“You will stay here.”

Jarl tosses a thick quilt at Áesta, snickering in amusement when it unfurls midair and envelops the tiny thing. Hisses erupt from beneath the fabric and the human is sure the creature would have clawed its way out of it had it not wanted to preserve its bedding. Instead, the green daemon paws it off with its fists and knuckles. As its dark head pops out from a hole in the blanket’s heavy folds, Jarl’s struck by an odd notion: it’s cute.

Gross.

But also expected. Manus warned him about this—along with many other things, the overdramatic witch.

Daemons come equipped with something called thraell: the ability to enslave a person via their passion.

For humans, this is usually desire. More specifically: any kind of want. He was told that, even if the potion provides Áesta with an image, the actions and mannerisms of the daemon would remain largely unaffected. This means that it could still enthraell Jarl by simply acting out the role of his idealized partner.

But this is what makes no sense: the few times he had ever considered the idea, he had always pictured himself with someone of average body but incredible mind—as that’s what matters most—and perhaps, kind.

He’s never thought of… cute. The fact that the daemon is taking on this image must mean that Jarl wants someone small, delicate, and cute in his life; which makes absolutely no sense! He hates cute things!

Plus: delicate, small things always break with him.

But, perhaps that is the problem. Manus didn’t warn him of this but, he supposes, it is rather obvious: humans can desire things without even admitting to themselves that they want it. Which means that Jarl’s lying to himself when he asserts that he doesn’t like cute things or want someone cute to be with him.

Again: gross.

Sighing lightly, he pushes the disturbing revelation from his mind and reminds himself that this is wholly necessary. He’s tried everything else. So, if he’s going to do what he wants to do, he needs Áesta.

Even if he doesn’t like being enthraelled by it.

Gesturing to the plain bed in the corner, Jarl informs the daemon that it may sleep there. He then points across the way to a wall with two doors: one leads to a bathroom while the other leads to an empty closet.

Áesta furrows its brows, “W’y’s it empteh?”

Jarl sighs, “Because this is my house’s spare room. It’s been unoccupied for years. Obviously.” Silly daemon. Moving on, the man points to the door behind him and beside the table—he’ll have to clean it up soon. “That’s the exit, which you aren’t allowed to use. I want you to stay here so I don’t have to worry about you.”

“Aww~” the green thing purrs, “Ye’d worry ‘bout me?”

“Only in the context of everyone else.” Jarl glares disgustedly at the pout Áesta suddenly wears. He hates cute!

“Fine; be t’at way; but ye wouldn’t have ta worry ‘bout not’in if ye’d just feed me.”

“Later.”

~

Slamming the door behind himself, Jarl locks his spare bedroom from the outside and wards it heavily.

He pointedly ignores the frustrated howl that echoes inside the mostly empty room and leaves Áesta to scratch uselessly at the secured door. Deciding to get a small head start on things, Jarl hastens to his study.

He lugs all the items he’d used to summon the menace he’s now housing along with him.

He packs everything into their proper places with a little help from his newfound super speed, before grabbing a pen and paper in order to write a note. Sitting at his desk, he taps the pen against his tongue to wet it and help him think. How should he word this?

Dear Witch,

Thank you for your assistance in the acquisition of this daemon you call Ancient. I would have appreciated a warning, amongst all the others you gave me, about the price I’d have to pay for my wish’s fulfilment.

Being forced to see that thing… like that is deplorable and unfit for a holy man like me.

Regardless, the deed is done; please prepare for phase two of the plan.

—Jarl

Finishing the message with a tiny flare (one the witch in question probably would have appreciated), Jarl quickly rolls it up and ties it with a port-bow. The specially designed pink and gold ribbon glows once before disappearing in a cloud of glitter.

Knowing well that it will take time for the magic user to see the message and even longer for him to prepare, Jarl makes his way to his own bedroom to sleep.

He has quite a few hours before his companion will be ready.

~

A letter slaps Jarl in the face.

This is what wakes him in the evening.

He curses the witch’s nerves and rises from bed.

He then reads the reply message that landed on the pillow next to his head.

Dear Meathead,

Wonderful! How is he? Did you feed him yet? He better be well! I’ll come see him soon.

You’re the one that told me to shut up; I had been getting to that point, too!

Ooo~ How did you see him? He was di~VINE~ when I had him.

Anyway, see you soon, dumb dumb!

~Your Witchy Wonder

Scowling at the sassy comments, Jarl tosses the message into his garbage bin before heading to his closet.

He flings open the doors and finds his sturdiest clothes. He dons them in quick succession: pale cotton shirt, dark leather pants and gloves, bright red jacket laden with protection spells and filled with vials of potions.

Once he’s properly dressed, he heads out.

He finds Witch Doctor waiting.

~

Hagen is the first to spot him at the rendezvous.

His keen green eyes never miss anything, so this is no surprise. Manus’ diva-tastic pout isn’t really either, “You didn’t bring him‽”

Jarl brushes him off, “We have work to do; that thing would just hold us back.”

The witch pouts, tan cheeks puffing, “He is not a thing, Héroe; and he would never hold us back.” His golden eyes bore into Jarl like a screw into wood and the sky-eyed male finds himself grateful for the lack of a drill.

But he doesn’t show it; instead, he simply shrugs, “Another time.”

Manus huffs and makes to argue but Hagen cuts him off, “Indeed; let us focus on Jasey.” The armored man and the witch both share a look of contempt before looking at the doctor in agreement. They all nod.

Together, the group of three proceed to a clearing in the woods.

The space is less of a natural phenomenon and more of a manmade marvel. Large flat stones lie embedded in the earth, their faces baring intricate carvings that Manus and other magic users call lay lines. There’s a matching table in the center with grooves and slots for potions, herbs, and so on.

There’s also, strangely, a broom—just laying there.

Manus ignores it as he approaches the table; so, the rest of them do, too. The golden-eyed witch pulls a pouch out of his bright pink robe and retrieves a gemstone from it. He then pulls a flask out of a pocket. Both items are set down on the table before Manus reaches in for three more pouches, each holding an herb.

Jarl frowns, hating that this is taking so long.

Hagen, perhaps because he is a doctor, remains patient.

~

It takes almost an hour, but Manus does eventually finish setting up his scrying spell.

The herbs have been crushed and packed into different slots while the liquid in the flask was poured into some of the table’s grooves. Whichever grooves Manus didn’t want to be used were blocked off by nubs of clay he put down before he began pouring. The end result is a bizarre figure—one that Jarl can’t understand and he is certain Hagen can’t, either (not that it matters)—circling a miniature pond created by the carved hollow in the center of the table.

Manus drops the gemstone in this puddle.

With his first two fingers, he draws a pattern in the air that Jarl and Hagen can’t discern while chanting under his breath. Slowly, the gemstone glows. Its light casts itself into the potion’s properties and sets the liquid ablaze. Smoke billows out from the table as the potion carries the light to the herbs and sets them on fire, too.

Jarl and Hagen stare in awe as an image with numbers appears in the plume of smoke.

Then another. And another.

Each one depicts a place like a snapshot along a pathway.

The pathway to Jasey.