Ledger Frinch — POV
"Actually, let's use that website you mentioned—what was it called again?"
"White Lotus, you mean, sir?"
"Yes, White Lotus. I asked a friend. They said it's a reputable organization with good results… If I delay this any longer, I'm not sure we'll live to see next week."
I widened my eyes in mock shock, slowly letting it shift into fear.
This was my territory.
Advanced deceit.
"I'll get the MacBook, sir."
He waved me off with a nod.
I left the study, taking the stairs two at a time. The moment I reached the lower floor, I pulled out my phone and dialed James Ackwight.
A con artist of exceptional talent. A man of many skills. Someone I studied and quietly admired.
My teacher.
Not that I'd ever tell him that. His ego didn't need the protein.
The call connected.
"What. Do. You. Want." a gruff voice growled, each word clipped with irritation.
"It's time," I said, ignoring the tone. "He took the bait."
A pause.
"Ledger, huh? Good. I'll be ready. Sending Charles if he asks for a shaman."
I nodded. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
The call ended—though not before a distant shrill voice started yelling at him. Relationship problems. Again.
I informed one of the maids to bring the device.
There were only three servants here, including me. The pay was good—just enough to sit comfortably above middle class.
We had to be well-paid.
After all, we stood by while the old man committed things that were… difficult to look at for too long.
That was the main reason I never became a full-time servant.
That—and the fact he'd report me to the police the moment I tried to leave.
Also, the bastard took a cut of anything that wasn't earned through what he called the CRUX of the con.
The MacBook arrived. I took it upstairs.
Mr. Isaac Elcore was on the phone when I entered.
"Yes, they brought it. Yes. What was the website name again? …I see. I'll keep that in mind."
He looked up.
"Bring it here."
I placed it carefully in front of him.
If I had to describe Isaac: ruthless… and eccentric.
Ruthless people are predictable.
Eccentric people are not.
That combination?
A walking disaster.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The website loaded.
"Sir, may I offer my opinion?" I asked politely.
"Speak."
"If I were in your position… I might call a holy man instead."
"A priest?" he snorted. "I've wasted enough money on those frauds. Leave."
Sure. Priests are scammers, but random internet shamans are premium service.
May the Lord give you a software update.
I left, laughing internally.
Our plan was simple.
He visits an official website.
Plot twist: it's ours.
Multiple famous shamans.
Every profile?
Same guy.
Oliver.
Different names. Different costumes.
Same performance.
A little ritual. A little psychology. A lot of suggestion.
Ghost gone.
Client relieved.
Payment received.
Millions.
Wallet: no longer on life support.
1:00 AM
Oliver—currently "Master Kairoth, Spirit Devourer"—arrived an hour ago.
He immediately began dropping cosmic wisdom he probably found online.
Even I almost believed him.
Oliver turned sharply.
"Lead the way."
We descended slowly, building suspense.
Halfway down, I felt a chill.
Not fear.
Just… atmosphere.
The man was good.
I glanced back at Isaac.
He was shaking.
Seriously, this guy needed emotional stabilizers.
Oliver began removing the talismans Isaac had placed on the door. When Isaac tried to protest, Oliver shut him down instantly.
Then he cut his thumb and drew a cross on each paper before removing them.
The last three flew off the door.
I blinked.
Okay.
That part wasn't in rehearsal.
How did he even—
I didn't notice Oliver's equally shocked expression.
If I had, I would've already been running.
"Hea…ler… what next?" Isaac asked, trembling.
Oliver paused.
I nudged him.
He recovered instantly.
"The spirits are restless. What lies beyond this door is nothing compared to me."
He put on a mask.
"This mask invokes my guardian spirit. It protects me."
Isaac stared in awe.
I facepalmed internally.
"And me? Should I stay outside?"
"No. Wear this."
He tossed him a necklace.
It was a bone.
One I distinctly remembered cooking.
"You are needed to complete the banishing."
Inside, Oliver arranged crystals and placed a carved bowl in the center.
"Zyra-loom… ka-thal… venora-nix…"
I leaned against the wall.
Soon the lights would flicker.
Then the "capture."
Then we get paid.
Standard procedure.
BAM.
I jumped.
That was louder than usual.
We all turned toward the door.
Closed.
I tried the handle.
Didn't move.
"…Well. That's bad."
I turned around.
"It's locked. Ghost probably didn't like the disturbance," I joked.
Then I looked at Oliver.
He wasn't joking.
"You set the lock, right?" I whispered.
He slowly shook his head.
Isaac stared between us.
"Well," I said louder, "we'll just break the door. Finish your ritual, Shaman—"
Both of them were backing away from the bowl.
That's when I heard it.
A soft chuckle.
Slow.
Wet.
Wrong.
It coiled through the air like smoke.
The sound deepened.
Stretched.
Warped.
The laughter grew into something jagged and hollow, scraping against the spine.
Cold spread through the room.
Isaac's hand slipped from his shoulder.
And the screaming began.