Ritual of the Broken (Haunted Hearts)

Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

O llie woke to the sound of Mary Ann and Adrian talking. He lay there on the couch for a moment, getting his bearings.

“...so there I was, trying to talk Mark down from climbing up on stage and stripping during Crimson Ghoul’s set,” Mary Ann said, gesturing wildly with her hands. “You know how intense their fans can be.”

Adrian chuckled, his deep voice resonating warmly. “Yeah, that would’ve gotten him a couple nights in county lockup at least.”

They spoke with an easy companionship, as if they had known each other for years rather than mere—minutes? Hours? How long had he been asleep? But Ollie found the sound of their laughter and friendly banter oddly soothing, a glimpse of what normalcy might feel like with someone like Adrian in his life .

Finally, Ollie sat up. “You two seem to be hitting it off,” he said.

“You’re awake,” Mary Ann said, her face lighting up. She and Adrian stood from the small dinette table and joined Ollie in the living room.

“How long was I out?” Ollie asked, rubbing his eyes.

Adrian took a seat next to him on the couch. His presence was comforting, and Ollie felt himself leaning into it ever so slightly. “Only an hour or so. Not too long.”

Ollie rubbed his face, still groggy from the spell’s exertion. He needed to shave. He probably looked like he’d been on some sort of bender.

“We haven’t been attacked by mages,” Adrian said, “so I assume the spell worked?”

Ollie nodded. “I managed to break the tracking wards.” He paused, remembering the ghostly figure that had aided him. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without the ghost’s help.”

“Yeah, she’s somebody I wouldn’t mind figuring out,” Adrian said.

Mary Ann looked between them with confusion. “Ghost?”

“Long story,” Ollie said.

Mary Ann stood in front of him, her arms crossed. “Okay, then how about you start with the fact that you’re some sort of wizard and you didn’t tell me.”

The Synod had rules for times like this, but fuck the Synod. He sighed. “We prefer to call ourselves mages. ‘Wizard’ sounds too much like Lord of the Rings . ”

She rapped him on the shoulder with her knuckles. It was playful, but as Ollie looked her in the eyes, there was a bit of hurt there too.

“I couldn’t tell you about me, Mary Ann,” Ollie said to her. “I’m not too welcome in the Synod, but I’m still bound by their rules.”

Mary Ann stared at him. “What’s a Synod?”

“The organization of mages.” He reached out and touched her hand. “I’ll explain things to you later, but not right now.”

“Don’t be condescending.” She pulled back from him and watched him with crossed arms. “You’re in my apartment,” Mary Ann said. “Believe me, I’m going to hold you to that. Sooner rather than later.”

“We have some things to work through,” Ollie said. “We’re trying to prevent a murder.”

“And an apocalypse,” Adrian added.

Mary Ann moved in to sit on the other side of Ollie. “Okay. I’m in.”

“No.”

“What? You came to my apartment, shared your wiz—mage secret with me. Now you’re talking about stopping murders and preventing an apocalypse. Of course I’m involved now.”

“No, you’re not. I appreciate your help here. I really do. But it’s not safe for a mortal,” Ollie said.

“You’re letting him come along,” Mary Ann said, referring to Adrian.

“Adrian is a detective and—” Ollie stopped himself. He turned to Adrian. It wasn’t his place to tell. And he hoped his stare communicated a silent apology for almost spilling Adrian’s secrets.

But Mary Ann waited for an answer.

Luckily for Ollie, Adrian didn’t seem too bothered by it. “Sometimes we call ourselves The Luperci.”

“Really?” Ollie stared up at Adrian.

Adrian shrugged. “It’s an old phrase, something from our ancestors. Mages aren’t the only ones with ancient history. There’s an old Roman festival called the Lupercalia. It’s a festival to celebrate fertility and wolves.”

“Huh.” Ollie considered this. “That’s not something they teach in our chapters on werewolves.”

Mary Ann gasped. “Werewolves?” She looked at Adrian like seeing him for the first time. “So, you’re a werewolf?”

But she didn’t flee. In fact, she seemed to take it remarkably well. Most people—most mortals, that is—when they found out the supernatural existed clammed up and tried to extricate themselves from the situation as quickly as possible. Maybe it was because Mary Ann had unknowingly been around the supernatural for years. And the fact she’d just seen him work an impromptu ritual to break the wards on the book.

She turned back to Ollie. “And where did you go to college that they had chapters on werewolves?”

Ollie reached out and took Mary Ann’s hand into his. “Look, as I said, one of these days, I’ll sit down with you and tell you all about my upbringing and how I’m from a family of mages.”

“A family of mages.” She shifted in her seat to face him. “Wait, your mother?”

Ollie nodded. “Yes. She was a mage. A powerful one.” She started to ask more, but Ollie held up a hand. “Like I said, I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll even tell you how Emmerich dumped me because he thought a job in the Synod was more important than our relationship.”

“Oh, shit. That’s why he broke up with you? Goddess, I hate him all the more now.”

Ollie continued. “But right now, we need to do some research on that book and prevent a ritual from being completed.”

Mary Ann stood up from the couch and walked to the dinette table. She sat down and turned the journal around to face her. She stopped long enough to give Ollie and Adrian a resolute, chin-up challenge. “I’m not leaving, so I guess we better get started.”

Ollie pressed his lips together and glanced up at Adrian, who only shrugged. She could help out with the thinking, Ollie decided, but there was no way she was going with them to the next ritual scene. Resigned, he walked over and sat next to Mary Ann at the table.

As Adrian took a seat in one of the other chairs, Ollie took the book from Mary Ann. “You won’t be able to read this,” he said.

A defiant expression crossed her face, and she grabbed the book back to open to a random page. She peered down at the open page for a moment before her disposition dropped to one of resigned confusion. Then she slid the book back.

The next hour was boring. And slow. Mary Ann sat on her phone, and Adrian used Mary Ann’s laptop to write up a report to his lieutenant to fill in details of what he’d been doing the past two days. Ollie trusted it wouldn’t mention much about mages or being in a Synod hospital.

For his part, Ollie did his best to read the pages, but the language was challenging, even with a quick little spell to aid his understanding. He read in near silence.

“I thought we were saving the world,” Mary Ann said, finally, putting her phone on the table.

“It would help if my grandfather or cousin or whatever Preston is to me would’ve written his journal in an easier-to-understand language. Not to mention, his handwriting sucks.”

“Maybe it would help if you talked us through it,” Adrian said.

“It’s difficult,” Ollie muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “The text is obscure, and the details about the next murder are buried deep.”

Mary Ann leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Can you at least make out anything about the victim of this next murder?”

Ollie shook his head, frustration etched on his face. “Not yet, but I’m getting closer. I think.” He turned another page, scanning the text.

Suddenly, a passage caught his attention, and his eyes widened. “Wait, this can’t be right.” He read the lines again, his lips moving silently as he processed the information.

“What is it?” Adrian asked.

Ollie looked up, his expression grave. “According to this, a Hartley had to be sacrificed to charge the ritual—to create it in the first place.”

“Who?” Adrian asked.

He thought about it. “Preston Hartley? I always assumed he was executed by the Synod, but as far as I know, nobody has ever told me that was the case.”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Why create a ritual then sacrifice yourself to it?”

“Mages have done crazier things,” Ollie said, turning back to the book.

“No argument from me on that one,” Adrian said, leaning back in his chair.

Ollie turned the page of the journal. He froze. The face of a woman stared back at him, etched in ink on the page, There were other pictures in the book, diagrams mostly, but this was the first image of a person, and her portrait filled up the entire page. Her features were delicate yet haunting, as if she had been captured mid-movement. And she wore a necklace carved with a symbol, one that Ollie recognized instantly.

“Who’s that?” Mary Ann asked, leaning in to get a better look.

Ollie swallowed hard, his throat dry. “That’s my ghost,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper .

“ Your ghost?” Mary Ann leaned closer.

It was the same face as his ghost, the one he’d been dealing with in his shop, who he’d seen in the cemetery, who stopped the Synod mages, who aided him in breaking the tracking wards on the journal… What did she have to do with this ritual? And with Preston Hartley?

He leaned closer and tried to translate the text. Beneath the image was a name, followed by a simple phrase: “Dear Heart.”

He made himself reread it to see if he had it right.

“I think her name is Isabell,” Ollie said. As he read further, his breath caught. “She’s my ancestor. And I think Preston sacrificed her to charge the ritual.”