In Ethan's mansion, the Book of the Dead lay open on the table.
Ethan, Selene, Wednesday, and Enid stood around it in silence.
Enid looked the most confused out of all of them.
Just some time ago, she had been in her room scrolling through social media. Then a helicopter shadow passed over her house.
Before she could even process it, Ethan had shown up, spoken two fast sentences about something "urgent," and next thing she knew she was in the air while her family stood frozen in shock.
Now she was in a massive mansion, staring at a book that looked like it had been skinned off something.
She folded her arms. "Okay. I need an explanation."
Ethan didn't look away from the book. "A nine-year-old disappeared after opening this."
That shut her up.
Enid swallowed. "So… this isn't a cosplay thing."
"No," Ethan said flatly. "It isn't."
"It's made of human skin," he added calmly. "And it's written in blood. Probably one of the nastiest books you can find on Earth."
"Eww. Eww. Eww," Enid said three times in rapid succession as she stepped back from the table like it might jump at her. She looked at Ethan with wide eyes that clearly asked, Why are we standing this close to it?
Wednesday ignored the reaction and picked the book up with deliberate care. Her fingers traced the edge of the cover, feeling the texture without flinching.
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "I've read references to something like this. It was supposedly written during a darker period—when creatures from other realms were said to roam freely among the living."
She turned a page slowly, studying the symbols.
"Until now, I assumed it was just another unhinged author with theatrical taste and access to livestock." She paused, examining the stitching along the spine. "But this…"
Her lips curved faintly.
"…this is authentic. And I have to admit, whoever bound it had excellent craftsmanship."
Enid stared at her. "You're complimenting the demon book."
"I'm complimenting the craftsmanship," Wednesday corrected calmly. She examined the stitching along the spine and the texture of the cover with quiet appreciation.
She wasn't remotely disturbed. If anything, she looked intellectually engaged, which was far more unsettling.
"So, Wednesday can you read it?" Ethan asked.
"This is not a conventional language," Wednesday replied, flipping a page with care. "It resembles Latin in structure, but the grammar is distorted. I can attempt to interpret it."
"Fine," Ethan said. "But don't read anything out loud."
"I wasn't planning to," she answered flatly.
"Why can't you read it out loud?" Enid asked, hugging a cushion as if it might shield her from evil.
"Because," Ethan said matter-of-factly, "some of these passages are summoning incantations. They invite demonic entities. Possession. Bone distortion. Skin splitting. Soul extraction. The usual unpleasant consequences."
Enid blinked slowly.
Her face drained of color.
Her mind tried to process the information, forcing itself to imagine the scene, but it was more than she could handle. The image overwhelmed her, and her thoughts simply shut down.
She swayed.
Ethan caught her just before she hit the floor.
"You forget that she has a low tolerance for graphic imagery," Wednesday said without lifting her eyes from the page.
"Yeah," Ethan muttered, carrying Enid to the sofa and laying her down carefully. He had brought her along imagining some chaotic bonding experience. Instead, she was unconscious in under five minutes.
Wednesday turned another page, completely unfazed.
"And I assume," she said evenly, "this woman beside you is another individual you've entangled in what you optimistically describe as love."
Ethan scratched the back of his head. "Hehe."
There was no fooling Wednesday.
"But the more relevant question," Wednesday continued, still not looking at him, "is whether she is aware that you are already involved with two other girls."
Silence settled over the room.
Selene slowly turned her head toward Ethan.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't react dramatically.
She simply looked at him.
The look clearly said: You did not mention this part.
"Well, it seems," Wednesday added calmly, turning a page, "you didn't mention that part."
"Ummm… I was going to," Ethan said quickly. "I just—timing. You know. Context."
"Timing," Wednesday repeated flatly. "Yes. You require very specific atmospheric conditions before admitting inconvenient truths."
Selene folded her arms, still watching him.
"Yeah," Wednesday continued without looking up, "he needs carefully selected wording and a mild distraction. It's the same technique he used on Enid."
"He convinced her he was a 'misunderstood gentleman.' In reality, he's a collection of walking hormones with a superiority complex."
"That is slander," Ethan muttered.
Selene tilted her head slightly. "You seem to know him very well."
"Yes," Wednesday said calmly. "I know he's a narcissistic idiot who enjoys chaos, attention, and inserting himself into other people's problems for entertainment."
Ethan slowly slid into the sofa beside Wednesday, lifted the edge of the book, and stared at the pages as if he had suddenly developed a deep academic interest in ancient demonic linguistics.
He even whistled under his breath, faint and casual, like he had successfully blended into the background and no longer counted as part of the discussion.
"If that's true," Selene asked, sitting down beside Enid on the opposite sofa, her tone calm but curious, "why are you still stuck to him?"
Wednesday did not look up from the book.
"He's like a bad habit," she said evenly. "One you become accustomed to despite knowing it's unhealthy. Removing it requires effort."
That earned a quiet, pleased smile from Ethan, who clearly decided to take that as a compliment.
Wednesday's eyes shifted toward him at last.
"I still hate that smile of yours," she added. "It usually means you're about to create unnecessary chaos."
Selene laughed softly, leaning back against the sofa.
"I agree," she said. "That smile is never a good sign."
Ethan looked between them, still smiling despite the coordinated attack, because they seemed to be getting along well… a little too well.
*****
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