Night of Ill-Omens

That's an excellent question.

Unfortunate for myself, I can't seem to recall anything from back in my school days that can help answering it. The moment I learned I would never be able to use magic, the appeal it had in terms of educational value faded, alongside any desire to memorise any spell or whatever.

"How about a pain spell?" I suggest. "I seem to faintly recall something along those lines."

"Very brave of you, hehe."

I didn't answer and just gave my firmest smile.

Just as I prepare my body, Morgan brings her hand forward.

"No talisman or equipment?"

She shakes her head and opens her lips. "Don't worry," Morgan says. "Something like this is easy enough without it." A waft of air leaves her throat. It's preparation, I reckon. "Inflict pain."

Something akin to transparent gold circles around her right wrist. Two of them, maybe twice the thickness of her arm, float around it, rotating.

Here, I'd like to give a response. But I can't, well, not really. Hard to comment when you yourself aren't even sure if the spell is finished casting.

I sit there for a few seconds longer.

Then it hits me all at once.

There's a distinguishable pain throughout my body. Everywhere, from my legs to my heart to my head at once. It's annoying. Like being stabbed with a large needle, only worse, exemplified by it going into places where it shouldn't.

Apparently, it doesn't stop, either. Twenty seconds in and it's still going strong. From my observation, it seems as if Morgan's looking for a signal from me.

Naturally, I don't give it. My HP on my status remains the same.

Until I can confirm such a spell wouldn't hurt me to the point of damage, I won't relinquish myself. Better to test it with someone I trust than a random. So far, only thing I know is that my resistance doesn't nullify the effect of the spell. Not much to go off, to be honest.

"Amp it further." I give her my request.

"Sorry, that's the furthest I can go."

"Hm," I tell her, pondering over what we can test next. "So, what's next?"

She rummages in her place. "Um—sorry, that's it."

Silence befalls the two of us. No matter how you look at it, it really seems that she has nothing left. Shame.

It is pretty apt to say that it's my responsibility in this case. Could've told her to prepare something in advance, but me being me, I never stopped to think about it and instead now find myself in this entirely avoidable situation, no thanks to ignorance and lack of foresight.

Annoying. How could I be so stupid? A prime opportunity arrives, and I miss it like a complete moron. Fuck. What a nuisance.

"Camille. There's no reason to get annoyed over it. If you want, I can just go back home and be back in a bit." Morgan smiles and then looks outside through a distant window. Her eyes reflect a new notion I only now understand. It's getting late; to be more accurate, it's already midnight.

I think over the matter. Kingsville isn't exactly a dangerous place, especially for someone unimpressionable like her. Crime is relatively low by global standards. So, all things considered, Morgan could go home without anything to worry about.

As I examine her face, it comes to me that Morgan thinks likewise. Well, probably. She seems somewhat agreeable, to the extent that she isn't shuffling as much as just uncomfortably scratching the back of her head.

I stare at her in the meantime, staring as she prefaces by locking eyes with me, staring as she finally begins to speak.

"I know it's important to you that things have an explanation. But, well, it's getting quite late." Fair point. Everyone wants to prioritise a sense of security. "That, and well, um..."

Tracing off, Morgan shuts her eyes for a good two long seconds and slightly cocks her head. The implication in this situation doesn't get to me. Does she have something that's awkward to add? She's already justified her sense of perceived self-security, so what else?

To my surprise, instead of dragging it out to a neverending limbo of connotation and suggestion, Morgan takes two paces forward and says: "A bunch of people have died lately, you know?"

The sudden meaning of her statement is strange. Logically, she's implying that their deaths are due to something weird. Being afraid would be idiotic if it was due to a natural cause like old age.

If that's the case, then only one thing comes to mind.

"Murders?"

For whatever reason, the thought took some time for me to grasp. I recall seeing a headline related to it a while back. But, being the antisocial crude I was, I guess the concept of murder was pushed to the back of my mind. Hard for me to worry when the majority of my time is spent indoors.

I give it some time to process but soon come upon another revelation.

Hmm.

Murders.

Am I just too self-centred, or is there some correlation between these strange circumstances and my own? Strange happenings in a backwater town combined with an equally strange awakening of ability in my backwater self.

I don't want to chalk things up to fate. Nor chalk it up to some imaginary set of literary sense for that matter. Yet, I still can't shake the hesitation in my heart.

"You're contemplating whether your ability has something to do with these murders, right?"

Hah. The way she phrased it makes it seem like I went and did it myself. Honestly, I should probably be surprised. But, with all the time we spent together, such an outcome was pretty much expected.

Only so many ways a person's mind takes itself, innit?

"Definitely am. Too much of a coincidence if you ask me. Would be dumb if I didn't consider it." I say.

To which Morgan replies by chuckling. "Yeah, sorta like a story, right?"

I nod.

"Call me delusional, but I'd rather be overthinking it than anything else. Real life doesn't adhere to storytelling rules and elements, I'm aware. However, that isn't to say the correlation isn't there either. What if people are out there like me and getting abilities? Could explain the sudden rise in murders. Imagine a sadistic pervert getting an ability for one. Or something else along those lines. Am I making sense?"

It's not the most coherent thing I've said, I'm aware. Though, I like to believe that it was of somewhat sense.

Perhaps.

Unable to understand the effect of my possibly unintelligible rant, I wait.

"It's possible."

Morgan's face, changed by pensiveness, suggests some value to my statement. On the count of a second, Morgan takes out her phone. I wait for her to finish, allowing her some peace and quiet.

"No details are released on the suspect's bodies."

Hah.

So, I just might be right after all.

"Killer also seems to lack a modus operandi. You have men, women, and children of all ethnicities showing up dead."

How callous.

She's listing them off like groceries.

To Morgan, they probably are just that, to be fair.

People lacking in relevancy or interest to her being.

Neither one of us comment for some time.

Allowing the information to wash over us, we just stay put, no doubt considering the implication of it all.

I feel an uneasy tension in the air, a tugging, almost palpable sensation present between the both of us alike.

Ah, crap. Morgan's probably worried for me now. Maybe I should've just kept the thought locked up in that paranoid head of mine. Or maybe not. Still, I best take care of something I started.

I put the idea in her head after all.

Only right that I take it out.

Reaching out, I wrap my arm around Morgan's shoulders, tapping her back all the while.

I lean in close. "Hey." I smile. "No need to worry about old Camille here. Best case scenario, I get to beat the shit out of the dumbass who did this. Worst case, my degenerate ass dies off and ends up on the news."

"Hehe." she chuckles, caught between being unnerved and enjoying my awful sense of humour. "Well, for my sake, please don't die just yet. If you must, please, at least after I pass on."

"Don't worry." I console, confidently, considerately. "Dying's as far from my mind as the back of my shoe."