Johann Falkner was an enigma, and it was no small shock when this enigma limped into our dimly-lit office one rainy evening—bloodied, battered, and fresh off a three-day vanishing act.
At first, I thought it was a ghost- or my tired brain playing cruel tricks on me. I blinked twice. Maybe three times. Then I flipped out of my chair.
“Bloody hell, Johann!” I shouted. “I was about to plan your funeral!”
“Nice to see you, Will,” he said, brushing past me without a glance, trailing the sharp tang of blood and sweat. His duster coat billowed behind him, scattering dust as he staggered toward his desk in the center of the room. Sand clung to him in places it had no business being, especially in the heart of London. It dusted his hair and even fell from his boots. His face was no exception, and his black clothes looked so covered in it that they looked more beige than anything else.
“What the hell happened?” I asked, tossing my book aside and rushing to his desk. He collapsed in his leather chair with a grunt, swept the clutter of papers off the table and slammed some cash on it.
“Take this,” he muttered, barely opening his eyes. “And get me the best pizza and coffee you can find in all of London.”
It was only then, under the dim office light, that I noticed the dried blood streaked across his forehead and the ugly, clotted gash above his right eyebrow. His lips were as dry as sandpaper, and over all, he looked like a walking corpse. Where the hell had this guy been, and doing what?
“Answer my question,” I demanded, slamming a fist on the desk. I was furious, quite evidently.
“Sorry,” Johann cracked an eye open and winced at me, “What was it again?”
“Where were you?” I asked, leaning over the desk. “And what the hell happened?”
“That can wait until after pizza and coffee.” His lips turned in a tired smile. “Can it not, Will?”
“No, it bloody cannot. Tell me now, Johann.”
He let out a long, exaggerated sigh and slid the money closer to me, leaving it dusted with sand and smears of blood.
“I’ll be dead halfway through the conversation without food, William. Now, get going.”
I snatched the money and turned towards the door. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”
“Wait till you hear the story,” Johann said, leaning back and shutting his eyes again, unbothered.
Shaking my head, I turned the knob and stepped into the rainy London street below, wondering if the man inside was just a ghost after all.
Don’t ask how I managed to pull it off with a literal storm out there, but half an hour later, I was back in the office, armed with a margherita pizza and a steaming hot coffee.
Our office was older than me and Johann’s ages combined—and probably still had a few decades on us. The floorboards would creak if you so much as looked at them the wrong way. The ceiling had a perpetual miracle of a water problem, which Johann had seen fit to deal with just a bucket right under it. My desk was shoved in a corner like an afterthought, and Johann’s in the center, right in front of the round window glass that looked down on the street below. Clutters of papers and files were everywhere on the floor, dust coated everything that we did not touch daily, and it would have been safe to say that the place looked like a civilised troll’s den more than an actual person’s workplace.
I hated this place. I also loved it. It was home in the way only something irreparably flawed could be. Go figure.
“Here,” I said, dropping the food on Johann’s table with enough force to rattle the loose papers and startling him awake. “Get talking.”
Johann blinked blearily at the pizza box, then up at me. “You’re late. I might’ve starved to death.”
“Where were you?” I crossed my arms as he opened the box and tore into a slice.
I stood there, watching as he devoured it like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. He nearly choked at one point, grabbing the coffee in a desperate attempt to clear his throat—only to make it worse. It took a minute of coughing, sputtering, and an impressive recovery before he leaned back in his chair and sighed in contentment.
“Sahara Desert,” Johann said, tearing off another slice as if discussing the weather. “Next question.”
Halfway across the world. Next time, maybe he’ll try the moon.
“For what?”
“A team of archaeologists uncovered a hidden tomb,” he said, tearing into his slice of pizza and stretching out the cheese. “Whatever they disturbed killed every single one of them. Even the sorcerer they brought for protection didn’t survive. That’s when the House called me.”
I stopped cold. Tombs like that weren’t supposed to exist anymore. Most had been discovered and sealed during the Crusades, and the few that remained were neutralized by the House long ago. How could they have possibly found another?
“A demon?” I asked, leaning over the desk as my words spilled out in a rush. “Is that how you got the wound? Did you banish it?”
“Yes, yes, and no,” Johann replied, nonchalantly.
“What do you mean?”
Without answering, he reached into his coat, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a small glass bottle wrapped in red and black threads. He tossed it across the desk to me and I caught it reflexively.
“There’s your demon,” he said.
A jolt of panic ran through me, and I dropped the bottle onto the desk as if it burned, immediately backing away. “Are you insane?! What if it gets out?”
“Don’t fret, Willy,” Johann said with maddening calm. “I’ll just shove the bastard back in if he tries anything. Also, that’s one strong bottle.”
Before I could object, he picked it up and chucked it at the wall.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
I nearly screamed, diving for cover as the bottle hit the plaster and clattered harmlessly to the floor. My heart thudded in my ears as I waited in dread, and when it became clear that nothing was going to pop out of it, I ran to it.
“There’s something really wrong with you, Falkner!” I shouted, scooping up the bottle with shaking hands and gingerly placing it on my desk, well away from the lunatic.
“Yeah, yeah,” Johann muttered through a mouthful of pizza. “Just make sure to log it in the inventory.”
Well, he didn’t need to tell me twice.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone before leaving?” I asked, pulling my chair closer to his desk and settling into it, my voice still strained with adrenaline.
“Urgent summons,” he said, taking a long sip from his coffee. “Plus, it was a school night, and you were sleeping.”
“You didn’t even tell Becky,” I said pointedly. The words hung in the air for a moment, and Johann froze. Oh, right. Becky.
There was a sharp knock on the office door, and a look of pure horror on Johann’s face.
“You told her I’m back?” he whispered, suddenly drenched in fear.
“Right after you sent me out, yeah.”
The knock came again, this time more forceful. The slice of pizza fell from Johann’s hand as he spat a curse and shot to his feet, limping towards the window behind his desk, scattering sand behind him.
“You’re not seriously going to jump, are you?” I asked, half-amused as the knock turned into an outright pounding.
“You’re so dead, William!” He hissed, struggling to flip open the glass window.
“Well,” I got up from my seat and walked to the door, and turned the knob. “Not if you’re dead first.”
The door swung open, and a woman strode in—beautiful, sharp, and impossible to ignore. She was tall and lean, wearing a brown turtleneck under a black coat. Her long black hair fell off her shoulders like a waterfall, and a pair of pretty eyes with three beauty marks under her left eyelash.
Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else in between, meet Becky Abrams- Johann’s wife-to-be.
“Good day.” I greeted her, in usual awe of her beauty, “Look who’s back.”
Becky’s eyes zeroed in on Johann with the precision of a hawk spotting its prey. She didn’t even bother responding to my greeting—her focus was entirely on the man currently fumbling with the latch like his life depended on it.
“Johann.” Her voice was ice as she strode to his desk and dropped into my chair. “Stop.”
Johann shot a furtive look over his shoulder and made an attempt at a smile, still fumbling with the stuck latch, “Looking pretty, Beck!.”
The latch gave way with a pop, and the window flipped open. Johann lunged for the escape. Becky barely moved. With a flick of her finger, the window slammed shut with a sharp thwack, catching Johann’s forehead mid-flight and sending him sprawling back into his chair.
“Argh!” He yelped, rolling on the ground to his side in pain, “No magic in the office, Beck-!”
Becky raised another finger, and a vase in the windowsill fell to pieces on the floor, making Johann jump up to his feet.
“Becks,” he raised two hands in a calming gesture, keeping near the window, “I will explain everything. Just let me-”
“Three bloody days, Falkner,” Becky snapped as a vein popped on her beautiful face, “You disappeared for three days without saying a word and it is Will who tells me that you returned?!”
“You can always count on me, Beck.” I said, enjoying the drama from my corner of the office. Becky glared back at me, and I felt the need to shut up. Not much good came to those who poked angry witches, after all.
“Becky,” Johann said, “It was an urgent summons. Ravi literally pulled me out of my bed for that one- that urgent! It wasn’t supposed to take long! Also, I didn’t want to worry you, sweety.”
“Worry me?” Becky’s laugh was humorless. “Worrying is what I’ve been doing for three days, you absolute clod! You could have left a damned post-it!”
Johann stood taken aback for a second, “Wait, I could have.” He realised, “But hey. I’m sorry, Beck.”
Becky got up from her seat and moved towards the door, “Hell with you, Falkner.” She said without turning back, and Johann scurried behind. She waved her hand, and the door flew open. As she went past me, she spoke, “Take care, Will. Your uncle is more trouble than what he’s worth.”
Then, she was out of the door. Johann cursed and followed, but the door magically slammed shut in his face. He let out a long, exasperated sigh and leaned his forehead against the doorframe.
“That went about as well as expected,” he muttered.
“Honestly, better than I expected,” I said, dragging my chair back to its spot. “She didn’t throw anything else at you.”
“Are you trying to break my engagement, William?” He turned and limped back towards his desk.
“Not really.” I replied, sitting down and taking the small bottle in my hand, “I had to tell her, Johann. You weren’t there to see how worried she was.”
“I know,” He moved to the window and began picking up the shattered vase, inspecting a broken piece as he spoke, “But things were bad, William.”
I turned the bottle in my hand. The surface was a smooth, black glass that let no peek into whatever that was inside. The neck was wound with threads of black and red, while an iron nail was hammered into the cork at the top. And all things considered, you normally wouldn’t even be able to tell it apart from a normal bottle in a fancy dress competition. “How bad?” I asked.
Johann slid the broken pieces to a corner and stood up, looking out of the window. He looked down at the rainy street, probably searching for Becky as he stayed silent. Just when I had thought that he wasn’t going to say anything, he spoke, “It slaughtered four villages before I got there, William.”
The bottle stopped turning in my hand, and that’s when I felt the restrained sense of dread that the bottle had been excluding all along. I couldn’t draw myself away from it, suddenly afraid that even moving an inch would unleash some disaster. Four villages…
Johann turned completely to face me, and undid his coat, revealing his chest. A black, jagged gash ran down his collarbone down to his navel. The edges looked like they were rotting, and maybe even pulsing with a different heartbeat than Johann’s. I froze as every cell in my body flared up in a phantom sense of pain, even though the wound wasn't mine.
“It wasn’t usual, William.” Johann looked directly at me, all the blood and sand on his face painting a haunted look on his face as he turned grim, “I almost died containing it.”
