After the battle is over I run up to Lea and ask, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Lea sighs, getting up from the cook. "I'm not sure about the guy, though."

Speaking of the cook, the old man lifts his head off the floor and brushes the pieces of glass off his button-down uniform.

"What the hell?" he croaks, looking around the ruined kitchen. "Who broke all the lights? And why is there blood-"

"Go to sleep," I command.

The cook passes out while I grab Lea by the hand and then pulls her to her feet.

I wince at the cuts and bruises on our skins and murmurs, "At least the cuts aren't too deep. I am glad you're safe—"

"POLICE!" someone yells.

A swarm of police officers burst into the kitchen with their guns pointed at us.

Frustrated, Lea kneels on the floor and holds up her hands to signify the cops she was unarmed. As for me, they look at the blood on my dress and hands until my wounds start closing by themselves.

The cops look at me weird but slap the bracelets on me then hauled me and Lea to the station. Lea was taken to see a different officer while the cop forces me to go to an interrogation room.

As he forces me to move, I walk past an empty desk with a family photo of a Hispanic woman and three kids standing outside of an Abraham & Straus store. I stare at the silver frame until I notice a small piece of paper with their names glued on the bottom.

"Mackenzie, Joseph, and Diego Cortez." I read to myself.

Suddenly, the gears begin to shift inside my head. The cop behind starts pushing me to the interrogation room, but I ignored him and sit down in the blue chair.

There's nothing I hate more than being in an interrogation room. The lighting is terrible, the dark blue walls make me nauseous, and my cramps have gotten worse to the point where I feel like a sewing needle is stabbing my stomach.

Although I changed my tampon, it's hard for me to sit through three hours of bullshit when I haven't taken my ibuprofen yet.

A dark brown curl dangles before my gaze until I deftly brushes the lock away and tucks it behind my right ear. I stoop down to tie the laces of my slightly scuffed sneakers and leans against the chair.

Her gaze remains fixed on the one-way mirror until Detective Lila Cortez sits before her. The woman's brunette hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her outfit consists of a sleek black jacket and a pale blue button-up blouse. The flickering lights cast eerie shadows against her dark gray dress pants and black slip-on sneakers as she persistently prods the witch for a confession.

Believe it or not, I knew Lila when I was a kid. Having run-ins with me in the past, Lila had arrested me for breaking into houses, blackmail, and getting mixed up with unsavory characters.

I think despite my troubled history, Lila saw potential in me and recommended me to Prometheus, hoping he could steer me towards a better path. I did change, of course. I hung out with kids my age and dated a boy I like.

Then, after Prometheus died, I dropped out of college and delved into the risky world of freelance private investigation and monster hunting for money.

Shaking my head, Lila told me how disheartened I was by my actions. That she thought I could change, but now all Lila can think of throwing me in jail.

I lean my elbow on the gray table and wearily gazes at the images of myself and my friends slaughtering monsters. From headless horse riders to vulture-like demons, my adventures have been recorded in pictures.

There was no doubt a witness saw them in action. A part of me wanted to hate myself from being exposed, but the other was surprised that the witness snapped photos of me in an unflattering light.

"That wasn't us," I lied. "They must be a group of shapeshifters or something."

Lila gives me a skeptical look. "Really? There's no need to be humble."

"I am not humble. I just think the photographer should go back to art college."

"Okay, if the kids in those pictures aren't you and Casper, could you tell me what you and your friends have been up to for the past few days?"

I scrunch my face in disgust. "Yeah, I don't feel like talking to you without a lawyer present."

"Come on, Theresa," Lila urges in a sweet voice. "Don't talk to me like a cop; talk to me as if we're best friends having lunch at Waffle House."

"Bitch please," I laugh in disbelief. "You wouldn't last two minutes in Waffle House."

The sullen detective exhales, exasperated, before nudging the paper cup of Sprite towards me.

"Please," she implores, "just cooperate with me, and then you and your friends can return to your cat."

I sigh and rest my head on the table, but my sleep is interrupted by Lila's insistent voice and prodding finger.

"Theresa, snap out of it," Lila commanded, clearly annoyed. "Now's not the time for a nap."

With irritation growing, I begrudgingly lift my head.

"Sorry for ignoring you," I apologize sarcastically. "I forgot I only get dragged in here when you assholes need a scapegoat."

This insult stuns Lila, who gets up and drags her chair close to me.

"My team and I are not here to scapegoat you," Lila promises, sitting back down. "I just want to know-"

"Like I said three hours ago," I interrupt her. "It was getting in the way of us picking up Nick's bratty little sister from a house party."

"You could've let the proper authorities handle it," said Lila bitterly. "Get your nose out of trouble for once."

"You know what? You're right," I say agreeingly. "If I see a monster tearing an eight-year-old boy to shreds, I'll back off because the proper authorities will take care of it."

I look at Lila's solemn expression and adds, "But if I'm being honest, I don't remember seeing the 'proper' authorities handling the situation last night. Why is that? Is it because your department is lazy or because your team is afraid the council will come after their families again?"

Lila's anger and confusion emerge like smoke out of a chimney.

Gritting her teeth, she scowls, "Look, truthfully, I don't care about the damage you caused."

"So, why am I here?" I ask. "And why did you bring my friend into your station?"

"Because I was hoping we could make a deal together."

As Lila's words hang in the air, my dark brown eyes widen with curiosity.

"No tricks or gimmicks," Lila continues. "Just a simple trade: tell me what you know about the council and I'll drop the charges against you and your friends."

I cross my arms. "Is there a catch?"

"Yeah," Lila says. "Tell me the councilmember's names, or I'll arrest you for obstruction."

As the words left Lila's lips, my features softened, and a mischievous smirk played across my face.

Who is the Blüdhaven Council, you ask?

Well, imagine them as presidents of the United States, except everything is kept out of the public's eye. You don't know where the council holds its meetings or who the other members are. All you know is that it's made up of old, white men.

Still, whether witches and warlocks are required to join the council's ranks. To me, it's a thankless task where the higher-ups judge sorcerers for not committing to society's standards. But to Lila, the Blüdhaven Council was her ticket to getting justice for her fallen friends and proving to her male colleagues that she could crack the case.

"Wait, you think you can bring down those stupid bigwigs?" I snicker, my voice dripping with amusement.

"Well-"

"That's a great way to kill yourself."

Lila's expression darkens as she spits out, "Oh, screw you. I know you are in bed with those magical elites."

"I might be a blue blood," I state. "But I gave up on that crown a long time ago."

"Is that so?" Lila challenged. "Then why won't you help me?"

"Because you're stupid," I said. "No one in this fucking city knows their names. Shit, even if I did tell you, there's no way in hell you're going to last two seconds without those bastards breathing down your neck."

Lila scrunches her eyebrows. "Okay, so what about your witch friends? Certainly, they know something."

"Gee, Lila." I grunt. "I'd love to introduce you to my Sisterhood of the Flying Broomsticks, but sadly, I don't fit the Sabrina Spellman brand."

"Sabrina Spellman brand?"

"You know, wholesome, rich, white?"

"Alright, you may have a point," Lila sighed. "But if you can't get me a meeting with the Blüdhaven Council, then maybe you can help me-"

"Oh my fucking God," I retorts with a laugh. "What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

"Theresa, this is serious-"

"So am I! I mean, Christ, explaining the magic system to you people is like convincing Casper that the Knicks are overrated."

A stern frown stretches across her lips as Lila changes a different tactic.

"Casper's powers are intriguing, but Lea is quite an interesting character," she begins. "I heard she sees ghosts, right?"

In an instant, my smirk vanishes. "You've read her file. Figure it out."

"I also heard that her father works for the Blüdhaven Council," Lila continues, ignoring me. "And her mother works as a seance performer."

"The fuck's your point?" I ask.

"Can you remember if Lea told you who the other members are?" inquired Lila. "Because I would like to ask them some-"

"Never going to happen," I snap. "Besides, the last time you tried to get close to those bigwigs at St. Bernadette, eight people lost their lives."

Lila hardens her jaw at that name.

In the summer of '92, St. Bernadette was this thrillingly enchanted campus in the charming city of Santa Barbara. Like Northwell, St. Bernadette was dedicated to molding teenagers into formidable monster hunters.

However, while Northwell harbored a bleak and pessimistic perspective, St. Bernadette embraced a more optimistic approach. Under the guidance of Headmistress Bartholomew, for nearly thirty years, students at St. Bernadette learned the value of aiding their community through acts of kindness and understanding.

From helping cops to giving back to the community, Bartholomew instilled a strong sense of civic duty in her students. That is until she stupidly allowed two rookie cops inside the school.

Once the council heard what she did, they erased entire boarding school from existence, killed the rookies, Ms. Bartholomew and her friends and family, and made it look as if they died of drug overdoses.

The police attempted to get the families of the victims to testify, but the magic community's hold on the situation proved too strong. No one was brave enough to confront the higher-ups - not even the cops or the judges themselves.

And so, the case was brushed aside. No one was arrested for the massacre, mourned for the victims, or even came to their funerals. They got up and lived their lives as if nothing happened.

As for Lila, she must've sensed the council was coming after her. So, Lila changed her and her family's names and lived in Louisiana. Now that I'm looking at the cop more closely, I wonder if Lila's name is fake.

"Out of all the magical schools in New York, why did you choose St. Bernadette?" I question, my voice dripping with accusation. "The only crime the headmistress was guilty of was being stupid."

Steeling her emotions, Lila spat, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Can we please stay on topic here and discuss Lea for once— THERESA!"

I turn my attention to the far corner of the wall where a swarm of enormous rats can be seen feasting on dark, unknown crumbs scattered across the floor. Lila, noticing my gaze, asks me what I was looking at.

Of course, Lila is unable to spot them. These aren't your normal rats; they seem trapped entities imprisoned by some kind of dark magic. Believe it or not, they're the same ones from the restaurant.

Sighing, I get up from my chair. I take my denim jacket off the floor, slides her arms through the sleeves, and tosses her dreadlocks.

"I need to go to the restroom." she declares.

"Seriously?" Lila growls, clearly unimpressed. "But you went, like, an hour ago."

"Ugh, I know, but it'll be quick," I promise.

Shaking her head, Lila massages her forehead and bitterly permits me to leave.

As soon as I reach the door, the detective tries to make me promise that they will continue this chat, but I ignore her. Hearing my footsteps, the rats stop eating the crumbs and crawl through their makeshift hole beside the door.

My teeth clench. The frantic typing of thick computer keys and dreary murmurs fill the room until I march down the dark hallways, my combat boots echoing against the slick tiles.

As I go, the fluorescent lights flicker erratically, casting an eerie glow on the pale blue walls. The temperature plummets, causing me to hug myself for warmth.

Bright light drenches my brown hair.

The frigid atmosphere only adds to the situation's intensity as I crouch on the floor. I notice a small trail of black, smoky dots between my feet. It takes me a while not to shudder, but I manage to follow the trail to the janitor's closet. My hand grasps the knob and turns it counterclockwise until a fire alarm goes off.

My body stiffens as she listens to the chaotic sounds of shuffling feet and bewildered cries filling the precinct. Amidst the commotion, I frantically scan the room, trying to locate the origin of the disturbance.

Suddenly, a bone-chilling scream pierces through the air, jolting me away from the door.

Lea sprints down the corridor, his heart pounding with fear. He seizes my wrist and urgently pulls me behind a nearby desk, seeking refuge from the unknown danger.

"Lea?" I scream, watching Lea crouch beside me. "What the hell are you-"

Our ears are met with a desperate cry for assistance as a plump policewoman frantically sprints towards the EXIT. Suddenly, a long, snakelike tongue latches onto her thick leg, causing a sickening noise that sends my heart racing.

Blood seeps from the policewoman's head as the duo avert their gaze from the desk and observe the scene.

The victim groans in agony as a massive serpent slithers its way into the station. Its robust body glides across the sandy floor while its pink, forked tongue bristles in the warm breeze. Without hesitation, it devours its prey with its sharp, bloodstained teeth until a sudden burst of bullets startles it.

"NYPD!" a man shouts. "Drop Cheryl and put your hands up!"

The demon's jaw stretches. Vicious yellow eyes analyze the horrified police officer as he fires his gun at the monster's face. Once he runs out, the officer attempts to escape the sinister serpent's clutches when its venomous gaze turns him into an immobilized statue.

Carefully reloading the pistol he stole from Cheryl, a trembling I turn my head to Lea and tell her to stay down.

"What?" Lea croaks. "Why?"

"It's a Basilisk," I tell her.

A confused frown washes away her anxiety. She stares at me and then back at the snake monster, busy gorging on the dead policewoman.

"I'm sorry, what the fuck did you say?"

"It's a Basilisk."

"What's that?"

"A deadly serpent creature that can turn its victims into stone," I respond bitterly. "We went over this in A.P. Greek Mythology class. How the fuck do you not know this shit?"

"Not everyone has a photogenic memory, asshole!" Lea retorts.

"Photographic," I correct.

"Whatever," Lea concludes. "Let's just kill this prick and get the fuck out of here."
© kstorm68q