Chapter 17 Nicole #3
“The exorcist’s,” house, as Lucy called her, sits at the far end of a steep lane, shaded by the ancient trees lining both sides. A single-story building with a sagging roof, its faded green walls are flaking, and beneath the windows, flowerpots filled with wilted blooms sit.
“We’re here…” I mumble.
We both study the house through the car window.
The engine is still running, ready for a quick retreat.
Daria’s glance shifts between the house and me.
A silent understanding passes between us.
We’re doing this. That familiar sensation coils through my chest—fear laced with the flutter of anticipation.
We step out of the car and make our way to the entrance, treading carefully over broken, time-worn tiles. There’s no doorbell, only a weathered wooden surface, which I rap on after a brief hesitation. The silence that follows stretches long enough to make us both hold our breath.
Eventually, footsteps echo from within—soft, slow, as though each step requires a conscious effort.
The door creaks open, revealing a woman so frail she seems on the verge of dissolving into thin air.
Her face is a map of deep-set lines, her silvery hair thick but untamed, cascading loosely over her shoulders.
In the time-worn features, I recognize a woman who must have been beautiful in her youth.
“Julieta?” Daria greets her in her usual warm tone.
She gives Daria an icy, piercing stare, then turns to me. “I am.”
“Hello. We spoke on the phone…”
Julieta is already slipping into the dim corridor, leaving the door wide open behind her.
A faint glow beckons from within. I wrinkle my nose at the sharp smell of mothballs, but luckily, there’s no sign of Gaetano’s usual presence.
Our plan is simple: if I so much as catch a whiff of his scent, I’ll signal Daria, and we’ll change the subject before he even has a chance to show up.
That is, if my theory is right and I can sense him a few seconds in advance.
My palms start sweating the moment I think about him. Everything could go wrong, but at least Daria and Julieta will be with me—and Julieta is an exorcist, after all! If I’m unlucky, and he does appear, then she might banish him for good.
Inside, dim candlelight flickers from a handful of scattered sources.
The narrow room presses in, every shelf sagging under the weight of glass jars.
Tiny vials, twisted bundles, and paper-wrapped parcels crowd the tables and counters.
Faded icons of saints cover the walls, interrupted by archaic symbols painted onto the plaster.
Julieta gestures toward an aged sofa in the middle of the room. “Sit.”
Daria complies without hesitation. I follow, careful not to brush against anything.
I keep surveying the surroundings and noticing unsettling details—a bundle of dried lavender hanging from the ceiling, a stack of books bound in cracked leather, a tiny goblet half-filled with what looks like congealed blood.
Julieta steps forward and throws her arms wide. The bangles on her wrists clink together, and her glassy eyes glint with the reflected candlelight. “So… one of them is hunting you?”
Daria casts a glance in my direction, but I’m the first to speak. “One of ‘them’?”
“Immortals,” Julieta says. The ‘s’ hisses from her tongue like a serpent, and my stomach coils. “Half-human, the rest—monsters. Some carry beasts in their hearts, others death…and some, like the one pursuing you…black magic!”
The final words burst from her with such force that a chill courses over my skin.
She sweeps her arm once more through the air, as if to ward off an unseen foe.
“I had dealings with one of them years ago. He was all charm. His spells were beautiful. He conjured marvels from thin air, yet there was always a price. Everything seemed brighter around him, more thrilling, more alive! He spoke of places I’d never see, of a world that wasn’t mine, but made me crave it.
Offered pleasures no human could imagine, much less deliver.
His lips whispered honeyed lies, and his hands did not merely touch.
They stripped the life from my heart, piece by piece.
Every time I trusted him, he stole another shard of me. ”
The memory of Gaetano’s palm on my skin lingers in my mind. If I were another woman, I might have begged him not to stop.
Julieta clenches her jaw. “It took me years to understand that he fed black magic with my youth. Every time he smiled, every time he made me believe the world belonged to us, he tore away a fragment of my soul.” She steps closer, and I flinch inside.
“That’s their true power—not merely the magic, but the way they make you want to obey.
To crave their attention, even knowing it will destroy you. ”
God help me, those words strike far too close to home.
“I can’t say for sure if yours is the same kind, but based on what you described over the phone, he sounds like a witcher.”
My stomach turns over. “That’s what he calls himself,” I murmur. “What did you do? How did you rid yourself of him?”
Julieta falls silent, her gaze empty. “I killed him, kiddo.” The words slice through the air, cold and sharp as a knife. They hit me hard, and for a moment, my heart stops beating.
“I killed him!” she cries out, a vicious smile curving her lips.
Daria stirs beside me. “How… how did you kill something immortal?”
“Immortal doesn’t mean invulnerable.” Julieta’s fingers curl around the gold bangles on her wrists.
“He made the mistake of revealing to me that even their kind harbor weaknesses. Though they resist illness and injury far better than we do, and their lives stretch beyond our reckoning…” She leans in slightly. “They’re no longer truly immortal.”
My stomach knots further. “What does that mean?”
Julieta laughs without mirth. “It means that, with the right weapon, even they can be killed. What you need is a blade that cuts precisely enough to offer no reprieve.”
My shoulders drop as I remember our contract. “He showed me a contract signed in my blood. It said if we don’t fulfill it, we’ll both end up in Hell. If I kill him, wouldn’t I be damning myself, too?”
“Hmm…” Julieta taps her chin. “Did the contract explicitly forbid you from killing him?”
I picture the scroll. Though I’d only read it once, each word is engraved in my mind. “It said he has to guarantee my physical safety throughout. Nothing about protecting him… from me.”
Julieta raises her fist. “He deems himself untouchable, the bastard! And that would be the death of him—pun intended.” Her eyes glitter with something mad and gleeful.
“The moment I stabbed that youth-sucking thief, the magic that bound me evaporated. Poof! Like smoke. It’s the same for you.
If he ceases to exist, so does the contract.
Magic can’t cling to bones that are no longer walking. ”
Daria and I exchange glances. This can’t be that easy.
“Excuse me, but…” My friend clears her throat. “If killing him is the key, why hasn’t anyone tried it until now?”
“Who’s to say they didn’t?” When we just stare at her, she snorts. “Do you really believe he wouldn’t have retaliated? Keeping alive those who defy him goes against his nature. I’d bet my right hand that he drove anyone who challenged him to insanity. Made sure they failed his little game.”
Like Angelina. I force myself to swallow despite my dry throat. “Don’t I risk him doing the same with me, then?”
“There’s always a risk when you challenge immortals.
But I can tell you this: no one knows witchers the way I do.
I’ve devoted my life to hating their kind.
” She raises an eyebrow in a conspiratory manner.
“It takes a master of poisons to outdo one whose very magic poisons the soul. And oh my, that man of mine was toxic! Whew!” She fans herself with dramatic flair.
“You have no idea. But I got rid of him, didn’t I? ”
Adrenaline pulses through me as Gaetano’s words echo in my mind: ‘I’d hate to claim your soul so soon. Not before I’ve heard you scream my name in pleading gasps while I tear you apart with my tongue.’
My breath catches, but I steel myself. I have to outsmart him, no matter what it takes. “What’s the ‘right weapon’? Poison?” I ask, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me.
Julieta tilts her head. “I can give it to you. But everything has a price.”
My heart thuds with such force I’m surprised the others can’t hear it. “What price?”
Julieta folds her arms, and the soft chime of her bangles fills the silence. I brace for something dreadful—my blood, my hair, perhaps even a sliver of my soul.
Instead, she tilts her head, chin pointing at the handbag I still hold in my lap. “Cash only, kiddo.”
* * *
Later, I park once again outside Daria’s building. My handbag is crumpled on the passenger seat, and my wallet is empty. Among my belongings rests a new treasure: a small knife with a polished wooden handle, engraved with ancient runes.
“I’ve coated the blade with a thin layer of curare extract,” Julieta said, eyes shining. “It’s hell for the immortals! Think of it like the stories of silver bullets killing werewolves. One stab to the heart, and the witcher will fall, immortality be damned.”
My palms sweat against the steering wheel as I attempt to quiet the turmoil inside me. I’ll manage. I’ll kill him.
“I’ll say it again. If you’re afraid to be alone, stay at my place. Honestly, it’s not a problem,” Daria says.
Her last remark hits me like a waved red flag. Irritation rises in my chest. “How come you don’t hate me?”
She blinks, eyes wide and innocent. “Why would I?”