“Inferno” on the outskirts. A bar forgotten by everyone except the locals. Small, struggling, unremarkable. And yet, it mattered that they were supposed to meet here, of all places. The name mattered. The name was an omen, but also a warning.

  A lone drunk reeking of cheap vodka. That was what she would see upon stepping inside. A door barely hanging on its hinges. A bartender, a middle-aged man in a white shirt and black vest. “Inferno.” In the corner, a woman would sit, obsessively playing with a lighter. A stranger, watching and waiting. Waiting at the “Inferno.” Dangerous eyes, hidden talent. A pyromaniac. Alice had to remember that. She had to find the pyromaniac waiting for her in the “Inferno.”

  Alice woke relatively late but strangely well-rested and in a good mood, which in itself was unusual. Marcel watched her from a distance, consumed by unease, a vague sense of dread, even a bit of fear. He felt as if he had missed some omen in the past few days, something that had warned him of the coming end of his painfully dead but relatively peaceful days. Lately, Marcel had been worried a lot about his own existence, odd considering he was dead.

  “Good morning, Marcel,” Alice said on her way to the bathroom. “Stop hiding in the wall. Even if my eyes can’t see you, my intuition howls, and some strange sensor in my mind always detects a shift in the energy field. Call it what you like, but I always know where you are, so I can’t understand why you keep stubbornly hiding.”

  “Because it makes me feel a little safer,” the ghost snapped, deciding at the same time not to give the witch the satisfaction of coming out of hiding.

  Alice didn’t answer. She simply went to take a shower.

  Marcel watched her movements carefully. Not with the attention of a man watching a half-naked woman heading to the bathroom, but like prey watching its predator. Something had changed. At first, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but then a strange sense filled him. It was the way she moved. More precise, better coordinated… a strange new balance. More feminine, maybe, though he wasn’t sure. What the hell had happened to her? Something besides that damned kidnapping and attempted rape, surely.

  Alice emerged from the bathroom dressed and wearing makeup, her hair still wet. She looked at Marcel and gave a slight smile. Sensual. Mysterious. Different. Damn it. He was starting to lose all understanding. Luckily, the phone rang, breaking the strangely heavy atmosphere.

  “I’ll give you the address. You don’t have to say anything, just come. I don’t know if I can help, but on the other hand, it can’t hurt to try in a situation like this,” Alice said to the caller. Then she gave the address and told her she would wait.

  “Get out of the wall, Marcel. It’s time you were useful.”

  He felt a pulse of energy emanating from her body. Alice was calm, strong, steady. Not chaotic and scattered like before, when her power came from different sources. This was her energy, but changed.

  “I’m starting to suspect that demon did something to you, you know?” Marcel said, stepping out of the wall and materializing without the slightest effort. “I don’t know exactly what yet, and maybe I don’t even want to. The only image I can get out of my head is the two of you having wild sex on a desecrated church altar.”

  “The last time I had sex was with a seminarian, in the sacristy. I’ve never slept with the Not-a-Doctor.”

  At those words, Marcel narrowed his eyes, raised an almost accusatory finger at Alice, and said:

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  “Yet…”

  He really could have kept that to himself. True, it probably wouldn’t have helped much, but still.

  Long hours passed as the ghost scrubbed the apartment until it was almost sterile. Not because he wanted to, but because he’d been compelled. He couldn’t even explain how it worked, but it did, fast and effectively. Alice gave the command, and he instantly grabbed a rag. From there it was downhill, though the work was endless. Meanwhile, Alice drank coffee and read another book by her favorite window. Marcel hated her more with each passing minute. When he finished, she praised his efforts, lifted the compulsion, and returned to her book as if nothing had happened.

  “Is he a sensitive subject for you?” Marcel asked, sitting on the floor beside her.

  “No, why?” Alice looked puzzled.

  “Well, you reacted pretty sharply with that cleaning. That’s why I thought maybe…”

  “I figured it was a good excuse. Without one, it felt too unfair. Though on the other hand, you don’t pay rent, so you might as well clean from time to time, right?”

  Her disarming smile was so fake, so laced with threat, that Marcel instantly lost any desire to remind her he didn’t pay rent because, well, he was dead. If that bothered her, she could banish him at any time. Then another thought struck him: if she could send him away anytime, she could probably also curse him, or maim him, or whatever witches did. Should he actually be afraid of her? His thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. Alice heard it clearly, but she didn’t leap up to answer. She calmly finished her page, then rose from her comfortable chair.

  “Come in,” she said to the woman she had met at the last seance. “Can I offer you something to drink? Autumn is exceptionally cold this year.”

  The woman asked for tea, and they began a casual conversation. Marcel watched with bated breath, because he saw something slightly absurd in the scene. But soon the mood shifted sharply, and the woman explained in detail why she had decided to seek Alice’s unusual talents.

  Her daughter, close in age to the young witch, had gone missing one day and never returned. The police had been searching for over a year and found nothing, not even the smallest trace. The mother had tried everything, eventually visiting local fortune-tellers and mediums, but that hadn’t helped either. Then she met Alice. Her rational world collapsed, and when she got home, she found Alice’s number in her pocket. She knew it wasn’t an accident, but fate. She had decided to call, though it took her time to gather the courage. News of a murdered girl in a neighboring town, who looked disturbingly like her daughter, was a bucket of cold water. She no longer had the luxury of fear. She had to act.

  “I can’t promise anything,” Alice said, taking the photo of the missing girl.

  The witch closed her eyes, counted down from ten to one, and summoned her subconscious. She tried to call forth the soul of the girl in the picture, but for a long while no one answered. Eventually, she managed to summon only a small fragment of consciousness, but far too little to provide real information.

  Alice explained everything to the mother.

  “Does that mean she’s alive?” the woman asked, tears in her eyes.

  “Yes,” Alice replied. “But I can’t help you further. I’m not a clairvoyant or a medium. I can see spirits and talk to them because I’m attuned to energy, but my talent never extended into the wider field of parapsychology. It’s narrow and very specific.”

  “I understand,” the woman said, though she hadn’t understood a word. Still, she knew she wouldn’t get more, but that one answer was enough. Enough to live on with hope. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more.” Alice stood to walk her to the door.

  “How much do I owe you?” the woman asked, reaching for her purse.

  “Nothing,” the witch said. “I didn’t really help you. But if you feel that’s somehow unfair, tomorrow go to the nearest shelter and buy some food for the animals. Do it for me.”

  “Of course.” The woman wiped her tears and left.

  Afterward, Alice made herself some coffee. She drank it standing by the window, looking at the city falling asleep. Slowly it hit her that everything had changed. Madness was only beginning to seep into her modest life, death was marching closer. Power was waking inside her. Some eternal law governed it all, but she wasn’t in the mood to reflect on that now. After so many years, she had finally found purpose. Marcel was right. She was no longer the same Alice who had moved into that shabby dump. She was someone else, new, better, more effective, stronger, faster, wiser, far more experienced. Someone only beginning to grow, still far from reaching her full potential. That thought was intoxicating.