Red Wizard
Chrys
THE ADORATION
Izurich
Guardian Angel Haruki
XxFellsingxX
Fading Memory
Pragia12
NalloreW A R L O C K ' S D A U G H T E R
1.02
"Enough small talk," Johnny Warlock said, nodding to himself and then to Laura. Laura sniffled, using her napkin to rub away the fresh streaks of mascara from her face. The noise from the restaurant faded into the background. She buried her anger in shaky breaths. She held onto the edge of the table, her fingers squeezing the cheap plastic until her knuckles turned even whiter than before.
"I need you to get rid of something," Johnny said, looking up from his desert with a magnanimous smile. He didn't seem angry. Not anymore. He didn't even seem bothered by their previous argument. He never did. She considered for a moment how quickly he would react. If he could really stop her. Some other time she decided.
He watched her with smug grin, and for a moment she wondered if he could read her mind,"There's a small shop in Gotham Village. Enchantment Emporium. You can't miss it. Dingy. Full of old books. Reeks of magic. You'll spot it in a heartbeat."
Laura frowned. She never liked the jobs Johnny gave her. He was always scheming. He was always planning something bigger. Playing some game she couldn't follow...he wouldn't let her follow. He was going to get her into trouble. More trouble. Worse trouble, if that was somehow possible.
"There's a special item there. A small box, mint condition. Midnight black. Impossible looking, but somehow real. Oak, solid oak. It's old, but real fancy looking, and smooth as a mirror. Has some swirly letters carved onto the lid and a heavy silver lock keeping it shut. It's what you might call one of a kind."
Johnny paused, rubbing his chin, before expounding,"Don't read the letters. Don't speak the letters. And don't, don't so much as try to open the box. It won't end well."
"You want the box?" Laura impatiently interrupted. She could sense another lecture in his voice. Another pointless story. More forced affection and more words designed to hurt.
"No," he said with a chuckle. "I need that box gone. Turned to ashes, preferably, but as long as it's gone, I won't complain."
"The book shop too?"
"Nah, better not. Better keep things quiet. And it's not just a book shop. Pay attention. It's a magic shop," Johnny chastised, thumping a fist onto the table. Laura flinched, turning to look out the window.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Johnny raise a hand, signalling for the bill.
He coughed sternly and she turned back towards him,"Honestly, I don't care what you do to the shop, the shopkeeper or any unfortunate customers who happen to be inside. Just make sure that the box is toast. And if you can, try to keep things discreet. We're flying under the radar on this one. The less anyone knows the better."
"That's a lot of instructions for a box," Laura countered. "Who's got it? Who's the shop belong too? What's this really about?"
Johnny raised his fingers, counting loudly, "One, you don't ask questions. Two, you don't ask questions. Three, you don't ask questions. Four, you don't ask questions. Five..."
"I don't ask questions," Laura finished, grimacing. She knew she'd almost gone too far.
"Good, I'm glad we agree. But I'll give you something. Some nobody has got it. Someone you don't have to worry about."
"Then surely you can send someone else to get it," she said, trying to look kind, trying to look apologetic.
"Not gonna happen. Nice try though. This one's for you and for you alone. Your debt, your job."
"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Laura seethed. She'd had enough of his bullshit. She didn't care. "This job stinks and you fucking know it."
She didn't have time to move before his hand struck her. She heard the loud smack and then she could feel it, burning across her cheek. No one in the restaurant looked at her. No one looked at them. Cowards she thought. Just like her.
"That was dumb. Don't be difficult, Laura," Johnny sighed, pushing away his empty plate. He rubbed his hand, it had been hard slap. "If I knew more, then you'd know more. All I know is that whoever is holding the box isn't a problem. Shouldn't be a problem. And if they are, well, you know how to handle problems, don't you?"
"Sure," she said wiping away tears.
"But, you never know, now do ya? Things haven't exactly been predictable lately. There's a lot of new pieces on the board right now and just as many new players. I'm still trying to map out the moves."
The waitress floated by dropping off the check. Laura reached for her wallet, but Johnny waved her off, dropping several neatly folded bills onto the table, "Nah, don't worry about it, I got this. You can pay me back some other time."
He laughed at his own joke, tossing his jacket over his shoulders as he stood up. She wanted to kill him, but she knew better. He meant well, she reasoned. It was just the way he was. It was the way they all were. She needed him. She owed him. She didn't have any other options. He pulled her into a hug as she stood up. She didn't bother trying to escape. She didn't squirm back this time. He patted the back of her head softly, affectionately.
"Some spending money," Johnny Warlock said with a wink as he pulled away, slipping a wad of cash into her hand. She didn't look at it. She didn't need to count it. Three thousand dollars. Same as always. The money felt dirty. She felt dirty. She closed her eyes and nodded and when she opened them he was gone.
She wanted to scream.
Gotham Village had changed. It was full of people. It was warm. It was pretty. And it was clean. She hated it. She hated all of them. They seemed happy and it only made her angrier. Gentrification had finally taken over. Crime was down. And long time residents had been scattered to the winds, pushed to other still unfashionable parts of town. Maybe she would burn down a coffee shop on the way home, she thought. It was the least she could do for old Gotham. Someone had to remember. Someone had to remind them.
Letting out a low curse, she took a breath and finally opened the door. Fading rays of sunlight followed her into the quaint shop, the jingle of an ornate silver bell announcing her arrival.
"Welcome, welcome, thrice welcome to the Enchantment Emporium, what can I do for you on this fine day, Miss?" A figure said emerging from the shadows behind the counter. She could feel eyes moving slowly over her.
"I've come for the box," she said with a smile, staring back at the figure. His three piece suit looked expensive. It looked dated. The cape was a bit much and the bow tie left her smirking. The top hat he wore was even more ridiculous and reminded her of a stage magician. Paired with monocle that flickered from the shadows, she quickly became convinced that she was dealing with an absolute idiot.
"Why, we have all manner of boxes here," the man began, nervous, but still polite. "You have the eye of a discerning customer and the bearings of one initiated in the arcane arts. I see it in you. I can feel it in my very bones. What sort of box might you be looking for, Miss? A dimensional portal permitting storage, perhaps? Something with which to store a summoned servant? Suitable confines for a dangerous prisoner?"
"No," Laura said, shaking her head. "You know what box I am here for. You knew the moment I opened that door."
"Regretfully, I must confess I have no idea what you mean," the figure answered a touch too quickly.
"Allow me to refresh your memory," Laura said waving a hand. A flash of magic enveloped her and when the illusion faded, gone was Laura Fell, and there was the Warlock's Daughter. Garbed in red and adorned with a belt of skulls.
The figure faded, retreating back into the darkness, letting out a shrill, alarmed scream. She could hear the anger and the menace lurking beneath his panic, "No, no, no! You aren't supposed to be here. GET OUT! GET OUT! LEAVE!"
Lurching back into view, the shopkeeper raised his arms wide as if to block her view of the shelves behind him. In the dim light, she realized he had no face. His top hat and monocle simply floated in the air. She could feel a current, bristling with electricity weaving through the empty space between them. The metallic taste of powerful magic ran across her tongue. It tasted like blood, she thought with a grim smile.
"And yet," the Warlock's Daughter mused, taking one slow step forward and then another, "Here I am."
Cold enveloped her. Cold as cold as the icy embrace of the grave she had once suffered. She swallowed her fear. She buried her memories. She saw the cane pointed at her. She heard a whisper and then a translucent bolt of fire burst towards her. She had been ready. She had been waiting. She was ready. And she dodged the ethereal flames that exploded around her easily in a glimmer of pale magic as she shifted across the room.
Darting forward, the Warlock's Daughter was a blur of motion as she struck back. Her fingers were claws, baleful orange daggers of arcane energy that raked towards the figure, and cut through the counter in a shower of splinters. A decayed face appeared as the apparition roared in pain, stumbling backwards, and blindly striking towards her with his walking stick. His form flickered, disappearing and then reappearing as he scrambled away from her. Deep scores burned with arcane energy across the crumbling figure. Johnny hadn't said anything about a ghost. She wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't sure a ghost could even be killed. If it was a ghost.
Something pulled at her. Something distracted her. She could feel it, almost as if it was reaching out to her. It cut through the wards, it tugged at the seams of the enchanted wood that surrounded it. Shrugging, the Warlock's Daughter stepped over the whimpering figure, shoving a bookshelf to the side to reveal a safe. She didn't touch it, she knew better. She didn't need to feel the bite of whatever spell had been used to trap the safe. She whispered words. She whispered inhuman words. Dead words. Lost words. Words better left unsaid. The metal groaned and shrieked in protest, bending as the door to the safe began to melt.
Smiling at last, Warlock's Daughter raised a hand towards the now open safe. The prone figure shouted at her, his voice rising in terror as she touched the box hidden within the safe, "No, stop! You can't take it. You mustn't! Please, put it back. I have to keep it. It can't leave this shop, not even this room! She told me to watch it. She told me to guard it! You don't understand!"
She ignored him. She didn't care. The box was perfectly smooth. It was smaller than she had imagined, no bigger than a paperback book. Oak, just like Johnny Warlock said. It was old, very old. The wood felt warm against her skin as she studied it, almost alive, if she would have believed it. She ran a finger over the writing carved across the top of the box. She couldn't recognize it. She couldn't even place it. She decided it was best not to try. Maybe Johnny Warlock was right.
Holding the box in the palm of her left hand, she kindled a flame of magic in her right hand and prepared to destroy the box. She heard the ghost protesting. She heard him screaming at her. But he was far away. She felt an ember in her heart. A growing flame of hatred. She wasn't going to listen to Johnny Warlock. She wasn't his lap dog. He wanted the box destroyed, that much was clear. But why? What was he worried about? What was he planning? She had to know. Whatever was inside the box was her leverage. It was her way out. Maybe. If it was important enough. And if not, then she could always destroy it later.
She felt the figure tugging at her leg and kicked him away, surprised at the sudden weight of his form. She heard him, she listened to his ravings anew, "She said no one knew about it. No one! No one except me. I didn't tell anyone. Tell me! How? How did you know? Did she betray me?"
Anger and madness had taken hold of his voice. She could hear the unmistakable tenor of desperation. It didn't make sense. There was something wrong, She could feel it. Why did he care? Why was he so afraid? What was he hiding?
"Who? Who, left it here? Who asked you to guard it?" She could see the fear in his long dead eyes. He looked away, sputtering as he tried to rise.
She raised a hand, summoning a flame of arcane energy that she raised as if to throw right at him, "Who? I won't ask you again."
His words were gibberish, angry shouting in what she surmised was French.
"A name. A name in English would be good...before I lose my grip."
"Zatanna," he said, an anxious laugh escaping as he spoke the name, his features recoiling in a sudden flush of unwelcome emotion.
"Great," the Warlock's Daughter replied, extinguishing the magical flame and pang of worry she felt in her stomach with a snap of her fingers. She raised the box towards him,"What's inside? Why is it so important to her?"
"I- I don't know. She didn't say. She just told me to guard it."
"Why?"
"W- Why what?"
"Why would you watch the box? Nothing better to do with your spectral time? No scores to settle? No hobbies? No kids to scare?" Warlock's Daughter began, juggling the box insolently between her hands, pretending that she was going to drop it as the ghost winced. She frowned, catching the box in a hand, and cutting the pleading phantom off just as he tried to reply. She had seen enough,"She must have hit you with one hell of a spell. Those are some nasty chains she's got you wrapped in."
"What do you want me to tell her? What am I supposed to say? She won't be happy, she won't be happy at all if she learns you took the box," the wraith wailed from the floor.
"Tell her I burned it. Tell everyone that asks that I burned it. Tell anyone anything different and I'll be sure to burn you instead."
Standing up, Warlock's Daughter grabbed a chunk of wood and then set it ablaze. She watched the wood curl and then fall to pieces as it slowly turned to soot, "See, it's gone, nothing more than ashes now."
"What about me?" the shopkeeper asked, nodding towards the pile of ashes.
"What about you? Who are you? What are you?"
"Why...I'm the Gentleman Ghost," he said, unmistakable pride taking hold in his voice. She'd never heard of him. She'd never even heard of a ghost giving themself a name like that before. It was strange, but she wasn't one to judge.
She scoffed, "Not much of a gentleman, as far I can tell anyways. What's your name? Your real name."
The half visible figure hesitated, his eyes spinning around the room, looking for an escape, any escape.
"Name. I asked you for your name," she said, sending a wave of magic surging into the bookshelf next to him, turning it into a pile of broken sticks.
"James, James!" he shouted back, almost as if he was in pain. "James Craddock, if you please."
"Well, Jim, if I may call you that," she said, squatting next to him and flashing a smile. "Looks like quite the pickle you've got yourself in. Pissing off a powerful sorcerer hardly seems like a good idea. Especially if you aren't smart or fast enough to run away. You really should've had a different plan, whatever your plan was."
"Duly noted," he muttered angrily in reply.
Warlock's Daughter paused, rubbing her fingers together thoughtfully, scraping off the fresh layer of ash. She he felt some sympathy for the ghost. He was trapped. He was another trapped soul. Just like her. Forced to do something because someone else compelled him to. Meddling wizards and warlocks. A common theme. An unfortunately common theme in her very personal opinion.
Making a choice, Warlock's Daughter closed her eyes and focused. She saw the heavy chains that bound the ghost. She saw the patterns woven into the surfaces of the emporium. She channeled her anger, she sharped her emotions into a fine, bristling point, and struck the arcane links in a fell motion. When she opened her eyes, she could feel that the air in the room had changed. The pressure was gone and the chill had faded.
"That's it? I'm free?" Craddock asked incredulously, standing suddenly in front of her, restored, untouched, and shining brightly with a grim light.
"Sure, why not? Just don't make me regret it," Warlock's Daughter said, tucking the box beneath an arm.
The Gentleman Ghost laughed, his voice growing into a loud booming laughter as he bowed low. He looked different. He was different. He was stronger. He was free and some strange magic now coursed through him. She might have made a mistake, she realized. She had thought him weaker. A middling spirit at best. Done was done. She had no intentions of changing her mind. He was someone else's problem. She had other concerns.
"My most gracious thanks! I will not forget this unexpected kindness. I will see you soon enough, I am sure." the Gentleman Ghost said, his face positively beaming with joy.
His voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere all at once as he faded into nothingness, laughing once again,"Until then, I bid you a most fond adieu, mademoiselle!"
"Whatever," the Warlock's Daughter said, standing suddenly alone. She shivered as Laura Fell returned.
Walking into the newly arrived night, Laura tried to shake the feeling that she had gone too far. She'd never met Zatanna. She didn't plan to. She'd heard of her though. Who hadn't? She wasn't going to tell Johnny Warlock anything. She'd keep them all in the dark. Let them struggle. Let them gnash their teeth in anger. Let them rage.
She laughed quietly to herself as her anger faded. She felt better. She felt happy. She felt better. She felt calm. The night was young still, she thought, beginning to hum to herself.
Fuck the Warlock.
Fuck the Magician.
And fuck Gotham City.
