The kitchen of the old house on Larkspur Hill smelled faintly of coffee grounds and leftover pizza. The offending pizza boxes were starting to take over one corner of the kitchen counter. The Lockewell sisters were beginning to congregate around the kitchen island as the first rays of sunlight peeked through a dusty, sheer white curtain strung low on the window above the sink. Aside from a few mugs and a suspicious cookie jar, the cabinets were still empty and unopened boxes labeled "Kitchen" dominated a well-worn wooden table opposite the island.
Jade was seated at that table, squeezed onto the one corner free of boxes. A drained coffee mug and newspaper lay open beside her laptop, but she was highlighting something on a sheet of printed PDFs.
Junie had just started boiling water for tea when Jasmine padded in, yawning in one of Jade’s college hoodies and mismatched socks. Jade looked up as Jasmine sauntered in and glared. "You are not seriously wearing my sweatshirt."
Jasmine shrugged, "I'm out of clothes. I don't know what the deal is - I paid priority to ship my stuff here. Y'know how UPS is..." She raised her eyebrows at Jade, expecting some agreement or sympathy, but found none.
"Well, get on the phone and call them," Jade snapped back. "And maybe unpack these boxes or something today? Seriously, can you pitch in, what else are you doing today?"
"Whoa whoa," Jasmine said. "A bit early for all the judgement! I have some calls today with my manager about some new brand deals and content ideas for Chicago, thank you very much." Jasmine bit the inside of her lip, something she had always done when she was worried, but Jade didn't notice.
"Fine, sorry," Jade allowed. "It’s just… I've been up since five, and this place is a mess. I don't have time to deal with… with this." She gestured at the unpacked spread on the table, the stack of pizza boxes, the generally dusty and unkempt kitchen. "Just, don't mess up my sweatshirt, ok? And wash it before hanging it back up."
Jasmine saluted.
Junie's tea kettle started whistling, punctuating the tense exchange. As she moved the kettle, she grabbed extra mugs for Jasmine and Jade. Maybe something with chamomile would be good, she thought. As she was choosing her tea, the old television (really old - it had been left with the house) crackled to life from a corner opposite the tower of old pizza boxes. The television auto-switched from a grainy gray-black screen to the morning news. And the volume was rising.
"Hey, can you turn it down? This morning is seriously giving me sensory overload," Jasmine said, sliding into a chair and sliding hands over ears.
"I didn’t turn it on," Junie said.
All three sisters turned to the television.
"...breaking news in the Lincoln Park neighborhood," the anchor was saying. "Chicago PD has released information about a woman found dead in her apartment late last night. She has been identified as Selene Dassance, age 32, a local artist and small business owner."
Jade stood so abruptly her chair clattered to the floor behind her.
On the screen, a photo of Selene displayed. A face that Jade knew but had never met. The same face from her vision: long dark hair, full curls and streaked with electric blue, and sharp but kind eyes. It felt like a vise-grip on her heart.
"Jade?" said Junie.
"Dude, what?" said Jasmine.
Jade pointed at the screen. "That’s her. That’s the woman I saw. In the vision. With the locket."
"Police say the scene showed signs of ritual markings, but have no leads at this time," the anchor continued. "The victim’s neighbors report seeing a man leaving the building around the time of death, described as tall, with dark clothing and long hair tied back."
"Him," Jade said. "It’s him. The man with the silver dagger."
Junie clutched the counter.
"I'm shook." Jasmine's eyes widened.
The anchor wrapped up the segment. "The suspect is still at large and considered dangerous. If you have any information, please call...." Although no one moved, the television's volume dropped.
The silence spread across the kitchen.
"So... this is real," Junie said softly. "It wasn’t just some magical hallucination."
"It never was," Jade said. At that, Junie nodded slowly, lips thin, resigned.
Jasmine leaned her elbows on the table, chin in her hands. "Well, great. Our first magical vision was all murder-y."
Jade rubbed her temple. Junie shifted nervously.
Jasmine spread her hands, palms open, elbows still anchored to the table. "Either of you know any witchcraft-training day camps in Chicago?"
Jade sat in her office at the University of Chicago later that afternoon, surrounded by books and artifacts that suddenly felt trivial.
The room was over-warm and smelled faintly of paper glue, like a used book store. A mug of untouched coffee sat cold beside her keyboard. She should be editing grant applications or prepping for tomorrow's lecture, but the open tabs on her laptop were anything but ordinary.
She had cross-referenced the name Dassance and found Selene's social media page. Selene had been a silversmith. Her jewelry had a clear occult theme: moons, ankhs, the all-seeing eye. A pentagram necklace, or amulet as she called it, had been her last post.
@selenesilversmith96
✨ New drop: “Protection” ✨
Each point of the pentacle honors the five elements... air, fire, water, earth, spirit... all held in balance by the circle that binds them. An amulet for connecting to our shared earth, an amulet for protection, an amulet fitting our spirits' cycle of life 🌒🕯
I have a few of these ready-to-ship, all carved by hand and sand-casted in silver, by me for you.
#pentacle #protectionjewelry #silversmithmagic #whimsigothstyle #handmade
Jade leaned back in her chair, overwhelmed. She thought of Selene. A woman who seemed comfortable saying she was a witch online, making protection amulets for her small but dedicated following. Jade worried that Selene would have been more prepared for an attack than her and her sisters were, and it still hadn't been enough.
She decided to switch gears. This worrying wasn't productive, she chided herself. So she resumed combing through old property and city business records from the 1880s, trying to link names they now knew to more real Chicago history. After an hour of searching around the library's digital archives, she landed on something. She clicked a file:
Wren Bank, chartered 1883. Founder and primary investor: Malachai Wren.
Indeed, the old bank’s charter paperwork had been digitized through the university’s historical business archive. It was the bank's articles of incorporation, a dry document detailing the establishment of the bank and its purpose. Appended to the scanned document was a grainy black-and-white photograph of a man standing stiffly beside a brick building. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
For the second time that day, Jade recognized someone she never knew. It was him. It was Selene's murderer.
Ridiculous, she thought. Completely impossible. But there he was. Same face, same ponytail, same cold stare. She didn’t know how he could still be alive, but apparently “should be dead” had joined the list of things her well-ordered universe no longer cared about. It was him. She wasn't wasting more time questioning it; no, she was ready for next steps.
Her next thought: there really ought to be a daily limit on how much weirdness a person can be subjected to before lunch.
Her Outlook inbox pinged, interrupting her train of thought. Another student asking if she had time to review a thesis proposal.
Jade shut the laptop a little too hard.
"A banker," she muttered. "Like immortal murderers need a retirement plan."
It was already dark by the time she made it back to the house. Her key stuck in the lock again, and she shoved the door with her hip to get it open.
The strong smell of Chinese takeout hit her immediately.
She stepped into the front room. Junie and Jasmine were curled up on the couch, laughing about something. Empty Chinese boxes were scattered on a makeshift coffee table made of shipping boxes.
She dropped her bag by the stairs.
"You guys ate already?"
Jasmine looked over. "Oh! Yeah, we did. Sorry. We didn’t know how late you’d be."
Jade just stood there for a moment. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. Or how tired she was.
Junie frowned. "We can order more."
"Don’t bother," Jade said.
Junie and Jasmine exchanged a look.
"I found him," she said.
Junie blinked. "What? Found who?"
"Malachai Wren. That's his name. I found it in a bank charter from 1883. Wren Bank. He founded it. There was a photo. It’s him. You're welcome."
Jasmine sat up straighter. "So, you're saying, he’s some kind of... immortal finance bro?"
Jade didn’t laugh.
"He’s been in Chicago a long time. I don’t know what he wants or how he’s still alive, but it’s him. And Selene’s dead now. So whatever he’s doing, it’s happening now."
The room was quiet.
Then Jasmine exhaled slowly. "Okay. You're right. That’s... horrifying. But also kind of clarifying, right? We know we have to prepare."
Junie looked doubtful. "Prepare how?"
Jasmine stood. "That’s what I was going to tell you earlier. I found something upstairs in that library room. A spell book."
Jade raised an eyebrow.
Jasmine grinned, a little nervously. "I mean, maybe it’s time we actually started learning some specifics? Like I said, a witchcraft-training day camps in Chicago? But in, like, a DIY, self-taught kind of way."
Jade huffed a tired breath, but she didn’t say no.
"Come on, I'm still hungry," said Junie. "I'm putting in a round two order. The Chinese place is only a couple streets over, super fast. I can grab more food in 15 minutes, promise." She waved Jade over. "What can I put in for you?"
Jade hesitated.
"Well, I want another round of those wontons! Punch them in ASAP," Jasmine imitated tapping her phone rapidly.
"Okay," Jade relented. "Let me see what they've got."