Chapter 3: Family Secrets and Curses

He froze, tore off the charms from his face, and stared at me.

He looked like he’d just seen the cavalry arrive—except I was the only one on this rescue mission.

"You’re the ghostbuster?"

"I’m here to save you."

His phone was pointed right at me.

Same old chatroom.

[She actually showed up to save Mason Blackwell, but she doesn’t look like a ghostbuster—more like she’s walking into a trap, LOL.]

[Late night, dark and stormy, a guy and a girl—tsk tsk tsk, no wonder she was so concerned about Mason.]

[Ha, ghostbusting? How many people has she tricked? If Mason hadn’t listened to me, would he have survived?]

[Compared to some random girl, I still trust the psychic upstairs. Good thing you gave advice earlier—legend!]

Mason was half convinced, but seeing my regular clothes—not even a priest’s collar—he started to doubt.

His eyes got weird, like he was about to kick me out.

"You’re not my type."

I ignored him. I picked up a burnt charm from the floor with my maple wood baton—bloodstained.

Blood works with charms, but—

No wonder there was a coffin at the door. With so many people here, it’s hard to find the target.

Now, the ghosts had tracked him by scent.

Idiot!

With those charms, the spirits hadn’t dared come close. But it was too noisy!

Especially a leading female ghost, whispering in my ear, reaching out with polished nails, trying to tempt me.

"Sweetheart, come with me. I’ll show you paradise."

"Get lost!"

Her smile vanished. Suddenly her mouth opened wide enough to swallow me whole, trying to possess me.

I smacked her away.

"Quiet!"

To Mason, it looked like I was swinging at thin air.

"What are you doing?"

I took a deep breath, calming myself.

Did this guy really think he was safe?

I checked again.

Why didn’t the charms keep these things out? There was something big here.

Trouble.

No wonder my mentor sent me.

"Ah! Help…" Mason clutched his neck like something was strangling him, face turning red fast.

His fingers dug into his skin, eyes bulging. He was seconds away from passing out.

Something wanted to drag Mason with it, even if it meant self-destruction.

I quickly formed a sign: "I am the Watcher, seeking the light, thunder and lightning at my side, vision sharp as day, nothing can resist, by urgent decree!"

A golden light flashed over Mason, black smoke rising. The ghost screamed and backed off, not daring to come closer.

The whole room seemed to shudder, shadows pulling away from the circle of light.

Before I could relax, a piercing baby’s cry echoed behind me.

They were all here!

If it came to a fight, the odds were rough.

I grabbed the barely-recovered guy, and with my maple baton, drew a circle a yard wide around us.

The chalk squeaked on the floor, but the sound was oddly reassuring. This was my turf now.

If we couldn’t win, at least we could hide.

Mason was pale as death. After what happened, he clung to me, kneeling and hugging my leg.

"Ma’am, please! Boss, you gotta save me!"

Even now, his stream was blowing up.

But plenty still didn’t buy it.

[What did she pay him to act this hard?]

[Didn’t anyone see? That golden light when she chanted was wild.]

[Absurd! People will do anything for clicks now!]

...

I told Mason to take off his shirt.

He didn’t react. "What?"

No time—I didn’t expect a heavy hitter tonight. This little barrier wouldn’t hold.

"Hurry, strip!"

"I knew it, you’re into me!"

[I called it, this was her real plan, LOL.]

[Seriously, thinking about this now?]

[Reporting.]

I just yanked Mason’s shirt off.

He gaped at me, speechless.

Not done yet—I scratched his palm, drawing blood on the shirt.

Not enough, so I squeezed harder. The guy yelped in pain.

"If you wanna live, shut up!"

He slapped a hand over his mouth, terrified.

I pulled out a yellow charm, closed my eyes, and chanted a strange prayer.

With a whoosh, the charm caught fire, ashes falling onto the blood-soaked shirt.

"Take it."

He nervously held the incense I lit for him.

His hands shook so badly I had to steady the stick for him.

"This incense can hide your scent for a bit. Close your eyes, and no matter what you hear, don’t open them."

Mason, woozy from blood loss, lips white as chalk, nodded and obeyed.

I bunched the shirt up into a rough baby shape and tossed it outside the door.

The room filled with a cold, ghostly wind, creepy laughter swirling as the spirits chased the bloody shirt.

"Boss… I feel them."

Even with his eyes closed, he felt like prey.

I laughed, "Half right."

"There are five."

The oldest not even six months, the youngest never born—all killed by human hands.

The sky outside started to lighten, a rooster crowed somewhere.

I breathed out.

No more ghosts would come.

Tonight, they took the shirt with Mason’s birth details as bait. When the blood smell faded, they’d realize they’d been tricked and come back again.

To anger spirit infants is to sign up for a fight to the death.