Chapter 10: The Spiritualist of Gotham

Chapter 10: The Spiritualist of Gotham

Emma sat in a wooden chair near the counter, her head down, hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. Across from her, Silas sipped his own, his piercing green eyes observing her with quiet curiosity. The dim glow of the shop's hanging lights cast long shadows, giving the room an eerie yet comforting atmosphere.

"So, let me get this straight," Silas finally spoke, his voice smooth but laced with intrigue. "You can see ghosts?"

Emma hesitated before nodding. "Yes. I can." Her voice was quiet, almost defeated. "Please believe me."

She had repeated this same sentence to so many people—her mother, teachers, even a few close friends. Every time, she was met with doubt, concern, or outright dismissal. No one ever believed her. No one ever listened.

But Silas simply nodded, setting his cup down.

"I believe you."

Emma's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Most people wouldn't," Silas continued, leaning back against the counter. "But those who have seen the abyss can recognize others who have gazed into it. Like me."

His tone was soft, reassuring, like an older brother comforting a scared sibling.

Emma exhaled a shaky breath, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders.

"Now, let me check something."

Silas stood and reached a hand toward her face. Instinctively, she flinched. Her whole life, she had kept her distance from people. It wasn't out of fear—it was just easier that way.

"Relax." Silas chuckled. "I won't harm you. I just need to confirm something. What kind of businessman would I be if I went around hurting my customers?"

The lighthearted remark had its intended effect. Emma exhaled, her shoulders relaxing as she gave him a small nod.

Silas placed his palm gently over her eyes. A faint purple glow emanated from beneath his fingertips, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Emma shivered, feeling a strange warmth seep into her mind.

After a few moments, Silas pulled his hand away, his expression unreadable.

"Just as I suspected," he muttered.

Emma's heart pounded. "What is it?"

Silas crossed his arms. "You're a mage."

Her eyes widened. "A... mage?"

"More specifically, a spiritualist." He tapped a finger against his temple. "Your soul is incredibly potent, meaning you have a high affinity for soul magic. You can not only see spirits—you can interact with them, command them, even bind them to your will."

Emma swallowed hard. "Then... why does it feel like a curse?"

Silas sighed. "Because you're unlucky. Very unlucky."

She frowned. "Why?"

He gave her a pitying look. "A spiritualist is like a beacon for lost souls. They're naturally drawn to you. Normally, this wouldn't be a bad thing. Many spiritualists throughout history have used this ability to form contracts with spirits, learn from them, or even wield them as weapons."

Silas leaned against the counter, swirling the last remnants of his coffee in his cup.

"But you don't live in just any city." His eyes darkened. "You live in Gotham."

Emma blinked. "And that's a problem because...?"

Silas let out a dry chuckle. "Tell me, when you think of Gotham, what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

Emma furrowed her brows, thinking for a moment.

"Gotham is... a city of progress. A city of dreams." She paused. "But also a city of corruption, crime, and injustice. It's a place where the rich live like kings while the poor suffer in the shadows. A place where murder, robbery, and violence are everyday occurrences. Gotham has some of the world's best doctors, but also its worst criminals. Some of them are so terrifying even the devil would fear them."

Her voice was calm, mature—far too mature for a girl her age.

Silas raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "You're perceptive."

Emma simply shrugged.

"But," Silas continued, "because of what Gotham is, you need to understand something important—death lingers here."

He stood, walking toward the glass window that overlooked the dark, empty streets outside.

"Most souls pass on after death. But some refuse." His reflection in the glass seemed almost distorted. "We call them lost souls. They stay behind due to unfinished business, fear of the afterlife, or simply because they're waiting for someone."

Emma followed his gaze, staring at the empty sidewalks.

But to Silas, they weren't empty.

Hundreds of spirits roamed the streets—some sobbing, some watching the living in envy, and some simply standing still, their hollow eyes filled with rage.

"In Gotham, violent deaths are the norm. People die unjustly every day. And when the law fails to bring justice, their spirits refuse to move on."

He turned back to Emma.

"That's why you're in danger."

Emma's stomach twisted. "Because... they'll try to take over my body?"

"Exactly."

Silas sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Normally, I'd suggest asking the church for an exorcism. But Gotham is... different."

His gaze darkened.

"A long time ago, an evil warlock was buried beneath this city. His magic seeped into the very soil, poisoning Gotham's essence. This city—it doesn't just corrupt people." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "It makes them evil."

A flicker of something crossed his face—a brief, haunting memory.

In the glass reflection beside him, another version of himself appeared. A bloodstained man with a wicked grin, holding a sword dripping with crimson.

Silas blinked. The image vanished.

Shaking off the thought, he walked back to Emma and handed her a pendant—a small, silver charm with a faintly glowing rune etched into its surface.

"This will suppress your spirit energy and block your aura," he explained. "Ghosts won't be able to sense you. It also has a protection charm, just in case."

Emma held the pendant tightly, as if afraid it would disappear. "Thank you."

"This is only a temporary solution," Silas warned. "You need to learn how to control your powers. Come back tomorrow—I'll teach you the basics."

Emma hesitated, then gave him a small, grateful nod.

Silas walked her to the door. As soon as she stepped outside, she felt it—silence.

For the first time in years, the whispers were gone. The stares were gone. The weight pressing down on her chest had lifted.

The ghosts ignored her.

With a relieved breath, she hailed a taxi and headed home.

Back inside the shop, Silas returned to his seat, turning on the small television mounted on the wall.

A news anchor was reporting an urgent story.

"Breaking news—after years of being presumed dead, the missing heir of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce Wayne, has returned to Gotham!"

Silas watched the screen with mild interest, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his cup.

A slow smirk crossed his lips.

"So, it has begun."

To be continued...

(A/N: fun fact, bruce wayne aka batman had a great uncle named silas wayne.)