Chapter 8
WATCHER
I shadow Windy and Wallace as they make their way down the bustling main street of Spells Hollow, the town I’ve sworn to protect for centuries. I’ve glamoured myself with the help of a local witch so they cannot recognize me.
Every step they take, every word they exchange, grates on my nerves. Wallace, with his desperate need for magic, and Windy, with her naive optimism—it’s enough to make me sick.
They head toward a tavern, a quaint little spot known for its greasy food and weak coffee. As they enter, I position myself by the window, just out of sight but close enough to observe.
Windy laughs at something Wallace says, her face lighting up like she’s the sun itself.
I roll my eyes.
How can he fall for this?
Windy isn’t that special. She’s just another fool in this cursed town, blinded by her misplaced sense of purpose. She thinks she can heal some generational curse and fix everything. It’s pathetic.
Wallace’s gaze is locked on her, and it’s clear he’s smitten.
I scoff internally.
Of course, he is.
He’s weak, desperate for any semblance of power. He doesn’t see the truth about her.
Then again, maybe he does, and he’s just as blind as the rest of them.
As they sit at a table, I notice the way Wallace’s hand lingers a little too long on Windy’s. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she smiles, and it’s a smile that could melt the heart of any unsuspecting fool. But not me. I see through her. She’s not that good. She’s just a means to an end, a pawn in this cursed game.
I move closer to the window, careful to remain hidden. Their conversation drifts to me through the glass, snippets of words and laughter that make my blood boil. Windy is saying something about hope, about finding another way. Her voice is soft and encouraging, as if she believes in some fairytale ending.
“Thank you, Windy,” Wallace says, his voice full of gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Pathetic.
Does he even realize how pitiful he sounds?
Windy isn’t his savior. She’s just another obstacle in his path, another lie he’s told himself to feel better about his lack of power.
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms.
How is he falling for any of this?
Windy isn’t the hero of this story. She’s just a girl with delusions of grandeur, thinking she can break the curse that binds Spells Hollow. She doesn’t understand the forces at play, the ancient magic that holds this town in its grip.
They talk about sticking together, about friendship and hope. It’s enough to make me gag. Wallace doesn’t need friendship. He needs power, and Windy is just a distraction from his true potential. He could be so much more if he’d just stop relying on others and seize the power that’s rightfully his.
The waitress arrives with the rest of their food, and they dig in, still engrossed in their conversation. Wallace looks at Windy like she’s the answer to all his problems, but I know better. She’s nothing but a hindrance, a false beacon leading him astray.
I watch as Windy reaches across the table, her hand covering Wallace’s in a gesture of comfort. She’s whispering something, probably more empty promises and sweet lies. Which he’s eating up, just like he’s eating those fried potatoes.
How can he be so blind?
For a moment, I consider intervening. It would be so easy to walk in there, to shatter their little bubble of delusion. But no, that’s not my role. I’m a watcher, an observer. My time will come, but not yet. I need to bide my time, to wait for the perfect moment to reveal the truth.
Windy’s laughter echoes in the tavern, and I feel a surge of anger. She thinks she’s so clever, so righteous. But she has no idea what’s coming. She doesn’t understand the depths of the curse she’s meddling with. And Wallace, poor fool that he is, will soon realize that his trust in her is misplaced.
As they finish their meal and prepare to leave, I melt back into the shadows, following them at a safe distance. They walk side by side, close but not touching, lost in their world of illusions. Windy is speaking animatedly, her hands gesturing wildly, while Wallace listens with rapt attention.
I feel a pang of jealousy, but I push it aside. This isn’t about me. It’s about the curse, about keeping Spells Hollow from falling apart. Wallace and Windy are just pawns, pieces in a much larger game. They don’t see the whole board, but I do.
I’ve been watching for centuries. As they turn a corner, heading toward the heart of town, I follow, silent and unseen. They may think they’re on the brink of something great, but they’re wrong. The curse will not be broken. Not by Windy, not by anyone.
All too soon, Wallace will realize the truth.
He will see Windy for what she truly is—just another false hope in a town full of broken dreams.
When that moment comes, I will be there, ready to guide him to his true destiny.
To use magic on his own.
Not siphoning it.
That’s what Grandfather has foreseen, Wallace using blood magic under our influence.