The first rule of keeping one's boyfriend safe from possession and soul-harvesting: Never let him walk out the door in the middle of the night.

As Castor slipped on his boots and laced them up, he understood why many victimized to demon possession were restrained to their beds.  It hurt his heart to imagine Lucien in such a distressed state as he darted out the back door like the devil hunted him. He had to find him before anyone else did. 

With the snap of his fingers, he summoned his broom and mounted, soaring up above the rooftops to get a better view of the neighborhood.  Lucien couldn't have gotten too far on foot. 

Icy wind clawed at his face as he scoured the vacant streets until he spotted Lucien's silhouette traipsing down the sidewalk.  Much to his relief, Lucien hadn't learned to sleep-fly, and he hoped to the heavens that wasn't even possible. 

Just as Castor prepared to land, something halted him from lowering.  It was like an invisible string had tied itself around the magic in his veins, forcing him to stay mid-air as images of Briarwood's graveyard flashed through his mind.  He fought back with as much energy as his body could muster, until an ear-splintering screech nearly knocked him off his broom and splattered him across the pavement. 

With Castor back in control of his broom, he lowered himself to the sidewalk and hopped off.  Best not to be in the air if something was trying to murder him.  Lucien didn't acknowledge him as he cautiously approached him from behind and touched his shoulder, hoping to bring him back to reality. It did not.  Honestly, it felt like poking a sleeping bear with a stick and he withdrew his hand when Lucien continued ignoring him and walking down the sidewalk.

Deciding to chance his fate, Castor plucked his wand out and conjured up a fiery chicken?  Castor blinked, as if expecting to miraculously change the squawking critter into the phoenix he had desired. Lack of sleep could cause one's magic to be wonky, but seriously?  A chicken?

Flames billowed in the air from flapping wings, and Castor groaned as it started pecking at Lucien's ankles.  Unfortunately, not even that broke Lucien from the trance that damn charm bracelet had on him.

Cursed magic was finicky.  Anything could set it off, and if Castor weren't careful with removing the charm bracelet, Lucien might never awaken.  The magic would lock itself up in Lucien's mind to protect itself from being destroyed. 

That was why his mother had warned him to never mess with cursed objects, no matter how fascinating some might seem.  They were too dangerous.  If only Castor had considered looking closer at the charm bracelet, maybe he would've felt the ominous magic pulsing from within. 

As Castor followed Lucien beneath the soft glow of the street lamp lights, guilt gnawed at his heart like maggots to rotten flesh.  If anything happened to him, Castor would never forgive himself for being so damn careless.  He stayed close at Lucien's heels, and the wretched fire chicken did the same.  If Castor weren't so tired, he would've disspelled the damn thing already.

With an upward tilt of his wand, he commanded the fiery chicken to snap at the charm bracelet.  Just when Castor thought he had a hold on the tiny caldron-shaped charm and could break it off Lucien's wrist, a potent surge of magic nearly knocked him off his feet.  Light green powder dusted his face as he coughed on the fresh foliage and peppermint taste that lingered in his mouth. 

Just as Castor prepared another spell, thunder rumbled in the sky.  The moonlight and stars flickered as the wind pulled dark clouds across them.  Castor wasn't as in tune with nature as Lucien, but he knew well enough that a storm was brewing. 

"Let. Him. Go." An unworldly voice hissed in his ears, and Castor spun around to confront it with his wand pulled close to his chest.  His heartbeat roared much like the thunder as he inhaled sharp, frantic breaths. 

It wasn't something following them.  It was something wicked hidden within Lucien, trying to force him away.

Whatever Charlotte had put in that charm bracelet wanted Castor gone.  Despite the weariness in his bones, Castor growled back to the creepy voice, "No."

Shadows shifted through the trees and houses as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Castor tried not to think of what else might be lurking around out in the dark. Cold air burned his lungs and nose with each breath because he used his magic for Lucien, to keep him warm. Even possessed by some evil sentient being, Castor wouldn't let him freeze out there. 

Castor imagined sitting by the fire at home with a warm cup of hot chocolate and cuddled up with Lucien.  Those thoughts kept him from giving in to exhaustion.  The moment he let go of Lucien, he wouldn't get him back. That sinister voice continued to screech at him, but Castor ignored it and focused on keeping Lucien warm with his shield of flames.

It was a relief that nobody was awake in the night because Castor had no idea how to explain their situation.  He moved closer to Lucien, enough that their fingers brushed together as they walked.  Castor had tried to remove the charm bracelet, but it zapped him each time like a mosquito to the light.  That didn't stop him from trying though.  He'd burn his fingers off if it meant freeing Lucien. He knew the consequences of removing it too abruptly, but if he just let Lucien loose into town, there was no telling what he'd do under that thing's control.

The night grew darker and much colder as they continued walking like fools.  Branches and leaves crunched around them, and Castor whirled around like he anticipated a monster to leap out from the shadows.  Fiery embers flickered from his wand as he slowly lowered it back to his side with a groan. 

Paranoia had ensnared him like a beast in a trap.  If Lucien didn't snap back to reality soon, Castor would probably go mad.  Every little thing had him skittish.  He felt bad for the innocent squirrel that darted out in front of them earlier because Castor singed its tail fur off with a fireball, mistaking it for a tiny demon sent by Charlotte. 

Not only was Castor frightened of devils and other ungodly creatures, but he was very tired.  Magic worked most efficiently when wizards had their proper rest, so Castor's protective shield already had a few cracks and he was struggling to keep Lucien warm too because he was about to slump over in the Pepperhearts' bushes to take a nap.

"There's evil in Briarwood, boys."  Castor blinked, wondering just how many voices he was hearing in his head. Until he glimpsed beyond the white picket fence at the elderly Mrs. Pepperheart perched in her rocker on their wraparound porch.  She wore a white long-sleeve nightgown and slippers, sipping from her mug like it were a normal night-occurrence for her.  "You better get home before it gets you, Castor Vale."

"Um, it's nice to see you too, mam."  Castor gave her a polite little wave, silently praying that she didn't ask about Lucien. Or the fire chicken.

"Wicked boy," the elderly woman muttered to the wind.  "Go back to hell, where you belong."

Lucien came to a halt. At first, Castor thought he'd finally snapped out of that demon's trance, but a hum of dark magic lingered in the air, prickling his skin.  Potent gusts of wind swept over the Pepperheart's precious prized pumpkin patch, until one by one the bright orange pumpkins darkened to sickly shades of brown and black.  The skins split with wet, grotesque cracks.

A faint sulfuric stench rose and mingled with the earthy decay as blackened vines shriveled into brittle, lifeless strands. The elderly Mrs. Pepperheart let out a shrill scream, dropping her glass mug. Castor startled, his heart thudding in his chest at the horrifying sight before them.

The once-prized pumpkin patch, so lively and brimming with harvest joy moments before, was nothing but a desolate wasteland of rotten, mushy husks. Their putrid contents leaked into the soil like black ichor.

"Oh, hells, Lucien." Castor didn't bother to worry about how Lucien might react when he dragged him down the sidewalk.  Far away from the Pepperheart residence. 

Despite wielding such sinister magic, Lucien made no indication of awareness and even guided Castor onto the next street.  That awful magical energy still lingered in the air.  Castor tried his best to ignore it, but it made him physically nauseous just to breathe it in. 

It wasn't like he could blame Lucien entirely for casting such a heinous spell.  He likely had no idea he even cast it. 

Nocturnal animals stirred to life around them, crying out to the moon in either pain or pleasure.  Castor shivered as they reached the wrought iron gates of Briarwood's cemetery.  Of course Lucien wanted to go visit the dead at such a ghastly hour.  It wasn't like demon Charlotte wanted to take them somewhere pleasant, like a warm diner with delicious pancakes and coffee. 

The thought of entering the graveyard brought another worry to mind, and Castor coaxed a little magic into his wand to wrap fiery-hued embers around Lucien's wrist.  The sinister magic that infused that charm bracelet didn't even give him a chance to shatter it.  Icy pain struck the veins in his arm so suddenly, Castor dropped his wand with a sharp gasp of air. 

"Fireballs." Castor gripped his arm tightly as the pain pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own.  He knew better than to try breaking the wretched charm bracelet, but he couldn't just let Lucien wander into the graveyard and start resurrecting the dead.

Despite the pain in his arm, Castor chased Lucien further into the graveyard, pleading with him to snap out of it. If Lucien summoned the dead, Castor would do his best to keep them contained. No matter what happened, he'd protect Lucien. 

Much to Castor's shock, Lucien dropped to his knees at his sister's grave and unclasped the charm bracelet.  "Rest in peace now, Charlotte."

Lucien's eyes flung open with a gasp and he scrambled backward, his fingers digging into the soft earth near the base of Charlotte's grave.  "Where am I?" he whispered hoarsely, his gaze darting around the clearing from the myriad of headstones to the towering oaks, finally landing back on Castor.  "What happened?  Is... Is that a fire chicken?"

"You were sleepwalking." Castor crouched beside him, reaching out for his hand.  "It's okay.  You're safe now, Lucien."  The flaming chicken waddled around the headstone, its head bobbing up and down.  "And yes, that's a fire chicken.  Don't ask."

Lucien's hand trembled as he looked down, shaking his head.  "I don't...  I don't remember." He cut off mid-sentence, and a choked sob escaped his lips as he faced his sister's grave.  "How am I here?"

"Hey, it's okay." Castor gently moved closer.  "I've got you.  I know this is scary, but it's over now.  That charm bracelet made you come here.  It's a cursed object, and it took control of your body while you slept. I couldn't get you to stop."

"I didn't hurt anyone, did I?" Lucien rasped.

"Just some innocent pumpkins."

Lucien's brows dipped into a frown.  "What?"

"You ruined the Pepperhearts' pumpkin patch." Castor grimaced. 

"Oh, Gods." Lucien groaned.  "Why did I do that?  Maybe I can head over there and apologize.  Blame it on the spellwalking. Surely, I could salvage some of their pumpkins too."

"Trust me, you don't want to go back there.  And not just because the Pepperhearts might curse us either." Castor rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words.

"Why not?  Castor, what did I do?"

"You made that whole patch rot." Castor didn't even want to tell him the truth, but if not, someone else would. "It was the same kind of magic your mom used to kill your plants."

"No." Shimmers of forest green glistened around Lucien's shaky, dirt-caked fingers. 

"It wasn't your fault."

"I-I'm no better than she is." Lucien yanked his hand away from Castor's, his magic vanishing as he tucked his hands beneath his arms. 

"That's not true." Castor's heart ached to hear him say such an awful thing.  "You did it after Mrs. Pepperheart called me a wicked boy and told me to go back to hell, where I belong.  I think her saying that triggered you to lash out.  For my sake."

When Lucien didn't respond, Castor dug into his pocket for his glasses and handed them over.  "Thanks." Lucien slipped them on and rose to his feet on wobbly legs.  Castor helped steady him, keeping one arm secure around his waist. 

Once Castor summoned his broom back and got rid of the annoying fire chicken, Lucien's stomach rumbled.  "Hungry?"

"Kinda," Lucien admitted as he swung one leg around Castor's broom, tightening his arms around his waist.  "But I'm fine."

Fiery embers encased their bodies as Castor levitated them in the air, but icy wind snaked through the cracks in his shield. He couldn't muster the energy to fix them either. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his body, but he channeled enough magic to fly them across the night sky.  It was a chilly flight, but Castor knew just the place to refuel and hopefully help wake himself up.

They soared over Briarwood, and the cool fall air rushed past Castor as he guided his broomstick lower into the forest. The patchwork of vibrant orange and crimson leaves blurred beneath them, giving way to the dark, looming canopy of Nevermourn's woods. The towering trees shuddered with the breeze, their skeletal branches twisting like bony fingers reaching out to snatch unwelcome visitors. Castor shifted his grip, steering into a descent. His landing was anything but graceful with twigs that snapped underfoot, and a puff of dry leaves swirled up around him as his broomstick jolted to a halt.

At least he hadn't whacked them into a tree.  Or fallen from the sky.

Neon lights flickered from the old roadside diner behind them.  There were no cars in the miniature lot, and the darkened windows were tinted with a see no evil charm to keep prying eyes from peeking inside. 

"Castor, where in the hells are we?"