Chapter 1 - The Clinic Witch

1997.

Hong Kong.

"Aaaaaaa. Say, aaaaaa."

Cathy peers into the child's mouth with a penlight, pressing a wooden tongue depressor against her tongue to keep it down while examining her throat.

"Just a cold."

Cathy tosses the tongue depressor into the waste bin, wipes her hands, and jots down a prescription.

"Could you give her a shot? She has a piano lesson to attend," the mother urges.

The child stares up at her mother with a look of pure dread and betrayal.

"Yes, yes. I'll give her a quick shot."

Cathy gets up and heads to the back room to prepare the injection.

"BWAAAAAA! I DON'T WANNA!"

Cathy tears open a sterile syringe package and quickly draws the medication into the syringe. She's unbothered by the crying and just wants to get it over with.

The mother holds her daughter close and brings her into the small treatment room. The familiar smell of antiseptic reaches the child's nostrils.

"NOOOOO! I DON'T WANNA!"

She wails as though she's being dragged to the chopping block.

"Hold still."

Cathy presses the syringe's plunger until a tiny droplet appears at the tip of the needle.

The mother rolls up her daughter's left sleeve and holds her steady. The child feels the cool air against her bare upper arm.

"If you behave, I'll give you a big candy," Cathy says in a flat tone.

She wipes the child's upper arm with a cool antiseptic swab, then gives the skin two quick pats before administering the injection.

"AAAAAAAAAAAA! BWAAAAAAAAA!"

The child's face turns bright red as she cries at the top of her lungs, while her mother struggles to keep her still.

"Okay, done, done."

It's over in seconds.

× × × ×

The child sniffles, her cheeks still streaked with tears.

Cathy hands her a small piece of candy.

"This is small."

The child stares at the candy with obvious disappointment.

"It's big for your age."

Cathy accepts the payment, and the mother and daughter finally leave the clinic.

Cathy returns to her desk and drops herself into the chair with a quiet sigh.

The clinic's entrance remains wide open, offering a clear view of the busy street outside. Cars drive past, pedestrians walk along the pavement, and the occasional conversation drifts in from the neighboring shops.

She sits behind her modest wooden desk, facing an old beige computer monitor. A stack of patient folders rests beside the keyboard, along with several prescription forms and a cup filled with pens.

Cathy's dark brown hair is loosely tied into a low bun. Several untidy strands hang around her cheeks and forehead, framing her calm, slightly tired face. Her brown-amber eyes move across the computer screen as she checks her patient records.

She wears a white doctor's coat over a light-colored collared blouse, with dark trousers and a simple wristwatch. A stethoscope hangs around her neck, while two pens sit in her coat's breast pocket.

Nothing about her appearance particularly stands out. Just another family doctor working in a small neighborhood clinic.

She clicks through the patient records, marks the girl's appointment as complete, and arranges a fresh stack of prescription forms within reach.

Then she notices her dwindling supply of medicine.

"Ah, right."

Cathy gets up and heads into the small storage room behind the clinic.

The room is cramped, with metal shelves covering most of the walls. Boxes of medicine, bottles, bandages, syringes, and packets of medicinal powder occupy nearly every available space.

Among them sit several objects that have little to do with conventional medicine.

Small ritual bells, folded paper talismans, bundles of dried herbs, and glass jars filled with unusual ingredients share the same shelves.

None of them are concealed.

Cathy reaches past a small ritual bell to retrieve a fresh box of medical supplies. She checks the label, places it under her arm, and straightens a few bottles that have fallen out of line.

She doesn't give the unusual objects a second glance.

After checking the remaining supplies, she returns to her desk and places the box beside her prescription forms.

"That should do."

She glances at the clock.

× × × ×

Cathy steps out of her clinic, hangs a "Back Soon" sign on the door, and locks it.

She strolls through the neighborhood, where buildings stand densely packed together and the loud chatter of pedestrians fills the air. Cars, scooters, and bicycles move back and forth along the busy streets.

The midday sun beats down, and the humid summer air clings to her skin.

Cathy waits in line at one of the neighborhood's chain eateries. She's not the only one. Numerous office workers are also lining up during their lunch breaks.

After buying some takeaway noodles, fried buns, and soy milk, she stops by the small, aging mom-and-pop store near her clinic.

"Hello, Cathy."

The elderly shopkeeper waves her wrinkled hand at her.

"Good afternoon, Granny. Did you take your medication before lunch?"

Cathy picks up a packet of rice crackers, not wanting to visit the store without buying something.

"I already did."

Behind the counter, Granny's little television broadcasts the news about tomorrow's handover ceremonies.

"Hong Kong is finally going back to China," Granny comments.

Cathy places the money on the counter.

"Seems so. Were you originally from the mainland, Granny?"

"I was. Born in Guangdong. Maybe I'll get to visit my relatives there more often now." Granny pauses. "And which province were you from again?"

Cathy chuckles.

"Granny, I'm not Chinese. I'm Korean. But if you want to know which province I grew up in, it's Gyeonggi Province."

She gives Granny a little wave goodbye and leaves with her packet of rice crackers.

× × × ×

Cathy washes her hands, tosses the empty plastic noodle container and fried-bun wrappers into the bin, and settles back into her chair.

She stares at the open entrance for a moment before turning her attention back to the computer monitor.

Checking the patient records, she finds that she had only two patients yesterday.

She leans back, pondering whether to sip a cup of tea and doze off for the rest of the afternoon or finish reading that Faustbook she bought last year.

Swiveling back and forth in her chair, she wonders when the next patient will come into her little clinic. Hopefully, it won't be another crying child she has to bribe with candy just to keep quiet.

She hums tunelessly to herself.

Heavy footsteps intrude upon her little peace.

She doesn't even glance at the approaching man, continuing to click through her computer as she prepares for another patient whose symptoms she'll have to figure out.

"Please, sit down and tell me your symptoms," she says in the same droning tone she's used countless times before.

"I'm having a strange symptom. I can tell you're a witch."

Cathy turns her head away from the monitor.

Standing before her is a short-haired blond man dressed in dark clothing. His long coat gives him a passing resemblance to a priest at first glance. He has a sharp jawline, a muscular frame, and a calm, casual demeanor. His pale blue eyes fix on her with a sly expression.

"Cathy Jin."

The man takes the visitor's chair opposite her desk. He takes out a silver identification card bearing the Templars' four-cross emblem and slides it across the desk, placing it directly in her view.

"I'm Marcel Mannheim. But my brothers and sisters call me Mello."

Cathy's brown-amber eyes widen. Her fingers freeze just above the keyboard.

Her body stiffens.

She cautiously glances toward the entrance.

There are others.

Men dressed in dark clothing stand guard outside her clinic. One of them keeps a hand concealed beneath his lightweight summer coat, never moving it from its position.

Even Mello has his right hand tucked inside the left side of his coat, while his left rests openly on the desk.

Cathy leans back, taking a shaky breath.

"I'm innocent. I've upheld the Secret Law, and I'm living a simple life here."

Mello smiles faintly and pulls his chair closer, his right hand remaining concealed beneath his coat.

"We're in need of your expertise in the dark arts. The Vatican asks for your aid, Cathy."

She remains still, carefully controlling her expression. Her eyes shift toward the Templars guarding the entrance before returning to Mello.

"I'm not interested."

She shakes her head.

"But we've come all this way. Aren't your kind supposed to keep your doors open to everyone, even otherworldly entities?"

"I left the Shin-Ji a decade ago. I'm not a dark mage."

"You mean a witch. Regardless, you still possess the knowledge of the dark arts. How to craft magical tools, how to perform rituals, and how to locate other mages."

Cathy frowns.

She can already tell that refusing him will only lead to more drastic measures.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

"An Arch Mage has stolen something of great value from the Archive Vault. The Covenant calls him a Warlock now. We've tracked him all the way from London," Mello explains.

"So you're here because the Covenant is too cowardly to clean up its own mess?"

"Hong Kong has a Baroness, and she holds complete control over her domain. The Covenant won't enter her territory without permission."

"And you?"

"We haven't exactly been invited either. The Covenant asked us to handle this quietly."

"But why me?" Cathy presses.

"You're the only unlicensed practitioner we've identified in the area. And we don't want any complications if word of our presence reaches the Baroness's ears."

"And if I refuse?"

"You don't have that choice. We're already here."

Mello glances around the clinic.

"And you've built yourself quite a peaceful little life, Cathy. We wouldn't want to put an end to that."

"Your threats don't work on me."

Cathy slowly lowers her left hand beneath the desk. Her fingers move silently as specks of violet arcane energy begin gathering at her fingertips.

She carefully draws the scattered sparks together, concentrating on giving them a stable shape.

Mello's smile lingers.

"Hmm. Come to think of it, I wonder what tricks you can do."

He draws his pistol.

The Templars guarding the entrance immediately step inside, positioning themselves between Cathy's desk and the busy street. They draw their concealed pistols, keeping their weapons out of public view as they aim at her.

Her brown-amber eyes begin to glow with a subtle orange light.

Suddenly, Cathy springs from her chair, thrusting her left hand forward.

A hand-sized spear of violet arcane energy shoots from her fingertips.

It stops just inches from Mello's temple, hovering in midair.

The spear crackles and hums, its sharp tip pointed directly at his head. Cathy keeps her two fingers extended, concentrating on maintaining the spell's shape and position.

Mello studies the hovering projectile, his expression remaining calm.

"An offensive spell, conjured straight from your fingertips. No wand or staff."

His smile widens slightly.

"Quite impressive. You're exactly what we need."

He lowers his pistol, signaling his men to do the same.

Cathy points two fingers away from him. The arcane spear dissolves with a faint hiss, scattering into specks of violet light.

"You help us, we leave you alone, and you get to keep your peaceful little life," Mello offers.

Cathy lets out a long sigh.

The Templars know where she lives. They know what she is. And if they decide she poses a threat, they won't hesitate to eliminate her.

She has little choice.

"Fine. But you keep your word, Templar."

"We don't kill those who uphold the Secret Law, Cathy."

"Right."

Cathy removes her white doctor's coat and lays it over the back of her chair.

She then heads into the storage room.

The room is barely spacious enough for her to move around without bumping into the metal shelves.

Medicine bottles, pills, powders, and other medical supplies are neatly arranged along the shelves. Some are labeled in English, while others have handwritten Chinese characters taped onto them.

Among the ordinary supplies sit her witchcraft and shamanic tools, kept in plain sight.

Cathy reaches for a small medical bag beneath the shelves and places it on the counter.

She opens it and begins selecting what she needs.

A few paper talismans, several small bottles of prepared mixtures, a bundle of herbs, and her worn ritual notebook.

She pauses, looking over the shelves.

"Where did I put that thing?"

Cathy moves aside a box of medicine and finds a small wrist amulet tucked inside a wooden case.

"Ah, there you are."

She picks it up and examines the little purple ornament. Its surface is dull, showing no indication of anything supernatural.

Cathy fastens it around her left wrist.

The amulet is a simple magical instrument designed to respond to nearby arcane activity. Whenever a practitioner conducts magic, it reacts to the mana released, giving off a faint purple glow that points toward the source.

Nothing particularly extraordinary by her standards.

She checks the clasp, gives the amulet a little tug, and returns to packing.

"Are you finished?"

Mello's voice comes from the doorway.

Cathy turns toward him.

"A witch is ready precisely when she means to be."

Mello chuckles quietly.

She closes her bag and places it beside the door.

From a small wardrobe in the corner, Cathy takes out a dark collared blouse, a pair of black trousers, and a lightweight black blazer.

"If you'll excuse me."

"Of course."

Mello steps away from the doorway.

A few minutes later, Cathy emerges from the storage room, dressed in her dark civilian clothes. She straightens her collar, fastens her belt, and adjusts the loose strands of dark brown hair around her face. The rest of her hair remains tied in a low, slightly untidy bun.

Her white doctor's coat lies across the back of her chair.

She looks at it for a moment.

Just an hour ago, she was going about her ordinary work, wondering how to spend the rest of her afternoon.

Now she's preparing to hunt a Warlock with a group of Vatican Templars.

"What a wonderful day," she mutters.

She picks up her bag and heads toward the desk.

Mello waits near the entrance, watching her gather her keys and check the computer one last time.

"Anything else?"

"No."

Cathy turns off the monitor and places a handwritten notice on the entrance.

CLOSED FOR THE DAY.

She steps outside.

The afternoon heat has begun to fade, although the humid air still hangs heavily over the neighborhood. Cars move along the narrow street, pedestrians squeeze past one another, and the sounds of nearby shops fill the air.

Across the pavement, the old convenience store remains open.

Cathy glances toward it, then looks away.

She pulls down the clinic's metal shutter.

It rattles loudly as it descends, until the bottom strikes the pavement with a heavy clang.

Cathy locks it and slips the keys into her pocket.

Mello gestures toward a dark sedan parked along the curb, its three-pointed silver star gleaming on the hood.

One of his operatives opens the rear passenger door.

Cathy sighs and climbs into the back seat, placing her bag beside her.

Mello enters from the opposite side.

The operative closes the door and takes his place behind the wheel.

As the engine starts, Cathy looks through the window at her clinic, its shutters now closed against the busy street.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"To the old neighborhood."

Mello glances at the purple amulet around her left wrist.

Cathy folds her arms and turns toward the window.

The sedan pulls away from the curb, disappearing into the evening traffic.