Chapter 284: The Tongue of the Arcanist

"Is the first time you've reached out to me in years just because you want to see our mother?" Damon Helstrom lowered his eyes, avoiding the gaze of the sister sitting across from him. "What's made you suddenly turn into a good daughter?"

Pretending to savor the food at the family diner, Damon secretly wished he could leave immediately. The leather booth seat made him uncomfortable, but he couldn't walk away just yet. He had his reasons for accepting his sister's invitation.

"I remember you selling those shady antiques in San Francisco. Are you planning to enjoy family life now that you've got some money?" he asked. "I'd suggest finding yourself a boyfriend. Unless I'm mistaken, you only care about yourself. Good luck finding a poor soul who can tolerate your temper."

"And you, Damon?" Anna retorted with a cold laugh. "An ethics professor who moonlights as an exorcist for the Church? I never expected you to be so devout, embracing your powers instead of resenting them. My dear brother, are you getting along well with our mother? Or is it that you've decided the demon isn't so bad after all?"

"You swore you'd never set foot in Portland again. And yet, here you are."

"That's because I couldn't stand that meddling head doctor at St. Teresa's. What was her name again? Dr. Hastings? If she could keep her plump, moist lips away from me, I might've actually listened to what she had to say. Oh, trauma counseling? Based on a few crayon sketches? Please. Maybe you shouldn't be mad at me, Damon. What's that old line again? 'If your brother sins against you seven times in a day and comes back to say he repents, you must forgive him.' Well, I'm ready to make you forgive me seven times over."

"Dr. Hastings cares about you, Anna. So do I." Damon took a deep breath, setting down the fork he'd been fiddling with. "Listen, Anna, I didn't come here to fight with you. I'm not trying to make you angry—really, I'm not. Forgive me. It's just that things have been... tough these past few days. There's trouble at St. Teresa's. Mother—or rather, the demon—has done something. It's implanted thoughts into the minds of several staff members. A security guard is dead. I'm sorry, Anna. I just…"

Anna shrugged with a resigned expression. "I know you didn't mean to upset me. And you even ordered a cookie sandwich for me. That was my favorite as a kid. My tastes have changed, but… thank you for coming to meet me, brother."

The tense atmosphere between the siblings dissipated. Damon visibly relaxed.

"I'll return your messages next time," Anna said, glancing out the window at the cars passing by in the night. "You can text me during the holidays. Just not during my workdays—I'm very busy."

"Mother's condition is bad. The demon has her completely under its control." After a moment's pause, Damon looked up and met Anna's gaze. The warm yellow light reflected in her narrow eyes, revealing a hint of nostalgia. Damon caught a whiff of something reminiscent of the past—the rare but cherished warmth of family before everything fell apart.

"But we've been expecting this, haven't we?" he said softly, his tone much gentler than before. "Have you learned something? Honestly, there's been something strange in my life lately too. I've even felt like someone was watching me. The demon left some kind of symbol on the wall. Just a few days after that, I…"

"No, nothing has happened to me," Anna interrupted, frowning. She thought of Solomon's peculiar nickname for her—a name that wasn't hers: Satana. Even now, Anna harbored some doubts about Solomon. The sorcerer seemed to know secrets, hidden and significant, and Anna suspected they might have something to do with her mother.

"I came to you because I met someone," she admitted. "Maybe he can deal with that thing… Oh, Damon, look at your face! Did you think we're the only ones in this world with gifts? Aliens have already landed in New York. Billionaires and Asgardian gods are flying through the skies. A war hero who spent seventy years in a block of ice is back in action. What's left to be surprised about? A sorcerer showing up is practically mundane."

Damon raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I'd lean more toward it being a superpower. Fine, fine. Let me ask you this: do you trust him?"

"To some extent. I've worked with him. He's strong—strong enough to teleport me from the U.S. to Italy in an instant."

"I noticed the 'he.'"

"It's not as complicated as you think, Damon," Anna chuckled. "He's still a minor. He acts like an adult, which is kind of adorable, but I'm not into guys younger than me. He sought me out because he has a grudge against that thing. One of them has to die."

"Then let's give it a try," Damon said. "But on one condition—you have to let me come along."

Anna agreed. She figured Solomon wouldn't object to the arrangement.

"My God, I can't imagine how awful this place must be," Solomon muttered under his breath, standing beside Anna.

In front of them was a gray, spire-topped building that resembled a Quaker church. Even from a distance, the oppressive atmosphere was palpable.

"Why do you say that?" Anna asked, scrutinizing Solomon's attire. The deep crimson robes he wore captivated her attention. She couldn't look away, as if some kind of magic emanated from them. "Don't you have other clothes?" she asked. "You wore that same outfit when we first met."

"This is my robe, not some shirt," Solomon replied with a dismissive shrug. "By the way, this place is called St. Teresa's? Named after a nun who could reach religious ecstasy through faith? No wonder the people here are such fools. Oh, did I say 'fools'? My mistake—I meant 'devout.' I often confuse the two; they're essentially the same thing.

"Actually, St. Teresa might have been a natural-born witch, driven mad because her talents were never properly guided. In ancient times, girls like her could've been educated in temples and become priestesses of the gods. I'm talking pre-1st century AD. Later on, such girls either wandered the village babbling incomprehensible prophecies, were dragged into barns by farmers to bear illegitimate children, or, more commonly, ate bread made from ergot-infested grain. You know how common ergot poisoning was in the Middle Ages. Maybe St. Teresa was just a woman who tripped on LSD her whole life—like the so-called miracle of Our Lady of Fatima."

"But Bernini's sculpture is remarkable," Anna said with an exaggerated eye roll, unimpressed by Solomon's biting commentary on religion. "Shouldn't you be comparing this to the Salem witch trials instead?"

"True, Giovanni Bernini was a master—the pinnacle of Baroque art. But his later portraits lacked innovation. His religious themes became increasingly formulaic, likely due to his deepening piety in his final years," Solomon replied, arching an eyebrow at Anna. He tapped his boot against the ground, trying to shake off some mud.

"And for the record, what happened in Salem was real. I was there."

"I thought we weren't here to discuss Renaissance art or Puritan history," a man with a beard interrupted as he stepped out of the building's main entrance. He sized up Solomon with a wary look.

"I'm Damon Helstrom," the man said, extending his hand. "Welcome, Solomon Damonet. Anna's told me about you. I'm starting to believe your identity. No one else would wear that many rings. Oh, and Anna…" He turned to his sister. "Dr. Hastings would like to see you."

"Let's hope she doesn't make me draw with crayons again."

"Plenty of rappers wear a lot of rings too," Solomon said as he shook Damon's hand. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything. Feel free to observe how I work. Don't worry—I'm not like those Catholic priests whose exorcisms rake in 4% of the Church's total revenue."

"My powers are useless against that thing," Damon admitted, locking eyes with Solomon. "I'm hoping you can help free her from it."

"I hope so too. Now, let's move quickly. It's still class time. I took the day off, but if we're fast, I can make it back in time for my next lecture."

Perhaps a bit too caustic? Looks like I might've offended some folks again.

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