares in my chest. “And I’ll regret it for the rest of my life!” I snap, slamming the book shut. Dust rises into the air, blurring my vision for a moment. “Which, by the way, is for three more days. I don’t want to spend all of them locked up in this library.”
Daria flinches. “I thought you wanted us to find a solution.”
I throw my hands up. “I just… I feel like there’s a clock ticking inside me, counting down my time, and I’m sitting here doing nothing…”
“Okay. What do you want to do?”
Her question catches me off guard. I lower my gaze to the floor, where sunlight glides across the wooden boards. What do I want to do? I can’t even answer that myself.
Only one thing comes to mind: I want to live.
I look up at Daria. “I want us to go out tonight. To a club. I want to dance.”
She stares at me for a second, then nods. “All right…”
* * *
Daria walks over to her wardrobe and flings it open. The doors creak, revealing a chaos of dresses, skirts, and blouses. She pulls out a few hangers and gives me a critical once-over. “Do you have anything? Or should I lend you something?”
The other day, I packed my bag with plain, forgettable clothes meant for escaping, not for going out at night. “Maybe—”
“Perfect!” she cuts me off, waving an airy and floral outfit at me. The fabric is light, almost sheer, with ruffles on the sleeves and tiny buttons down the front. A pale pink dress, flared above the knees, trimmed with delicate lace. It looks so girlish. So na?ve.
I blink at the insulting garment. “Is that from AliExpress?”
Daria grins. “Maybe. I don’t remember. What matters is it’ll look amazing on you.”
I examine the dress again, then my reflection in the mirror beside us. I’ve grown so accustomed to elegant cuts—sleek lines, a balance of style and sex appeal. And this…is more like clothing made for a doll. I snort. “I’ll look like a schoolgirl in that.”
Daria hands it to me and says, “Try it on!”
I shake my head but take the dress, anyway. The fabric is soft and pleasant to the touch. “If someone I know sees me, they won’t recognize me…”
My eyes widen in the mirror. Wearing this dress, no one would recognize me. I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone calling my father or enduring boring conversations with curious acquaintances.
“You know…” I adjust the fabric against my body. “You’re right.”
Daria laughs. “Obviously.”
I wash my hair and let it dry naturally. Straight strands fall around my face in gentle disarray. Daria doesn’t have much makeup, so I just apply a bit of mascara and some gloss.
Ten minutes later, I examine myself in the mirror.
The pale pink dress drapes over my thighs, hugs my waist, and ruffles at the shoulders.
A while ago, I would’ve called this look ‘the kind of girl who disappears in a crowd’ and the idea of blending in would’ve made me shudder. Now… I’m unsure how I feel.
Daria claps when she sees me. “Niki, it’s stunning on you!”
“I’m not sure…”
She gives me a playful shove toward the door. “Come on. I’ll call a cab. Where are we going?”
I give her the address of the club where I celebrated my twenty-first birthday, the place where it all started.
I need to go back there, to the exact moment when everything fell apart.
Before the mask tore, before the walls shattered, before my heart started to ache.
I know I can’t change anything, but I need to live through a different scenario—one where my twenty-first birthday doesn’t come with an arranged marriage, shattered illusions, and losing my soul.
Key word: live. That’s all I want tonight. Some normalcy, purposeful distraction, and overall ignorance of what’s to come.
We arrive half an hour late. My heart pounds in time with the bass as I enter the nightclub. The dance floor remains empty, though groups are already gathering around tables. From afar, I check out the darkened VIP booths and sigh. There’s no way I’ll get in without being recognized.
Daria and I head toward the open seats near the bar.
The pale pink dress sways with each step, the ruffles bouncing against my thighs.
What really makes me lower my head are the white sneakers on my feet.
Daria had offered me her only pair of heels, but just the thought of them was enough to make me cringe.
A size too big, navy blue, closed-toe with ankle straps—straight out of my tenth-grade history teacher’s closet.
As we pass by tables, we get barely any attention. The bartender serves us cocktails without a second glance, and no one attempts to talk to me.
“You okay?” Daria asks.
The cordoned-off VIP section once more draws my attention. “It feels weird not being up there.”
Daria laughs, nudging my shoulder. “Little Baroness doesn’t enjoy mingling with the commoners?”
The nickname makes me frown. But she’s right. “I guess getting special treatment was part of the fun.”
Daria shrugs while sipping her cocktail. “I’ve never gotten that kind of treatment, so no idea what it feels like.”