Monthly Bonus Content #2—'Pick A Card, Any Card' (Halloween Scenario Special—Mason version) (Patreon)

Bookstores.

A place of refuge for so many people. They offer a space of cosy warmth filled with the addictive smell of weathered pages and a hint of musty vanilla. They’re somewhere you can lose yourself in a variety of worlds and characters, joining them as they stumble through their journeys.

That’s exactly how I felt.

Until I walked up to one that is so obviously haunted it might as well be part of a Fright Night carnival.

The stone wall of the sharp-roofed, decaying store is starting to crumble, so me and Mason tilt our heads to the side to take in the effect as it sloughs off to one side.

Shadow seems to bleed out from the abandoned store, pooling around the rotting wooden base like a puddle of ink.

“How has this place not been demolished?” I ponder, glancing at the fancy high rise towers of the Big City that stand either side of it. They jut upwards, their tops lost to the cloudy night sky.

“It’s protected,” Mason replies with a shrug. “There are a bunch of wards over it that even the Agency can’t break.”

My brows jump up. “Really? Why?”

“No one knows. It’s been like this for centuries. Most humans don’t even seem to notice it’s even here,” he continues.

I clap my hands together and suck in a breath. “Well, we know it’s here. And we know whatever cursed object is giving out all the bad vibes to people passing by needs getting rid of.” I glance at Mason beside me. “You ready?”

He releases a breath. “Do I have much of a choice?”

“Do you want me to go in there alone?” I ask, jerking a thumb towards the intensely creepy shop.

He stiffens. “No.”

I slip my hand into his, his gaze dropping to the touch as he relaxes on the spot. “Then let’s get going.” Tugging on his hand, I lead him towards the entrance of the shop, my confidence only seeming driven by having him at my side.

It’s not exactly like my survival instincts are praising me for heading straight into what is obviously a threat…

--

The crooked door swings open without a sound. Somehow that makes it even more unsettling than a loud creak.

Inside, the gloomy interior is just as quiet. The entire space seeming to have held its breath for centuries. The walls are lined with dilapidated bookcases, dust-covered curiosities and faded antiques sitting askew on the tilted shelves, acting like bookends to the lines of old tomes.

Wooden window frames rot away, the glass panels barely letting in a glow of moonlight through their tarnished surfaces that look more like sheets of frozen ice than windows.

Mason sidles in close beside me, staring over the space with a narrowed gaze.

“Can you sense anything?” I ask.

His withered gaze slides to me. “I’m not a fucking radar.”

I roll my eyes. “I know. But you’re super sensitive to everything. I thought you might be picking up—”

“It’s over there,” he comments, pointing to a particularly dark corner.

I grin. “See what I mean?”

He releases a groan before draping an arm around me and leading me towards whatever it is he’s sensing.

We tread carefully through the fallen items—well, I tread carefully. Mason kicks bottles, knick-knacks, and discarded books as he strides through the store on a mission. His entire focus is trained to one corner of the store that’s concealed behind frayed, ripped velvet curtains.

“Please, please don’t tell me that the eerie cursed whatever-it-is is hidden behind those curtains,” I murmur.

He looks to me with a brow raised. “You want me to lie?”

“Ugh.” Reaching out, I grasp the curtain, the material practically dissolving at my touch. After sucking in a breath, I yank the curtain to one side and flinch away, expecting any manner of horror-movie moments to play out.

Thankfully, there’s nothing but a strangling plume of dust that coats us.

“What is that?” Mason asks between coughing.

I wave my hand in front of my face to rid some of the dust and peer through the musty fog. “Looks like a set of…tarot cards?”

We both lean in closer. Spread in a fan on top of a small circular wooden table is a set of beautifully painted tarot cards, the silver gilding on them glinting even in the dull light.

I pull out the small monitor from my pocket and see the red dot blazing on the screen.

“Looks like it’s definitely the deck that’s the cursed item,” I state, slipping the monitor away again. Tentatively I reach out, gathering up the cards, but thankfully feel no unusual or hostile magic seeping out of them.

With the relief and satisfaction of a job well done, I can’t help but hold them and joke, “Pick a card, any card.”

Mason does.

He shrugs, sliding one of the ornate cards out of the deck.

My heart seems to freeze in my chest. “What are you doing?”

“You told me to pick one—”

“It was a joke! Haven’t you even seen a magician’s show?” I retort. “Are you ok? No pain? No…lingering curse-effects?”

He glances down at himself. “No.”

I release my stunted breath, sliding the cards into a magically spelled evidence bag. “What did you pick anyway”

He flips the cards over between his index finger and middle finger. “Strength.”

I nod. “Seems appropriate.”

“You think so?”

“Well, you’re my strength a lot of the time,” I admit, the words falling free with ease.

His lips grow into a familiar smirk. “Sweetheart/Handsome, are you getting sentimental?”

A lump of emotion has indeed lodged in my throat, but I cough it away. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He hands me the card back upside down.

I take it—

—and plummet to my knees as flashes of images fracture my mind like shards of broken glass ripping through my senses.

There’s a scream.

I think it’s mine.

The sharp scenes tear through me.

Mason yells a horrifically heartbroken scream through a torrent of rain.

Blood pours in sickening lines across my neck as I grasp at the raw wound.

Nat and Ava hold me back as I fight against them frantically to get somewhere…or to someone.

And Wayhaven in a mess of destruction.

“[Name]!”

Mason’s desperate cry snaps me out of the moment as the card falls from my grasp and thuds onto the floor. It makes an echoing sound that such a lightweight item shouldn’t be capable of.

I shudder a breath as Mason grasps my shoulder, his other hand shaking as he runs his fingers down my cheek.

“What the hell was that?” he demands.

I blink, trying to rid the heart-crushing image of Mason’s screams from my mind as I look at him.

I force a smile. “Nothing. But I think those cards are definitely cursed.”

He glares at the offending item, looking around before ripping a bit of the curtain off and using the material as a barrier to pick up the card. “Let’s get this all back to the Agency.”

I nod, forcing myself up onto my wobbly legs as Mason helps me find my balance.

There’s nothing more I want right now than to leave this place—and those horrid images—behind.

…Though a slithering sensation that they were more than just cursed images lingers within me, like tendrils of poison there’s no antidote for.