Chapter 1: Me, My Talismans, and My Annoying Best Friend

My name is Amy Chen, and if my life were a manga, the tagline would be something like, “She’s the 100th generation of a legendary talisman-making family, but all she wants is a quiet life!” Cheesy, right? But also, like, 100% accurate.

Our family, the Chens, have been the gold standard in mystical paper-slapping for centuries. Need to find your lost keys? There’s a Chen talisman for that. Want to make sure your toast never burns again? We got you. Trying to pass your calculus exam when you have the mathematical aptitude of a rock? My dad’s “Scholastic Success” talismans are pricey, but they have a 98% success rate. That other 2% is for people who accidentally use it as a bookmark.

Being the 100th generation heir means I’ve got all that ancient juju flowing through my veins. My brush strokes are apparently “blessed by the heavens,” and my spiritual energy is “purer than a mountain spring.” That’s what Grandma says, anyway. To me, it just feels like I’m really, really good at calligraphy with extra steps. I can whip up a “Minor Fortune” talisman in under a minute, and it’s potent enough to make you find a twenty-dollar bill in your pocket or have the ice cream truck show up right outside your door. It’s a neat party trick, I guess.

My life, despite the magical background, was supposed to be simple. Go to school, make talismans for the family business, binge-watch anime, and try to keep my grades up. It was a peaceful, predictable rhythm.

And then there’s Joshua.

Joshua is my best friend, my partner-in-crime since we were in diapers, and the living embodiment of a chaos grenade. He’s tall, perpetually looks like he just lost a fight with a lawnmower, and has a brain that operates on a completely different wavelength from the rest of humanity. Where I see a sacred art form steeped in tradition, Joshua sees a cosmic toy box full of shiny things to poke with a stick.

So, naturally, he was the one who ruined my peaceful life.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was in my workshop, meticulously painting the final stroke on a “Ward Off Mosquitoes” talisman for our neighbor, Mrs. Higgins. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood incense and expensive ink. It was serene.

CRASH!

The door to my workshop flew open with the force of a battering ram. Joshua stood there, wild-eyed and panting, holding a tattered book with a skull on the cover titled “The Spookiest Spooks and Where to Find Them.”

“Amy! Eureka! I’ve had the greatest idea in the history of human thought!” he announced, his voice echoing in my sacred workspace.

I didn’t even look up from the talisman. “If it involves deep-frying a TV remote again, the answer is no.”

“This is way better than that! And for the record, it almost worked.” He slammed the book down on my table, narrowly missing a pot of priceless cinnabar ink. “I’ve figured out the ultimate application for your talismans.”

I carefully set my brush down and finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “And what, oh great visionary, is that?”

He leaned in close, his grin so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Ghosts.”

I blinked. “Ghosts?”

“Ghosts!” he repeated, even more enthusiastically. “Think about it! What are ghosts? They’re beings of misfortune, right? Gloomy, sad, unlucky. And what are your best talismans? The ‘Major Fortune’ ones, the ones that bring epic, life-changing luck!”

He started pacing around my workshop, gesticulating wildly. “So, here’s the plan. We find a ghost. Any ghost. And then…” He paused for dramatic effect. “We slap one of your luckiest talismans right on its forehead!”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. There wasn't one. He was dead serious.

“Let me get this straight,” I said slowly, trying to process the sheer stupidity of the concept. “You want to take my family’s most powerful blessing, an artifact designed to bring prosperity and joy to the living, and you want to… stick it on the undead?”

“Exactly!” he beamed. “What do you think will happen? Will it explode? Will it ascend to a higher plane? Will it start crying tears of gold? We have to find out! For science!”

I sighed, a deep, weary sound that carried the weight of a hundred generations of sensible talisman makers. This was a terrible idea. It was disrespectful to the spirits, a misuse of my powers, and just plain dumb.

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Amy!” he whined. “Don't you want to push the boundaries of modern metaphysics? This could be our legacy!”

“Our legacy is going to be getting haunted into oblivion by a very confused and very lucky ghoul,” I retorted.

But Joshua had that look in his eye—the same look he got before he tried to build a functional rocket out of soda bottles and Mentos. It was a look that promised adventure, destruction, and a very long, exasperated explanation to our parents later.

And as much as I hated to admit it, a tiny, traitorous part of me—the part that was bored of making anti-mosquito charms—was a little bit curious.

“Fine,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “One ghost. One talisman. But if I get possessed, I’m making you watch all twelve seasons of that terrible soap opera my grandma likes.”

Joshua’s face lit up like a firework. “You won't regret this! Now, let’s go whip up a masterpiece. We’re going ghost hunting!”

I had a feeling I was going to regret this very, very much.