Chapter One: The Debt

Witch and Automaton

Gravehaven, a small town, unknown to many but cherished by those who know about it. You'll see, Gravehaven isn't just any small town; it's a place where stories are told, memories are made, and most importantly, where people of all kinds can live in peace. Unlike cities where angels and demons despise each other, vampires and werewolves won't even glance at one another, and witches are hated, Gravehaven is filled only with souls that don't seek violence. It's a place where everyone respects one another.

This might seem like a good deal to live here, I know, but surprisingly, it's not the thing this town is mostly known for.

Every year, when the spooky season starts, the month when pumpkins are carved and children trick-or-treat, that's where Gravehaven lights up the most. The town is known for its strong, nearly spooky love for Halloween. You will never cross a house or a street that isn't decorated. Every person who lives here loves Halloween.

Well, nearly every person.

Some streets away, farther from the town's heart, is a small wooden shop. The two small windows are lit up, and you can see some potions behind the window's glass. The shop is built with dark wood, neat. A large sign over the door reads "Lantern."

The fog outside makes the shop look like from an old picture, somehow bizarre but pretty at the same time.

The inside of the shop could be described as cozy, vintage style. A room where walls are nearly covered by the shelves full of all kinds of potions, desks filled with jars full of weird-looking bones, flowers, rare plants, or green slime-looking liquids. The room is lit in a soft, yellow-orange tone, the light coming from the lanterns hanging from the ceiling, making it look like they're floating through the small space. Farther away to the right is a counter, and behind the counter is no one in sight. At this hour, the shop is closed, but the owner is still active. The back door leads to a smaller room, which is darker and lit only by some candles. In the middle of the room is a cauldron, the violet liquid boiling in it.

A witch stands before it, stirring the liquid with a big spoon while holding an open book in the other hand, her dark pink eyes lost in it as she mumbles.

"A frog's heart….spider web, yes. Now some honey…"

She closes the book, slipping it, as always, into the depths of her long black coat before walking to a small shelf, taking out a jar of honey.

Opening it, she slowly lets the honey fall into the cauldron. When it stops after a second too early, she frowns. Looking into the glass, a groan leaves her lips.

"Empty already? I just bought this week…" she sighs, placing the empty glass on the small table next to the cauldron. "How come I’m losing more money on ingredients and only making half of what I spend?" Her raspy voice carries clear frustration. The shop hasn't been doing well for months. Could it be that people have lost interest in potions? Or are the residents of Gravehaven moving out more each month? It's not new that the town is starting to lose population—either the young move away to see the world or live somewhere louder and bigger, or the elderly pass away. Whatever the reason, the potion shop is losing its purpose and vitality.

"MRRRRROOOOOOWWW"

Anya, still stirring her potion, glances over her shoulder at the open doorway leading to the shop's main area, her face blank—more blank than a pancake. Literally.

"I can talk to myself whenever I want!" she snaps into the empty hallway, earning another loud-

"MRRRROOOOOOOOOOWWW"

Suddenly, the shop's bell rings as someone steps inside.

"We're closed! There’s a sign on the door for a reason-"

"Anya?"

The voice pauses, and Anya curses softly, leaving her cauldron and walking down the hallway to the main area.

Standing just behind the counter is a tall man, lean, with pale skin, short curly green hair, and pink eyes identical to Anya’s. Anthony Rosegold, just a year older than her. Dressed in a black bomber jacket and jeans, hands in his pockets, he appears relaxed as his gaze sweeps the shop. Unlike Anya's often grumpy expression, Anthony looks more at ease and gentle.

"The shop hasn’t changed since I was here last," he says softly, finally turning to the witch coming out of the hallway.

"You say that every time," she responds dryly, not even meeting his eyes as she walks past.

"Oh, really? I can't seem to remember," he teases. "The only thing I recall is you always walking past me without even saying hi. Not even a hug from your favorite brother ever!"

"Touching you would go to your head. I’d rather not," she retorts, taking out five empty potion glasses and turning back, giving Anthony a small glare as she heads into the hallway again. She doesn't need to tell him to follow; she already hears his footsteps behind her.

"Are you finally going to tell me why you're visiting so late?" she asks as she begins pouring violet liquid from the cauldron into a glass in the small room. Anthony leans against the nearby wall, watching her work.

"Well, I was busy all day. Mrs. Flower asked me to help her in the garden, but it took longer than I expected. Who knew old ladies could make such fantastic lemon cakes?" he laughs. "I planned to visit earlier, but that came up, so…yeah."

"That's it?" She gives him a look that says, “Spit it out.”

Anthony runs his hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze. His thick eyebrows furrow, then he smiles slightly.

"Mom and dad are worried about you," he finally says.

Anya's hand pauses mid-air as she pours the last glass. She stares at her hands before letting out a short, dry laugh and continuing her work.

He frowns. "Hey, don't be like that-"

"I didn’t say anything," she cuts him off.

"You don't need to," he sighs. "I know things aren’t perfect between you, but they’re still your parents. At least visit us once in a while."

She sets the last potion on the table and turns to her brother, arms crossed.

"What did they say? Did they really tell you how worried they are about me, or is it just the usual disappointment because their daughter ended up running an old shop, in debt, instead of having a real job?" she asks.

Anthony looks away, and that’s all she needs to keep going, closing the potion bottles with corks. "I’m just trying to get you to talk to them, at least once," he finally says.

"Just let it go, Anthony."

"Damn, not even a nickname now?" he replies.

As she ignores him, he takes it as a sign to continue, changing the conversation as he pushes from the wall with new energy, "You can continue ignoring me, but at least let me show you what I made!"

Plucking out from his jacket's pockets, Anthony takes out what look like posters. Anya, who by now watched him with more than annoyed confusion, stares at the pieces of paper.

"What is that?"

Anthony looks smug as he hands them to Anya, who takes them with a slow hesitation, giving her brother a weird look.

"These are for you. I know you have had that stinky debt for a few months now on your back, and keeping the shop going alone might be rough. So I made these to put them around town."

The "posters" are normal papers that Anthony painted in a dull violet color, with a big pink colored header that reads "Assistant Needed!". To be honest, it looks like a child's drawing, with some stars drawn next to the words and what seem to be potion bottles.

Anya stares at the posters "What…?"

Anthony smiles brightly, arms crossed and a proud look on his face as he stares at his work, "See? I had a great plan. What if you had someone who could help you run the shop? Someone with good people skills-"Anya shoots him a glare "-that could earn you a good number of customers, and you could finally pay your shop's rent."

"I don't need help," Anya says, her voice tense as her grip on the posters tightens.

"Maybe you don't," Anthony points up, "But your shop does. Anya, you have a month left to pay up-"

“I know!” she snaps. “I’ve heard it enough times already. And I will take care of it, so please, don’t come up with some stupid ideas—”

“Stupid?” he frowns.

“—And just back off.” She sighs, brushing a strand of green hair from her eyes. For a moment, silence settles in, broken only by the bubbling of the cauldron.

“I won’t lose the shop,” she whispers after a while. Anthony, who has been staring at the nearby wall, frowns but doesn’t look at her. “I can’t lose it.”

“That’s why I’m trying to help you.” Anthony meets her gaze. “Believe it or not, I don’t see you working in our parents’ library for the rest of your life.” He waves a hand. “Or anywhere else, for that matter. You were born to make potions, to run this shop. But—”

Anya rolls her eyes as he raises a finger, already knowing what’s coming.

“—a lonely witch in her shop is a bit cliché, don’t you think?”

“I’m not lonely,” she snaps, gesturing toward the hallway. “Poison’s here with me.”

At the sound of his name, the hallway erupts with a loud—

“MRRRRRROOOOOOOOWW!”

Anthony blinks toward the hallway. “That cat scares me every time…”

Turning back to Anya, he continues, “What I meant was that you need normal, real friends.” He clasps his hands together.

“Poison is real.”

“It’s a cat.”

“Do you have something against cats now?”

Anthony glances nervously over his shoulder into the dark hallway. “Against that one? Yes…”

Anya groans, grabbing the posters. “Thanks, Ant, but I’m not letting a stranger help me with the shop.”

She walks towards the main area, Anthony following her as always. "You'll say stranger now, but what if you start to enjoy someone helping you out?"

"Well, then that is something we will never find out."

Walking to the door, Anya takes her hat, putting it on before walking out into the cold night air.

Her brother is silent, hands in pockets as he purses his lips, watching as Anya throws the posters into the trash. One succeeds in escaping, flying through the wind until it's gone.

"I worked hard on those…" he mumbles.

Anya, not having heard him, takes out her keys to the shop. "I will slowly start to close up," She comments. Anthony hums, "Then I guess I will make my way back home…"

Anya raises an eyebrow at him "What?"

"Nothing, well…I guess I missed my little sister," he sighs dramatically, looking away.

"We, like, didn't see each other for a month," She says dryly. "What's wrong with you?"

"Oh come on!" He whines, "Am I the one who got all the empathy! You will kill me with your dry comments someday…"

"Sorry?"

"Why do you sound so unsure?"

"I don't know?"

He groans but chuckles, and finally, Anya’s lips curve into a small smile.

“Well, I’ll be going,” he says, walking backward. “I hope you don’t mind me visiting tomorrow! I need to tell you everything about that new date I had!”

“Ew, keep your love life out of my life.” Anya turns away, disappearing into her shop as Anthony’s laughter fades into the distance.

Anya exhales a long sigh of relief. Alone again, she begins tidying up—putting things back in place, stopping the cauldron from boiling, and filling the remaining potion bottles until the cauldron is empty.

"Mrrooow"

A black fluffy shadow jumps on Anya's shoulder, loud purring erupts as a cat's head pushes against Anya's cheek, the witch leans into him, "I have you, I don't need anyone else."

"Mrrrooow"

"We will save the shop…we just need a little luck"

Next Morning

Anya is already awake and working, just minutes before opening the shop. Poison lounges on the counter, lazily bathing in the sunlight, his tail flicking back and forth.

A face suddenly appears at the window—wide, gray eyes peering inside—before vanishing in a flash. A rapid series of knocks follows at the door.

Anya steps out from the back room, frowning. Who would be knocking this early?

She walks to the door and opens it, finding a woman standing there—shorter than Anya, staring intently at her. Between her gloved hands, the stranger holds a familiar poster.

Her eyes gleam.

“What—”

“I’M HERE FOR THE JOB AS THE WITCH’S ASSISTANT!”