Chapter Text
Lee Minho had avoided funerals for almost his entire life. That was pretty astonishing, considering the fact he survived most mere humans he met. Not like he had ever particularly liked humans but it was worth mentioning.
Despite Minho´s personal preferences if a good friend called even a witch like him did what he had to do. Especially, after Chan had reminded him several times that not going would have been very impolite and that they had to support Taeyong during these kinds of difficult times.
"Taeyong has a coven of seven people, eight once he gets his acts together and does what his Magic wants him to do. Why does he need to drag me into this?" Minho had said.
Chan had thereafter told him there would be refreshments and he had threatened to curse Minho if he wouldn´t stop being a whiny child immediately. Then Changbin had supported Chan´s arguments because he was the most backstabbing familiar of all time.
Now it was close to midnight and Minho was driving them back from the funeral in his green Ford Popular 100E and Chan was sitting next to him, letting flow the waves of tears, which he had kept at bay in order to be strong for Taeyong.
Changbin was utterly depressed and had disappeared into the spiritual world.
They were all dressed in a deep purple, the colour of today´s funerals.
Rain was falling down so much, a mere human would be able to drown on land. Of course, Taeyong´s coven had to have a Weather Witch. Normally, Haechan´s bright mood kept the woods, the mountains and the villages in the valley sunny, but the boy had still looked like shit when Minho and Chan had left.
Not like their presence had helped in any way. Chan had been busy with Taeyong and Minho had absolutely no idea how to deal with children. The boy was twenty-something years old, which was roughly Minho´s age divided by 74. How by all hells, was he supposed to relate to the boy or console him? Taking into consideration the absolutely horrible, hellish thing which had happened to their coven, comforting any of the coven members had been an impossible task.
Minho solved problems by killing, he normally didn´t have to deal with anything which came afterwards.
The rain was flooding down the windows and Minho had to apply another spell to the glass in order to be able to see through it. Although there was zero percent chance he would have to look out for another car because surely no mere human could drive in this storm. Still, the roads up the mountain were too narrow, steep and winding to not be careful.
Chan was still sobbing and all of the wet sounds were mixing together into one big ocean. It was too silent and too loud, Minho was using far too much energy on spelling the car to keep driving on the river which the road was turning into, somewhere lightning stroke a tree and Minho stopped the car.
"Is everything okay? I have a handkerchief if you want one. Or I could hex you some tea?" Despite his sobs and tears, Chan´s voice sounded stable and concerned.
Minho spoke one last spell, glueing the car onto the road before he turned to his oldest friend. Chan had a long nose and eyes, dimples and a fair-skinned, young face, despite being at least roughly forty years older than Minho. He had dyed his hair a dark blonde colour, because his natural, witchy-colourful hair colour looked hilarious in combination with golden eyes and the clothes he liked to wear, a combination of patterns in black and white, usually with a touch of Korean tradition to it, as well as all the other epochs of fashion he had lived through.
Now his skin was reddened but his eyes, they remained focused on Minho. When you looked at them long enough, you could swear that you saw the gold of his iris melt and flow.
"I am fine. I am very, very fine. You were just annoying me," Minho explained and watched some very large sticks float down the road through the window behind Chan. The older witch did not comment on what Minho had just said, despite being able to tell that he was being lied to.
Chan was a Soul Witch, which meant his Magic used Soul Energy as its source. He was very empathic, a bit telepathic and saw the core of Minho´s soul whenever he wanted to see it.
It sounded like a nice kind of Magic and right now Chan was surely not looking dangerous with his legs pulled to his chest and his feet on the good leather of Minho´s car seat, but the image was deceptive. Minho had seen Chan control people, mere humans, Magical Creatures and even other witches, countless times. He was able to make anything with a soul do absolutely everything. He could play with people´s minds as if they were warm wax.
Minho watched his own reflection in the mirror in the car, next to the dangling Crystals Chan had decorated it with. He looked unaffected. Hair still shiny and styled in a bit formal way for the funeral. Eyes still black as Obsidian, with no red discolouration of the skin around them. He knew his eyes looked creepy and he enchanted them before meeting mere humans, but he also couldn´t deny the fact that they were a warning for everybody who crossed his way.
Not like Minho was more dangerous than Chan, he only had less emotional self-control. On top of that, the hells had graced him with a kind of Magic, which loved to go out of hand. Minho was a Demonologist and he was one (if not the) most powerful of his kind. He could summon demons, he had summoned demons before and he would summon demons again.
The Magic he was using was powered by the energy of demonic realms and demonic dimensions. It was a Magic which was made to be used to harm and it had always served Minho well. Right now Minho was using demonic energy to stop a big branch (or a small tree, it was hard to tell through the darkness and rain) from crashing into his windscreen.
Somewhere lightning struck a tree.
Chan´s breathing had calmed down and it had gotten quieter in the car, making the storm louder.
“I want to form a coven,” Minho said.
Chan lifted his eyebrow, a silent way of asking for an explanation.
”After everything I have seen today. I want to form a coven," the stability of his own voice surprised Minho.
Chan chuckled, "Which part of witnessing Taeyong´s horrendous and unbearable pain made you want to form a coven? Do you long for torture? I can give it to you."
He was not even joking, he could easily make Minho experience the exact same pain Taeyong had felt today, just as he had endured it himself, taking some of the weight off of their old friend´s shoulders.
The two of them turned silent and stared out of the windscreen as the little rivers on the glass were illuminated by a small ball of yellow light in Chan´s hand. He let go of the light and it flew upwards until it met the roof of the car and burst. Small dots of light were splattered above their heads like stars.
"If either of us is going to die no one is going to mourn us the way the people we met today are mourning their loss right now. You wouldn´t cry for me in the way you cried because of Taeyong´s pain and I would not cry for anybody," Minho dipped his finger into the light.
"Changbin would cry for me," Chan noted, "When you die he will, of course, be gone. But I am sure he would mourn you from the darkest corner of the spiritual world."
"Oh by all hells, Chan. It is a metaphor, don´t you get it?" Minho seethed. "Maybe we should have more social bounds. Met new people. Form a family. It has only been you and me for the last 100 years. We have never been without romantic partners for this long. I myself am for sure not going back to dating, not after everything which happened in the 1920s and you can´t stay with me forever. I am a grumpy, bitter man. You deserve better."
Chan didn´t disagree. They knew each other too long to lie to each other. "So, you think getting ourselves a bunch of kids like Haechan, would solve this problem?" Chan asked.
Lightning lit up the sky and for a moment you could see every drop of water in its full glory.
"Oh, hells no. I am not letting any teenagers into my coven," the Demonologist clarified.
"And by teenagers you mean?"
"Anyone under 200, isn´t that obvious? Or maybe 250, people with only 200 years under their belt tend to be so awfully youthful. I am thinking of some nice, middle-aged, powerful witches. Image the power we could have," Minho appealed, "Even a bond between you and me alone would be able to unleash hurricanes of Magic. Now think about even more witches. All the kinds of new Magic we could discover, we could actually feel them. I always wanted to know what having White Magic is like.”
In the silverish, artificial light, which he had created, Chan´s profile looked as hard as a diamond. "Okay," the older witch whispered, "let us do it. Do you have some crystals at hand?"
Of course, Minho had crystals at hand. Which kind of Witch didn´t have crystals at hand? He opened the glove compartment and colourful stones fell out and filled Chan´s lap. Minho himself chose a piece of Obsidian from where he kept it in the compartment of his car´s door, right next to his maps. In the meantime, Chan had picked an Opal for himself.
"Do you want to cast the spell, Chan ?"
"You know that you are asking me to be the coven leader?"
"Yes, I do know that."
"It would be my honour," Chan said and sounded like he was receiving an award.
Minho slapped his thigh and demanded, "Quit being sentimental! You are annoying me! And things like that are easier for you anyway because you are a Soul Witch."
With a tap of his little finger, Chan made Minho slap his own thigh, just a small show off, while he chuckled gently. Within the blink of an eye, he turned serious and started casting the spell.
It was a magnificent spectacle and after all these centuries Minho was still in awe at the grace of Chan´s Magic. Bright light in all the colours of this dimension filled the car. Like liquid glass it started waving a pattern, forming an intricate rope of Magic. Both witches gasped when the rope entered their souls, glowing bonds now connecting their bodies and the crystals.
For a moment Minho saw himself sitting in the driver´s seat in all of his vulnerable glory and intimate strength. He also saw his soul but just as a strong light. After all his mind was still unable to fully connect Chan´s Soul Magic and comprehend all the details of what a soul really was.
Changbin was there, another source of undeniable light right next to Minho´s soul. Changbin´s light was connected to the light coming from Minho´s body by a strong woven string of magic and it was beautiful.
Then the moment was over and they slammed back into the seats. Minho was breathless as though he had cried. But he hadn´t cried. Minho hadn´t cried since the 1920s.
"Did you two just form a coven without even consulting me? Minho, by all hells, I am your familiar spirit." Changbin was sitting in the backseat but he was squeezing his body in between the two front seats and so it was almost like he was right in the middle of them. Short black hair, sharp eyes of green, glowing like a cat´s, a prominent chin, a small yet muscular body and he was wearing a black leather jacket on top of a white T-shirt, paired with a pair of modernized hanbok pants.
"Hells, I am talking to you two!"
"I know, Changbin," Chan shushed him and stuck his hand out for the familiar to shake, "I am the leader of your coven now and I am very sad to hear that Minho didn´t consult you about his idea beforehand."
"You didn´t consult your familiar either!" Minho protested against the… well, not unfair but certainly not useful points which were made.
Changbin rolled his eyes, "His familiar is a cat and she loves you more than she loves him. I am a dead human being. I have thoughts, feelings and opinions just as relevant as yours."
"June doesn´t love Minho more than me. Or does she? Changbin!"
They went on like this for a while, all three of them bickering in concurrently until the rain had settled into a nice shower.
"Do you want to see something awesome?" Chan asked interrupting their teasing. Without waiting for an answer, he placed a hand on Minho´s wrist.
The Demonologist felt that a spell was being cast and then he saw the light of his own soul, his connection to Changbin and his new bond with Chan´s soul. Both their souls glowed equally strong but Changbin´s spirit soul was naturally a bit weaker. He was basically dead after all, only risen from the aftermath to serve Minho and be an ongoing pain in his entire existence. Minho did very much love his familiar.
Three hours later the night was still pitch black and Minho was really hoping Haechan would let the sun rise because otherwise, it would confuse the hell out of the mere humans.
They had been able to calculate the times of solar eclipses even before Minho had been born. A witch had probably taught them how to do it. And even if Haechan caused an eclipse, it wouldn´t be too big. He was not powerful enough to stop the sunrise in a larger area. The humans would be so confused because a small eclipse was scientifically impossible.
But it would also mean that Chan, Minho and Changbin wouldn´t have sunlight for a day because they were in Haechan´s area. Taeyong´s coven lived nearby after all, Minho just didn´t visit them often.
But tonight, tonight none of this was his problem, because he was sitting in his dangling wicker chair, wrapped up in a blanket and holding a cup of tea and wine (one cup not two). The wicker chair slightly resembled an egg, which was large enough for one to make himself comfortable in. It was a very old piece of furniture, something important to Minho, but lately, it had started to be trendy again. It had been a handmade, precious gift given to Minho more than a century ago.
Much to Minho´s chagrin, Chan was just as wrapped up on the green velvet couch but he also had Changbin sleeping on top of him. Stupid backstabbing familiar. When it knock on the door, the older witch only pointed at the sleeping familiar and watched Minho peel himself out of his blanket.
The knocking had been strange. Not like a little knock knock, more like something had just crashed into the door at full speed. Maybe it was just a branch. Or a tree. The storm had not stopped roaring for a second.
Minho opened the door and found a child laying on the mossy brick path to their house. An actual child, far younger than 200 years, not much more than nine years old. On the door, there was a big, roughly child-shaped blood stain. Said child was also covered in blood from head to toe, Minho could only guess that his hair was blonde.
He realized he was already on the ground next to the child feeling his dying heartbeat. It was a witch, he could clearly sense the child´s Magic. But there was something else he felt, something dark and evil. He was not talking about himself, this something had killed today and Minho had definitely not killed anyone today. Demons. And he hadn´t summoned them.
"Chan!" he called.
Seconds later Chan was kneeling next to the child´s body. “Go! I will take care of him,” he vowed. “Go, Minho and do what you do best!”
The demons were no match for Minho. Minor creatures, mere servants of other demons far more powerful than them, brought into the dimension by a Demonologist, who had lost control over them. Minho found her dead body next to a tent set up in the woods.
The rain had washed away most of her summoning circle, maybe that had interrupted her ritual. But still, if she hadn´t managed to gain back control over demons of such a low class, she had not been a very powerful Demonologist.
Minho stood there surrounded by the corpses of what mere humans would call nightmare material. On the ground right next to his feet there lay a doll of some sort. It was stuffed and it was unclear what colour it had been before it had been covered in demon blood and mud.
When Minho had been a child he had had a stick, which had roughly resembled the form of a human-like body. He had loved it and was pretty sure a child would even be able to still love this doll when it was dirty and without one arm, which the demons had ripped off.
Minho had left his stick at his mother´s pyre before he had killed for the first time.
In the moment in which he picked the doll up a sudden signal shoot through his soul. Chan was calling for help. Minho noticed that it had stopped raining.
Chan was still right there where Minho had left him, except he was now sitting in a puddle of blood
For some reason, he hadn´t moved the child into the house, where it was nice and warm and for some reason, he was crying. Minho sat down on the wet, mossy path, knowing that his clothes would be stained and laid a hand on the child´s chest. Almost no strength left. This young life was sinking away under his fingers. "
I can´t save him. He is too injured. The wounds, they have been deepened by demonic energy. I can´t get a grasp on his soul." Chan´s voice was almost soundless.
He was a Soul Witch, not a White Witch, healing was not the strongest part of his Magic and tomorrow he would find ways to blame himself for it.
Blood-coloured rainwater was squeezed out of the doll as Minho pressed it so hard his fingers hurt. The Demonologist was glad he had brought it, they would be able to bury it with the child. Things like that tended to settle spirits, which were too young to know what was happening around them.
The child´s face had seemingly been cleaned by Chan, now Minho could see soft, young features. He was a boy and with his eyes closed he looked peaceful but it would take a few more minutes until he died. An expert, such as Minho, could see these things in the way the small jaw was clenched.
It would be a mercy to end his suffering immediately. Minho should kill him. It was the right thing to do.
"Chan," Minho was unsure if he whispered, "what if you make him part of our coven? If he would be connected to us, could you heal him then?"
Chan inhaled a long, pained breath, "He is a Soul Witch. He is just like me."
Minho realized that Chan had already considered the consequences and that he had made a decision. No one would be able to blame him for that except himself.
Minho wished it would rain again just so the silence didn´t have to be this unendurable.
"Chan."
"Yes, Minho." "Do it anyway. I will bear the consequences. I vow by all hells, I will bear it whatever form it takes."
The two witches watched the sleeping boy beneath them. Minho had carried him onto a couch and covered him in blankets.
The only thing holding Chan up was Minho´s arm. Healing always demanded its price and even though Chan had paid often enough, his body was never getting used to it. Hopefully, the next addition to their coven would be a White Witch. Or at least a Green Witch.
With gentle fingers, Chan stroked a strand of blonde hair out of the sleeping boy´s face. The child had surely paid his price as well, the small face was gaunt in a way a face of this age should never be.
"I found his mother, or whoever he was travelling with," Minho explained. "A weak Demonologist. She is dead. But she managed to buy her child a lot of time before dying. I guess her spirit will be able to leave this world in peace."
Chan was not listening to him and Minho took that as a sign to gently lead the Soul Witch to an armchair. It wouldn´t be possible to get him to leave the room, not while his little patient was still resting. The child did look really comfortable under all those blankets. And small. So, so small.
"Minho, can you feel him?" Chan asked and pressed his heels into the wooden floor.
Minho poked the child´s cheek, "Yes, he is right there. Very firm fleshy material."
That statement made Chan either chuckle or cough, it was hard to tell. "That is not what I meant. Here, I will show you." His warm fingers closed around Minho´s wrist and once again the Demonologist was invited into the world of Soul Magic.
There was the bond between Chan and him, strong and bright as always, as well as the bond between Changbin and him. But there was nothing new, despite something new having to be there. No, Minho was mistaken, there were new bonds between each of them and the child, but they were weak almost not visible. Overall the child´s soul only glowed dimly. Chan brought him back to reality.
"Why is he that way?"
"Part of it is the injury," the older witch explained, "it weakens him right now. But it is also his Magic. His Magic is… It is… There is really no nice way to say that. His Magic is weak. Yes, the demonic wound has scarred his soul forever and the circumstances for the healing ritual were, well not ideal. But even if that hadn´t happened, he would have never been a powerful witch. His magic will grow as he ages and we can practice as much as possible. But his Magic is just weak. He is born that way."
Minho looked at the way the small fingers were gripping the blanket tightly. "Well, that doesn´t matter to me."
Immediately Chan collapsed next to him, finally allowing Minho to make his body float over to the couch.
On the couch table, their crystals remained. An Opal, an Obsidian and the stone Chan had grabbed for the boy, a random piece of Rhodochrosite, they laid there two of them connected by bright light and the other one only connected by a dim illumination.
After a short nap, Minho got up, realized it was afternoon and went to make himself some tea. When he left, Chan and the child were still sleeping deeply on their respective couches.
In the kitchen, he looked at himself in a spoon. He did no longer look unaffected. Undeniably, he did still look good. Minho thought he had charming, soft, close-set eyes and a defined philtrum which made his upper lip look curved. Somebody had once said that he had a bunny-like face. He forced himself to think about something else.
By the time Minho came back into the living room with a nice steaming mug, the child was gone. Minho´s heart skipped a bit before he saw the boy standing in their garden. The child was still wearing his blood-covered clothes and his blond hair was in an equally bad condition. He was just standing in the knee-high grass, not moving, staring into the woods behind their short fence.
Minho was convinced he was not the right person to handle this. But even after he had softly kicked Chan´s head various times (in his hands he still held the filled mug) the older was showing no sign of waking up.
"By all hells. One time when I could actually need you…" Minho sighed.
Without Chan here was only one person left to handle this emergency…
"Changbin!" Minho called into his soul, trying to get his familiar out of the spiritual world. Yesterday the familiar had slept through the entire drama but he had been awake just in time to complain about another coven member being added without his consent. Minho had not been in the mood for any of that, he had been tired, worried and more than a bit aggressive. Changbin had disappeared while sulking.
Wonderful, Minho would have to make a cake to get onto his familiar´s good side again. So, no Changbin right now.
The Child was still standing right next to Chan´s pathetic attempt at a herb garden. Minho sighed again, put down his mug and instead picked up something else.
Minho was carefully approaching the child. Thankfully, the high grass turned his steps into muffled, soft sounds. The Demonologist stopped walking when the child was about thirty centimetres away from him. His blonde hair moved in the wind and the boy showed no reaction. Minho interpreted that as acceptance. Now he would have to act very gently.
“Your mother is dead.”
A perfect opener.
"I know," the child said coldly.
"And you are not crying? That is good."
For a minute or so they stared into the woods in silence. When Minho´s eyes were getting bored and drifted off to more interesting stuff, like all the plants Chan had killed, the child suddenly turned to him.
He was pretty, or at least he would grow up to be one day. A very symmetrical face, blonde hair and pinkish eyes with a hint of yellow. As the sun was for a second not covered by the clouds, Minho could see a metallic shimmer in the boy´s eyes. They looked like rose gold.
"What is your name?"
"Hyunjin."
"Nice to meet you, I am Minho."
The rose gold eyes were inspecting him from head to toe. When they found the doll in Minho´s hands they stopped.
"Here. I cleaned it for you." Just a quick spell. Now the stuffed doll had a baby blue colour. Minho hadn´t replaced the missing arm because he had felt like he had no right to. Instead, he patched the hole so no more filling material was coming out.
With shaking hands Hyunjin took it.
"Does it have a name?"
Minho´s stick had had a name.
"Humanie."
Apparently, naming was not Hyunjin´s strong side and moreover, his bottom lip had started shaking dangerously. "I…" Hyunjin was struggling with words. "Can I… May I stay here? With you?"
"I mean you are part of our coven now, so we kind of have no other choice. Wait! What are you doing?!"
Hyunjin had planted his arms around Minho´s waist and now his shirt was getting wetted by tears.
"Do you want a cup of tea?" Their mugs were so big that the child would need both of his hands to drink and he would have then have to let Minho go. "Come let's go inside."
They were not really going more wriggling.
“I have to make a cake anyway. Do you like cake? I heard children like cake just as much as spirits do.”
From that day on Minho decided to consider the child a tragic miracle.