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Chapter 2: On The Job

"Beep beep beep beep!" My alarm clock roared, screaming directly into my ear. I don't know why I still use it when I hate it more than the word 'hate' can properly describe.

"Is it four in the morning already?" I yawned as I rolled out of bed, accidentally falling on my face. What a way to start a Saturday. "This doesn't bode well."

I sat up off of the floor and glanced across my room, the disaster zone that it normally was. In every direction lay cluttered chaos; lumps of discarded clothing, piles of pizza boxes, strewn video games and video game cases, stacks upon stacks of strange books, and shelves filled with random jars who's dubious contents were written on faded labels. The cabinets bulged with pain as they strained to contain all of the junk that I filled them with, odds and ends that I came across over the years. As horrendous as it was, I've seen worse, especially when it comes to the messes caused by other angst-ridden teenagers.

"Good morning, sunshine." Jested the jovial French voice of my undead roommate, Dante. "It's good to see you so energetic and enthusiastic at dawn."

"Go jump off a cliff." I muttered back, not amused by his sarcasm. "I can feel it in my bones. Boy and girls, today's gonna suck."

I hobbled to the bathroom and splashed some water into my face from the sink, an attempt at waking myself up faster. It worked, more or less. The mirror reflected back my grizzled complexion; the ghastly image of an unshaven chin and an unkempt mess of greasy black hair. I looked like a homeless man, but hey, don't we all sometimes? With that thought in my mind, I went back to my room and withdrew a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt from one of my many laundry piles, hopefully the clean pile. I threw a denim long-sleeve shirt over that, effectively transforming my look and style from 'bum begging for change' to the slightly more popular 'grunge punk rocker'. With a sigh, I turned to face my wall-mounted schedule, my feared and most hated foe. Unsurprisingly, I had an appointment set up today. Oh, joy.

"An exorcism, eh?" I chuckled to myself. "People always suspect a ghost when something goes 'bump' in the night."

"In all fairness, at least they're providing you work." Dante stated as he sat down on the floor and picked up a video game controller. "If it were not for superstition and paranoia, where would you be now I wonder?"

"Working for a legitimate employer doing a legitimate job." I replied with a smirk. "You gonna be playing the PS2 all day today again?"

"Well, Irvine and Squall certainly aren't going to max-level themselves, now are they?" He shot back with a grin.

Though Dante is a ghost, a shade with no physical body of his own, he's not comparable to your ordinary household specters and spiritual riffraff. Dante has power and 300 years of experience to go along with it, so interacting with the physical world is less than nothing to him. Hell, at times you'd be hard pressed to tell that he was even dead at all. Years back, when I met him in that aging library, Dante spent most of his time reading books and magazines; he's read so many, I'd rather not try to fathom the number on my own. However, after I introduced him to a slightly newer medium of entertainment, video games, he made it clear that he'd prefer to have a television screen welded and surgically stitched to his face. From what I gather, Dante prefers RPG's, role playing games, because they tend to offer superior story writing and characters development, which takes us on a u-turn back to why he loves books. Still, I'm fairly certain that he has a few other genre archetypes in his rotation; I've seen him gun down the entire Third Reich at least a hundred times.

Sadly, for him anyway, I would be in need of his services today, so the TV would just have to be patient and wait for him to return.

"What?!" He sneered, sticking out his chin defiantly. What a kid. "Are you absolutely certain that you'll need me there? Really? Because it's been a while since we've seen an actual haunting, right? For all we know, this could be another false alarm!"

"Sorry man, but you're not getting out of this one." I replied stoically. "It's true that 9 out of 10 hauntings are bogus and explainable through logic alone, but in the event that one isn't, the victims will need an expert there to supervise the exorcism. You're that expert, Dante. Right?"

He rolled his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, then said, "I hate it when you're right. Let's just go before I try to procrastinate any more that I already am."

We did just that. With a hard push against the square-shaped trapdoor in my floor, the two of us quickly evacuated my attic room and sped down the polished stairwell that led to the front door. My father probably knew I was coming and caught me by the arm as I reached for the doorknob, I however, only caught the sparkle in his eye that told me a series of chores were soon to follow. Dads and Moms always seem to catch you right when you're leaving, don't they?

"Glad I caught you." He laughed, handing me a stack of papers.

"Me too." Dante added with a sharp grin, though deaf to my father's ears.

"Me three." I sighed; almost adding my ethereal friend into the conversation. "This can mean only so many things, am I right? So, what do you need done?"

"Always on the ball, aren't you?" He smirked. "Nothing big, really. I just want you to make copies of these papers while you're out doing whatever it is that you do, that's all."

"These for Maple Street Elementary?" I asked, Maple Elementary obviously being the school that he worked and slaved himself for.

"Yup." Dad replied, pantomiming a guitar with his hands. Well, it might have been anything from a banjo to a mandolin; who am I to really guess? "There's a musical talent show coming up for the kids and I'm in charge of advertising it, though I'm not so sure that anyone will be very interested regardless. You know kids; as soon as Power Rangers comes on, nothing else matters."

"Whatever." I said, waving my hand. "No problem, I'll handle the papers for ya."

"Thanks and watch your driving." Smirked my standard-issue guidance counselor as he walked away. "Your wheel skills are still sub-par in my book."

I almost stuck my tongue out at him, but decided against it.

"Oh, and before I go, I see that blemish on the back of your right hand hasn't cleaned up yet." Said my father with a touch of worry in his voice. "Are you certain you didn't burn it or something; maybe spill something hazardous on it during your Chemistry class?"

So, instead of sticking my tongue out, I rolled my eyes.

Looking down at my hand, I grimaced at the splotch of black and purple that covered a sizable portion of its back and knuckles. Son-of-a-bitch; did I really forget to cover it up? I'd lied and told my ever trusting Dad that it, whatever it was, was actually a bruise and that had appeared only recently but would soon go away. To be honest, the strange phenomenon had grown to its current size over the span of a couple of weeks. With the leathery texture and appearance of scales, I knew that it wasn't something that ordinary medicine and medical care could alleviate, nor did I want to explore that option from inside of a hospital full of questioning doctors and prying eyes. After all, the idea of ending up this year's big science experiment wasn't a thought that I wanted to nurture. Fortunately for me, my school's staff didn't really care enough to question what had been hidden under several layers of bandages for the past half-month, and I was luckier still that my father's nearsightedness kept him from seeing it as anything more than the unusually large bruise that I'd told him it was. Unfortunately, my father wasn't an idiot and he knew that bruises took less time to heal that this had taken and that I had been hiding it from him. He was starting to pose questions and concoct theories in his head; I could tell.

"Nah, it's fine; trust me." I lied through my teeth. "Granted, I know it looks pretty bad, but it'll go away with time. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go and enjoy my weekend the only way I know how; by doing some errands until midday."

"There is no rest for the wicked, is there?" Laughed the middle-aged teacher as he gave up and allowed me to keep my secret for another day. "Enjoy your ride around town, son."

Now with the addition of my father's papers, Dante and I finally managed to escape the house. When we made it outside, the truth about my sad, miserable, pathetic existence once again reared its ugly head, as it always did. This harsh truth came in the form of an AMC Pacer, the most hideous vehicle to ever putter its way through history, and it was staring directly at me. That's right, this Frankenstein of the road was my car, and as much as I hated it (trust me when I say that I REALLY hated it), it did move me from point A to point B. That said, I hopped in and started the engine, calling forth the loud grinding sound I had become so accustomed to. The Pacer slowly came to life and steadily lurched out of the driveway, leaving behind a black cloud of exhaust that would have sent Al Gore into spasms (had he not already been going into spasms from having been cheated out of the Presidency anyway). I growled in contempt of my lovely little automobile, not at all surprised to hear the engine growl in return. Me and my car; we understand each other.

Turning his attention to my hand, Dante said gravely, "As you requested, I've been researching into your hand's unusual blemishing and have concluded a few things. Are you willing to hear them?"

"More than willing." I sighed; gripping the steering wheel tightly. "I'm getting tired of lying about everything in my life; I need to have a few truths on my side every once in a while."

"Very well." Stated the ghost. "I have come to the conclusion that it is one of two things, both of which may alarm you. It is for this reason that I ask you again; do you still wish to hear what I have learned?"

"I'm a big boy now, Dante; I can take some bad news without crying and wetting myself." I smirked in return.

Taking a beep breath, purely for the steadying sake of doing so, Dante then added, "The first, and most probable conclusion, is that you have been afflicted with some sort of slow-acting transformation curse; something that was either too weak to act swiftly, or was designed with the expressed intent of tormenting you while its magic inched ever so slightly throughout you."

And that's when my heart stopped beating.

"That is my first theory." Continued the French specter. "My second theory is much more unlikely, as I would have sensed a fluctuation in your aura and in your energies far before this day would have come; the day in which your transformation into a dragoon would begin."

"A dragoon?!" I exclaimed; drawing the attention of random passersby. "Are you serious?! A freaking dragoon; the spawn of a human and dragon union?!"

With a stern glare, Dante shot back, "Calm yourself, boy! It is only a theory! I haven't the proper evidence to back it up any further!"

Then came the special kind of awkward silence that can only be shared between a teenage boy and his ghost godparent. Scared and confused, I tried to imagine my father mating with a dragon and somehow not knowing it whilst still in the heat of the act. Coming up with a unusual image that I'd rather forget, mostly because of my father and not the idea of a mating dragon, I decided to push it all into the back of my mind; the place where I store all of my 'bad' thoughts. And yes, the idea of my Dad having sex with absolutely ANYTHING most certainly merits the title of 'bad thought'.

Clearly searching for a way to ease the awkward atmosphere as well, Dante eventually asked, "How about we change the subject and talk about something else; how does that sound?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." I responded sharply, swiftly.

"Rattle rattle rattle rattle, clank clank clank clank..." Grumbled the Pacer angrily as we went over a rough patch of pavement.

"I think he agrees." I added with a fumbled chuckle.

"Alright then, boy, do tell me what kind of exorcism we'll be performing today. What kind of spirits will we be dealing with?" Dante questioned as the Pacer continued to jostle around and I quietly contemplating murdering it.

"The client contacted my cell phone only a couple of days ago." I answered as I shook my head for a second and regained composure.

Almost all of my business is done either over my cell phone or in person. If you want my assistance, you'll need to go fairly deep underground for it, which means you're probably pretty desperate. Yeah, not much of a Yellowpages kind of guy.

"Still, they urged that I come as soon as possible, so I'm assuming that things must be pretty hectic." I added wryly. "Floating furniture, strange voices, rumbling walls, et cetera et cetera. From what they described I can only assume that they're dealing with either an obscenely powerful run-of-the-mill spook, or a poltergeist."

Dante went silent for a minute, then said, "Are we equipped to deal with a poltergeist?"

"Don't worry, I've got everything we could possibly need for an exorcism here in the Pacer." I replied, trying to reassure him. In truth, I probably didn't. "I always keep some things in the car, you know that."

His green eyes wavered, left to right, quivering with uncertainty. "You remember the last poltergeist to be exorcised, don't you?" He questioned; ready to answer what he had just asked. "A high-ranking magi from the Conclave died in the process. He was a professional and still died. Are you absolutely certain that you have the tools necessary to smite such a fiend?"

"Yes." I replied again.

"Aside from that, the last few exorcisms you've preformed have all been a little bit shaky." He added; his eyes now closed as he held his head with his left hand. "I know you've taken on poltergeists before, but you know as well as I do that they vary in strength much in the same way that hurricanes and earthquakes vary in strength. If things begin to take a turn for the worse, just run. No ifs ands or buts; just run away fast."

"You were ready to stay behind and let me run off on my own earlier!" I laughed. "Are you worried about your little buddy, your little protégé going off to fight his battles all on his lonesome?"

"Dammit boy, what do you expect?!" He spat back, embarrassed. "You were acting so casual and calm about it back there, I just took it for granted that the situation was nothing I needed to be concerned with! Had I known that you were making preparations for a REAL job, of course I'd have insisted on holding the baby's hand as he crossed the street!"

"And now I'm a baby, huh?" I smirked, slapping the steering wheel. "I guess my growth spurt hit early."

Dante, cracking jokes as he was, really was worried, which was a bad sign among all other bad signs. He wasn't kidding either. Poltergeists are bad news, that's not a shock to anybody with even a couple of days worth of experience, but to be able to kill a magi of the Conclave? That's some serious power. I've taken on more than a few geists in my day, but I could have easily failed had the situation been even slightly less in my favor. The Conclave is an underground organization spanning several continents that oversees and supervises all things magical. Magi are the spellcasters that belong to said organization. It's a massive democratic body of sorcerers headed by a single elected leader, the Ancient, and a smaller collection of assisting magi that acts as a congress, the Templar. The Conclave has branch offices in nearly every nation, sometimes several in larger nations like the United States, China, and Australia. If it's in the arcane dictionary, then the Conclave has written it, read it, reread it, and even written and read the Cliffnotes version. It's on sale now at your local book store. Their duties are vast and they handle a variety of jobs; vampire slaying (when pushed to do so), undoing act of necromancy (when they can be undone), secretly swatting down dubious religious cults, solving unsolved murders rumored to have had magic involved (when they can be solved), and much more. As you can see, the job's difficulty ranges from 'levels of impossible' to the slightly more forgiving 'levels of unlikely'. For a magi to fall prey and die to some sort of creature is a fine example of that creature's power. The geists that I'd wrestled with in the past, as dangerous as it was, must have just been small fries when compared to its bigger brothers and sisters. And uncles.

We pulled into the driveway of a higher middle class home, the kind of picture perfect house seen in every prime time sitcom. And yes, it even had a white picket fence. Sliding a pair of gloves on before I exited the 'car', I took a look around and started spotting some places where the American dream had died a little, the places where the American nightmare had begun to fester. The yard was dying, though dead described it better, and the coat of paint clearly applied just recently was already starting to peel. There were no ambient sounds surrounding the house; no crickets chirping, no squirrels or birds fighting, no dogs barking, nothing. People even walked around the house when strolling down the sidewalk, subconsciously going out of their way to cross the street and avoid it, an inconvenience that most wouldn't bother with. I could tell immediately. Yes, the best evidence towards an unspeakable evil taking root are the tiny details, the subtle things like these. This house had SOMETHING inside of it that needed to be ostracized soon.

"Are you the young man I spoke to over the phone?" Questioned an elderly woman whom was already waiting outside. "I saw you inspecting our property and thought it best to not disturb you. To be honest, I'd imagined you to be just a little bit older."

"Most people say that." I replied back with my sales pitch smile. "Most can't accept a young teenager as the charlatan they'd been expecting when they hired them."

"Well then, are you still a charlatan, despite your age?" She asked quietly, her voice hushed but urgent.

"I'll let you decide that in the end." I stated with a nod and a bow.

Before I could enter the ominous structure Dante stood in my way, a grim expression across his face

"Though I don't believe you need me to tell you this." He grunted, putting a small hand on my shoulder. How fatherly of him. "The spiritual forces at work in there will be thick and suffocating. Your sixth sense is quite a bit stronger than most other's, even most magi, so walking in that house will put a beating on your senses, on your mind. It'll feel like taking a wrecking ball directly to your soul. Just be sure not to flinch too hard, okay?"

"I understand." I mumbled quietly. "That wouldn't do at all, having the beast see any weaknesses in me, would it? I'll try."

"Did you say something, sir?" The woman asked. Sir; not a title I'm used to.

"No, nothing important." I lied.

The elderly woman nodded back and proceeded to show me into her home. When I entered I felt the forces that Dante had warned me about. Now I'm not sure what a wrecking ball to the soul feels like, but lets just say, for the record, that it did feel a lot like getting punched right in the gut. I maintained my composure, though the sweat from my brow probably gave away my discomfort to all those watching. I was greeted by an audience comprised of an older man, possibly the woman's husband, and two small boys, perhaps the couple's children. Everyone was quiet, disturbingly quiet, and waited patiently for me to begin speaking. They watched me with owl's eyes, never moving from my face. I cleared my throat as I prepared myself, knowing full and well that what I had to say was bad news and worse news.

"I'm going to start by saying this." I said solemnly, sternly. "You have yourselves a problem here, but not one that cannot be beaten. I took a look or two around the outside of your home and came to the conclusion that the property is in fact haunted. And when I say haunted, I don't mean in the way that a house in a Disney movie is haunted. I mean that it's haunted; haunted by something foul, not something mischievous. There is a difference, never forget that."

"And?" The man asked quickly, letting the question out as though it were a gasp for air.

"And before I try to pinpoint exactly what kind of apparition we're dealing with, I'd like some information." I added. "First and foremost, I'd like your names please."

More silence. Again, not a surprise. It's true that there are a lot of things that sorcerers can do with formal names, including inflicting harm on the name's owner from afar through the use of certain black magics. Had this family done their homework on spellcasters, warlocks, and other wielders of the arcane arts, then they'd know this much, which would explain their reluctance to cooperate. However, time was of the essence, and I didn't have the time to be doubted or feared. When you deal with poltergeists, you're on a deadline and you don't dare to be late.

"Any time people." I sighed, twirling my finger impatiently in the air. "We've got an otherworldly force watching us and listening to us right now, and as understanding and patient as I am, I can't say the same about it."

The family looked at each other for a moment and then nodded their heads collectively.

The woman spoke first and said, "My name is Martha Francine Daniels."

"I'm Edward Howard Daniels." The man stated next. "And these are our sons, Richard and Adam."

I jotted down their names on a little notepad that I always had on hand, then continued on with my investigation.

"Alright, next I'd like a short summary of the things and events that have happened here. Anything that you might consider unusual or maybe impossible." I muttered, raising my gaze from my notepad to the frightened family.

"Well, things were subtle in the beginning." Edward responded. "We'd here voices every now and then, whispers from nowhere and slow murmuring chants. I'd ignore it when I could, just brushing it off as my imagination playing tricks on me. I was wrong."

Martha's face went white as she spoke up, stuttering but quickly covering it up, "Th-then c-came the screaming. Doors would open wide and slam shut while horribly loud voices shouted curses. Th-there were only a couple of voices at first, only a f-few, but as time passed they w-would multiply and multiply."

"And then the chairs and stuff would move; sometimes fly!" One of the children exclaimed. "It was scary!"

Yep, I was definitely dealing with a poltergeist here. That's just dandy. The problem with geists, the problem that you don't have with ordinary spirits, is that there is simply no way to reason with them. Poltergeists aren't like the earthbound disembodied souls of the dead, no, they're a collection of lingering emotions that slowly became sentient over long periods of time. Stop giving me that look, you heard me right. These monsters occur in areas where a bunch of purely negative emotions come to a boiling point, often in prisons and death camps. Hate, anger, fear, rage, loathing, jealousy, and prejudice all rolled into one, creating an amalgam, an apparition that is neither alive or dead. This is a poltergeist. You can't reason with them because all they want to do is cause a big fucking panic, a ruckus to be remembered. Oh, that often involves killing too, can't forget that. Much stronger than any ordinary, humdrum ghost, geists can do nearly anything they want, but only in the confines of their home. You see, these things are linked, almost by shackles, to their places of birth, so they can only ever terrorize anyone foolish enough to inhabit that same location. What I most likely had here was a baddie created by a powerful array of negative thoughts and feelings, probably from the whoever it was that occupied the whatever it was that occupied this land a long time ago. Some geists can take a long time to form, while some others can end up forming overnight, but just HOW long had it ACTUALLY taken? Determining that would give me a good estimate at the thing's strength and power.

"Do any of you happen to know what kind of building might have stood here a while ago, perhaps a prison or something of equal intolerance?" I pried, searching for more info.

"No, I'm not certain." Edward replied, looking puzzled. "I was told that the house was very old and had stood here for a long, long time."

I'll admit, it did look pretty old. When I checked around a little outside I noted several layers of red brick, much more than what's put into most modern houses. The quality woodwork stood out too, something that wouldn't have had in a newer home. A vermilion and goldenrod stained glass window also rested just above the front door. Yes, they just don't build 'em like this anymore.

"Hmm, then can anybody think of anything that would have signified something tragic or perhaps even evil having happened here?" I asked next, my notepad still at the ready.

"Of course, that is why the house came so cheap." Martha muttered discretely to herself, but loud enough for me to hear. I can hear very, very well, especially when I want to. She then looked at me with frightened eyes and started to stutter as she spoke. Stuttering must have been a reoccurring problem for her. "W-We had al-r-ready g-guessed at the c-cause of w-why our home was haunted, b-but didn't think th-that it would have helped for you to kn-know."

I don't enjoy being an asshole, not at all, but having heard that, it was high time for me to start being one.

"What?!" I barked. "Are you telling me that you've known the cause of the bats in your belfry this whole time, but withheld it from me for some reason?! Lady, I can‘t help you unless you tell me EVERYTHING!"

"I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry." She cried; her stuttering getting worse. "W-w-we j-j-just..."

"That's enough Martha." Said her husband softly, holding her hand. "I'll explain everything to the young man. It's not your fault, not at all; it's mine."

I looked at the family for a moment then asked, lowering my voice back down to its original levels, "What's going on here?"

"I know enough about the supernatural to believe in it, to believe that strange powers are often at work. I know that a troubled past can affect a home and bring about tragedy, but dammit, I didn't have a choice! The house was so cheap, ridiculously cheap, I had to make a bid for the property before someone else did!" He answered firmly. "I had Martha withhold information from you because I was afraid that you'd turn us down had you known. We got this house cheap, dirt cheap, due to an auction held barely a month ago. If you checked the other rooms you'd be sure to find some things still packed in boxes."

"Why did it get auctioned off so cheap?" I interrogated.

"Because no one else would buy it; not after discovering the things that happened here." He answered again. "But not us. We were down and out, in debt up to our ears and in need of a home. It seemed like a godsend at the time."

I maintained a piercing glare. I was fairly certain about what would spill from his mouth next. Hell, I'm stupid for not even remembering it, it having been all over the news just a year ago. I'd been asking the wrong questions from the start, questions about horrors committed in the past. I hadn't thought about recent atrocities, evils performed during my lifetime.

"This house was repossessed by the banks after having been the sight of a few murders." Edward said, his head hung low, avoiding my stare. "Well, more than a few actually. A serial killer lived here; Justine Green, the Substitute Killer, to be precise. He raped, mutilated, and murdered some 20 or more teenagers in this house and buried the bodies and remains in the backyard. He was a substitute teacher that frequented several of the local schools, luring the kids to his home through promises of alcohol and drugs, and maybe more. He‘d stalk and look for kids that were known to be drug abusers, ones that wouldn‘t refuse what he was offering, ones that wouldn‘t turn him over to the authorities."

Yeah, that was the guy, the one and the same, that I was thinking about. That figures. And if I remember right, the police only ever caught up with him because of the bastard's own arrogance. He constantly sent the cops letters, mocking their ineptitude and inability to catch him. Annoyed by this, the boys in blue kept the letters and envelopes and started comparing the killer's handwriting to all of their suspect's handwriting. As it turns out, every teacher, school janitor, and guidance counselor in the county qualified as a suspect. All trial and error aside, the chickenscratch scribbles were eventually linked to a mister Justine Green, a man with no prior marks or arrests on his police record. Too bad for him, because it didn't take long after his fingerprints were taken to confirm that he was, without a doubt, the one who had sent the cops those scathing performance reviews.

I did everything I could not to open my mouth and breath fire all over the man, but the most I could do is yell. Not a good idea, given where I was, but that thought didn't occur to me at the time. "A fucking string of murders occurred here and you want ME to just wave my hand and make all the bad things go away?! I'm not that powerful! Not many are! Sure, a prison full of pissed off inmates that want to get free is one thing, but murder victims?! A shit load of murder victims?! Damn, do you really think that that much hatred, pain, sorrow, and suffering can just be washed away by a magic charm or a priestly blessing?! It doesn‘t work like that!"

He couldn't look at me, at least not my face. Edward knew that what I was saying was the cold, hard truth. There wasn't a way that I knew on this green Earth to get rid of this monster; not short of destroying the building and leaving the land to sit empty for a hundred years anyway. Blowing up a house is quite within my power, but the house's dark contents? Not so much. You see, this is the kind of shit that requires professional measures to be taken. These people needed assistance from the Conclave, not a schmuck like me. I slammed my fist into the wall out of anger and jammed my notepad back into my pocket, preparing to pack my things and leave. Unfortunately for me, things did not proceed that well from that point on. The moment I turned to face the door, a roar, not a scream, erupted from the depths of the building. The doors and windows all slammed closed, locking us in what was soon to become a deathtrap. Oh joy...

"Mistake!" Screamed various echoing voices. "You should have run! Now you die!"

"Oh no I won't." I replied smugly, unsheathing a nicked and beaten dagger from between my belt.

"Now just what do you plan on doing with that?" Edward exclaimed sarcastically; the most calm of the small family. "Bent, broken, rusted; it looks like you already tried knocking down a brick wall with it!"

"Look closer." I growled, too embroiled in what I was doing to care about his opinions. "I filed the edges of it myself; on purpose. It's a dagger, but it's also a key."

"A key to what?" The smaller boy, Adam, asked.

"Just watch, kid." I smirked. "It's a key to whatever I want it to be."

"Ouvert!" I chanted lowly. Every apprentice warlock needs an extra something, an extra point of focus for their spells. This mental ingredient, this focus, allows the sorcerer to envision their spell in their mind, thus making it easier to summon forth in reality. Most go the old fashion route and chant their spells in random languages, and such is the path that I took as well. My language of choice was French, mostly because it was a language I could easily learn on my own free time from Dante.

Well, long story short, I thrust the dagger into the door and 'unlocked' it. I say unlocked, though that's a bit of a white lie. What I really did was blow the damn thing off its hinges..., more or less. My dagger key opened doors and windows, sometimes walls, by sheer force, not graceful finesse. It was a spell that most professional wizards could pull off in their sleep, but what with me being a reasonably talented, show-stealing, poser-wizard of sorts with no actual skill and all of my future potential still unblossomed, I needed a few pairs of training-wheels and instead spent several weeks creating an enchanted tool to do the job.

But regardless of how it happened or why it happened, there was now a big, gaping hole in the wall and we had an exit with which we could speedily take.

"How did you do that? Explosives?" Gasped Edward; gawking at the hole where his front door had previously stood.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna be able to explain the laws and workings of magic to a non-practitioner in less than a minute!" I yelled, trying to shout over top of the house's horrible wails. "Just get the fuck out!"

He didn't need me to tell him again. None of them did. The Daniels family evacuated like a team of professional movie extras paid to flee from something awful. I, however, stayed behind like an idiot. A big, fat idiot with the actual word 'idiot' written across his forehead. It seemed like a stupid decision to me too, but I'd already signed on the dotted line and everything, so I had to at least attempt to do something for them. I mean, bloodcurdling roars and horrific animal-like cries aside, the poltergeist had yet to materialize before me in a tangible form. Maybe I still had a chance, right?

"Okay, fiend from the depths of darkness, I'm here to put you to rest!" I shouted, withdrawing a sack of marbles from my pants pocket. "Show me the bottomless void in your eyes, if you can!"

No sooner had I said that, than a sinister voice whispered "As you wish..." into my ear. I spun around to face my foe and locked eyes with a hellish creature beyond brief description. Challenging it was a mistake among mistakes, I know that now, because I'm sure it could tell that I was petrified.

"Well, pup, what shall you be doing? It seems I've forgotten. If you would be so kind as to tell me again." It hissed.

Oh my God, Jesus Christ, holy shit, it became obvious that this whole thing was so very far over my head. This was no mere poltergeist. I've seen a few before, taken care of one on my own, and even assisted in a couple Conclave exorcisms to get rid of some, albeit against Dante‘s better judgment, but this creature was different in a thousand ways. Most poltergeists I'd seen looked formless and smoke-like, shapeless entities that slithered in and out of one's vision. This thing was smoky and smoggy to be sure, but it had a constant shape, a purely evil one if anything. It resembled a human, somewhat, though its limbs were constructed of only heads and battered skulls, the teeth all sharpened like jagged fangs. To top it all off, amidst the smoke, in the eye sockets of the skulls, there were a thousand glimmering dots of red and yellow light shinning forth.

"You're kidding." I muttered to myself, backing away, dropping my small satchel of spheres.

"I kid you not, child." It snidely laughed. "But I will kill you."

It drew back one of its hands as though to strike me, grinning as it did. But before it could bring its fist down on me like a hammer, a familiar voice trumpeted from the sidelines.

"You'll do no such thing, beast from below!" Dante hollered, surging forward and slamming directly into it. "Just try, if you think you‘ve got the strength!"

"Dante, don't!" I yelled, snapping out of my paralytic fear. "That thing is not a normal poltergeist! It'll crush your soul!"

"Fool, I'm stalling for time!" He angrily replied. "Come up with something while I hold him! And do it quickly!"

Dante floated in the air, suspended as though gravity meant nothing to him, and again rushed toward the creature like a bullet. The monster swept its arm this time, backhanding my partner with the slap of a lifetime. Dante flew back through several layers of house, his ethereal form inflicting no damage upon the structure as he hurdled through it; all the brick, wood, glass, and steel. His face shot out of a wall just to my right, startling me, then flew toward the poltergeist once again. The difference was that he had a plan of attack this time around.

"Kalest steleva!" Dante shouted; presumably a dead language; one that I couldn't identify at the very least.

"Uh-oh." I muttered to myself like a moron, still standing in the room.

The elemental forces of both fire and wind combined to form a whirling tunnel of flame encircling Dante's arm. He eyed the beast for a moment, then soared forward again, dealing a massive blow into what appeared to be its chest. Jets of fire and gusts of wind erupted from the impact, sending the creature spiraling into the next room and through the wall beyond that. Silence came for a brief second or two as Dante and I traded surprised glances, then came a ghastly roar of contempt and loathing. I immediately slapped myself in the face, a little bit of shock to bring back my focus, and began searching the floor by my feet for the small bag of marbles that I failed to use earlier. They were our one chance at getting out of here in one piece.

"Lumiere sans visibilite!" I yelled, throwing a handful of marbles at my enemy as it reemerged from the other room.

It looked like it was going to laugh at my feeble attempt, a pitched assortment of glass beads, but soon felt my assault in full force. Fueled by my energy, the marbles burst into flashes of blinding light at my command, the rays of white sunshine piercing into the creature's smoky form and stunning it. It was a basic skill, but a reliable one, one that I often employed against vampires with much more devastating results. Condensed sunshine can startle ghosts, but it can fry vamps. As the creature thrashed around in the room, leaving claw marks across the walls and in the ceiling, Dante and I made a mad dash for the door. Beyond the door we continued running; well I ran anyway, Dante just flew.

Completely aware of the danger that I was still in, I yelled at the top of my lungs, "Un loup est ne!"

And that's when I began to transform; this metamorphosis being called upon by choice, through the use of my own powers and no one else's. Dropping to all four hands and feet, I arched my back for a split second as my shoulders narrowed and I grew a thick coat of gray fur, gaining a muzzle full of sharp teeth and fangs in the process as well. Kicking off my now useless and ill-fitting clothing, my padded paws hit the ground firmly and I continued to run yet again. Well, if you really want to nitpick, I started to lope, but do you REALLY want to nitpick? Now decidedly faster than I had been before, having shed my slow and meandering human form, I screeched across the open field like a furry, shaggy, slobbering ballistic missile. Up ahead of me, the Daniels family had the right idea, being that they must have been nearly a mile away already. I glanced back as I sprinted and saw the poltergeist's dreadful form rushing towards me. Faster than I could have ever hoped to be, even in my canine frame, but still a moment or two too late, it crashed noisily into the invisible barrier that surrounded the poor family's home and sent sparks of light rippling across its prison's outermost ethereal walls. It made several loud noises, roar-like howls of rage and resentment, before disappearing into nothingness.

Looking up towards Dante, I felt my maw stretch into a lupine grin. Then, remembering that I'd transformed in the open and in front of a frightened family no less, I turned to face them and did what I had to do. I focused hard on the spell that I wanted to utilize, what with my inability to incantate it verbally, and re-assumed my everyday shape and size.

Well, I made sure to do it in a way that would leave me both facing away from them and sitting down on the grass. I mean, c'mon, they had kids with them; seeing a teenage wizard in the buff was the last thing they needed while on their way to what was certain to be their future psychiatrist.

"...Damn!" I hollered as I caught my breathe, sticking my fist into the air as a show of victory. "We made it! Whoa yeah!"

The family just stared at me for a moment, shocked and awed, but remained silent. They even remained silent while my clothes floated mysteriously over to me; they being unable to see the ghost that was so kindly carrying them. Minutes continued to tick by and nobody made a sound. Finally, Martha spoke up, interrupting the loud celebration currently underway in my head.

"B-but our h-h-home." She stuttered badly. "W-w-what n-now?"

I stopped my mental jumping around and cheering. The imaginary confetti stopped falling too. That was a good question. The thing was content with just torturing them before, but once I entered the picture with plans of exorcism in mind, things became violent. They could have still lived there prior to when I had come, though not without the constant fear of the voices constantly implying painful deaths just around the bend. But not anymore. Stepping into that house now would be a death sentence to anybody not ready and expecting the whatever-it-is soon to attack them. Now they had no shelter, one of life's necessities, and it was all my fault. Well damn, looks like I have to rely on the Conclave after all... And they're not gonna like this...