VIOLA POV


    The muffled sound of Jamal''s voice pulled me from sleep. I blinked on my belly, disoriented, as sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds. On a groan, I covered my face with the blanket, knowing that I had more than enough time before I had to go into work.


    Jamal always had early mornings.


    He spoke softly, and if I opened my eyes, I could bet he would be pacing near the window and sipping his coffee.


    "Yes, Uncle. I understand…” He waited, while his uncle talked and sleep avoided me. “No, of course…” I switched from my belly to my side and turned my face away from the window. “I''ll be there…" And his voice lowered, "The Morton account is in good hands. You can count on me."


    Giving up with the idea that I could sleep in, I stretched. The sheets clung to my bare skin, and Jamal said his farewells.


    When I sat up, I noticed that he was dressed in a crisp button-down and slacks and his shoulders were tense.


    I propped myself up on my elbows. "Morning, babe. Is everything okay?"


    Jamal''s shoulders sagged as he ran a hand over his shaved head. "It''s just work. George is breathing down my neck about the Morton deal and Fraden Saldana invited us to his Halloween Gala."


    My ears perked up at the name. "You mean Fraden Saldana the Tech Guru?” I was now sitting on the edge of the bed, suddenly wide awake and still naked with the sheets barely covering my body. “The guy who''s basically revolutionizing technology we use? The guy advancing technology for space travel and the same one who created the robotic limbs for soldiers who lost their limbs during combat? That Fraden Saldana?"


    Jamal nodded, seemingly lost in thought, his enthusiasm nowhere near matching mine. I couldn''t believe his nonchalance. "Holy shit, Jamal! That''s huge!"


    He nodded again, a hint of pride breaking through his stress. "Yeah, it''s a big deal. George says this could be the breakthrough we need for the law firm."


    "Well, damn," I grinned, already picturing myself rubbing elbows with the one percenters. Mentally, I was already sifting through all my options and dresses in my closet at home. "When is it? Where''s it happening?” I bounced a little on the edge of the bed.


    My fingers itched to grab my phone and start scrolling through online boutiques and pinterest boards. “I''m gonna need to go on a serious shopping spree." I started mentally tallying up my bank account, wondering if I could swing a designer dress. "Do you think Maria would come shopping with me? I''m gonna need backup for this level of glam.”


    Maria was his Uncle’s legal secretary for over twelve years and I know she likes me or pretends too. It was his uncle George, that I would say for certain has a problem with me.


    Standing up now, I was naked. I didn’t care and I know for certain that Jamal wouldn’t care. “Oh! And shoes! I''ll need new shoes.” Walking toward him, every inch of me was vibing with excitement. “And probably a clutch. And jewelry..."


    I trailed off, noticing Jamal''s expression tightened. He looked at me, but only for a second before his gaze dropped to his coffee. He shifted awkwardly on his legs, as he drummed his fingers nervously on the coffee mug.


    "Hey, what''s with the face?” I asked. “This is huge, babe! You should be excited!"


    "Actually, Viola…" Jamal began, his voice strained.


    "It''s okay if Maria can''t shop with me," I assumed, waving him off. "She''ll be busy, and I totally get it."


    Jamal swallowed hard, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder. "That''s not it. It''s just..."


    A knot of anxiety pooled in my stomach. "What is it? If your uncle is worried because of last time, I promise to not spit out the caviar into a napkin. In fact, I won''t eat anything that I can''t pronounce or looks like shi-"


    "You''re not invited."


    His words slapped me across the face.


    I blinked, sure I had misheard. "What?"


    Jamal finally met my eyes, but his gaze flickered away almost immediately. His fingers tightened around the handle of his coffee mug as if it was the only thing anchoring him in place. He shifted from one foot to the other.


    “George… he doesn’t want you to come,” he said, his voice barely louder than a murmur. Jamal’s jaw clenched, before continuing. “He says it needs to be all business… no distractions.”


    I stood there, naked and feeling exposed and cold. My excitement curdled into something bitter. "No distractions? Right. Don’t bring your girlfriend who shops at discount stores and rocks fake designer bags.”


    Jamal set down his coffee mug, raking a hand through his hair. “Viola, it’s not like that—”


    “It’s exactly like that.” The words flew out, hot and sharp. “I’m not polished enough for your pretentious uncle and his tech buddy.”


    “Vee you know how my uncle is.”


    I stormed over to my clothes, yanking them on like I was ripping them apart. “So now I’m just an embarrassment to you?”


    This wasn’t just about the gala. It was about me, about who I was becoming. Could I really accept a life where I always came second—where my voice didn''t matter? Where my boyfriend didn’t want to stand up for me?


    “No, and I didn’t say that.” Jamal followed behind me.


    I yanked on my skirt, struggling with the zipper at the back. "Then why didn''t you fight for me? Or stand up for yourself and demand that George respect you and who you want to date?"


    Jamal went to help me, and I stepped forward and away from his touch. "My uncle''s an ass, you know this. He climbed his way to the top and has never looked back."


    I whirled on him, while pulling my crop top over my chest. “And now you’re clawing your way to the top and doing the exact same thing.”


    He flinched, taking a step back. "That''s not fair, Viola. You know how important this is for my career."


    I laughed bitterly, grabbing my purse and brushing past him, leaving the bedroom for the living area. "Right, your precious career. God forbid your girlfriend get in the way of that." I headed straight for the front door and yanked on my leather heeled boots.


    Jamal moved near the door. "Please, can we talk about this? You know my uncle and he''s a stickler for first impressions…"


    My eyes narrowed on him for his choice of words, “Wow.”


    “Shit, you know that’s not what I meant.”


    "You know what? Fuck you, Jamal. And fuck George too." I flipped him off as I stormed out of his apartment.


    Tears pricked my eyes as he called after me. I made the mistake of glancing back and found him standing frozen in the doorway, the tension in his face betrayed more than his words ever could. I stilled, maybe hoping Jamal would tell me to stay and he’ll call his uncle.


    The silence stretched between us like a rubber band, ready to snap at any moment. My pulse pounded in my ears and I could almost taste the bitterness of the coffee still on his breath as he stood there, not saying anything, not fighting for me.


    Say something, I urged mentally.


    Nothing, only deafening silence and wiping at the fallen tears, I stepped back and turned around, hurrying down the hallway. Jamal wouldn''t chase me—that would make him late for work. God forbid he shows up late for work, because our relationship was on the verge of collapsing. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Was this where we were headed? I wondered, suddenly unsure. George had no problem always putting Jamal in situations where he had to choose between me and the latest carrot his uncle dangled in front of him.


    This was why I chose Jamal, wasn’t it? He had a plan—stable, predictable, everything I wasn’t. I used to admire that about him. Now? Now it felt like every step he took was just another one over me. Each time, a little closer to something better, something that didn’t include me.


    I avoided the elevator, heading straight for the stairs. Four flights down, each step punctuated by a curse under my breath. George would never get used to the idea of Jamal and me being together. Here we were—a year and a half later, and every so often Jamal talked about marriage, kids, a home. A future.


    Damn it. I didn’t want to stand in the way of his work or family. Surely, that didn’t make him a bad guy. Did it?


    Was I being the bitch? The more I thought about it, the tighter my chest became.


    The more I thought about how his uncle dismissed me, how Jamal let it happen. A buzzing began at the edges of my mind, a pressure I couldn’t explain. The air around me felt thicker, heavier, like the world was bracing for something I couldn’t see coming.


    And then it hit me.


    Everything blurred and shifted. My vision tunneled, and I was no longer seeing the stairwell. Instead, an ancient cathedral materialized before me, its weathered sandstone facade adorned with Gothic tracery and flying buttresses. Stained glass windows caught ethereal light, and carved wooden doors stood slightly ajar, beckoning.


    My perspective zoomed through walls and floors, past rows of books with faded spines and gilt lettering. Painted pictures of women and men. It plunged deeper, through the musty basement and layers of earth, until—there he was.


    A man, shirtless and chained.


    Suffering in a cavern deep beneath the building. His pain radiated through my entire being.


    As quickly as it appeared, the vision vanished. I gasped, finding myself outside Jamal''s apartment building, my hand braced against the rough brick wall. My heart pounded as I struggled to catch my breath, the memory of the chained man lingering like a weight I couldn''t shake.


    The cool autumn air nipped at my skin, sharp and crisp. It swirled around me, tugging at my hair and clothes, a stark contrast to the heat still simmering inside me from the vision. Each breath of the chilled air felt raw, grounding me, but at the same time, it whispered of change—unpredictable and inevitable, just like the shifting seasons.


    "Viola!" Jamal''s voice cut through my disorientation. I looked up, squinting against the morning sun. He leaned over his balcony, gripping the railing. "Tonight, I''ll make it up to you! We can talk about this. I promise!"


    I shook my head, not at Jamal, but the vision clung to me, heavy and suffocating.


    Was I losing my mind? Or was it something deeper—something more? Could it be my magik, stirring after years of silence.


    Without responding, I pushed off the wall and kept walking. The memory of the chained man rooted deeply, heavy and unshakable.


    Why was I seeing him?


    As I walked, the anger drained, leaving behind an empty ache.


    What the hell is wrong with me? Jamal wasn’t to blame—his uncle was the asshole. But he didn’t fight for me, not even once. And this wasn’t the first time.


    The sidewalk wavered beneath my feet as I staggered away from Jamal''s building, his silence still rang in my ears. Morning light cut harsh shadows across the concrete, making me feel exposed and insignificant.


    The man in chains flickered through my mind again—bloody, desperate, calling to something inside me. My skin hummed with an energy I couldn''t explain, couldn''t control, and home felt like a cage I couldn''t bear to return to.


    A bus growled to a stop nearby, its brakes hissing like a beckoning whisper. Fate or coincidence, it was headed exactly where I needed to go.


    My heart thundered as I climbed aboard. I was really doing this—chasing visions and voices like a madwoman. But anything was better than drowning in the suffocating reality of my life.


    Sinking into a seat, I watched Toronto blur past the grimy windows.


    Twenty minutes later, I found myself walking through the community center doors, the smell of old books and cleaning supplies filling my nose.


    Inside, I made a beeline for the computer lab. My fingers flew over the keyboard as I searched for images that matched what I''d seen in my vision.


    The soaring spires piercing the sky. The heavy wooden doors, carved with scenes of saints and sinners, stood slightly ajar, as if telling a story and beckoning me into the past. Above the door, there was a symbol that I recall and the rows of books inside—it had to be a library.


    But which one? Where?


    I Googled what I had seen, pairing with the term ‘Library’ ‘Gothic’ because of my vision. No results populated with what I had seen, and it wasn’t until I typed in the symbol I saw over the door and described it: Narrow triangle pointed downward with a y-shaped portion cut out of the center was when I finally found the library in my search.


    Phantombrook. I stared at the name on the screen. Something about it tugged at me, pulling harder than I expected. I didn’t even hesitate. I had to go.


    As I scrolled through countless images of the library and what seemed more like a town than a city, I pulled out my phone and dialed Emery''s number. She picked up on the third ring, her voice a mix of grogginess and irritation.


    "This better be good, Vee. It''s ass o''clock in the morning."


    I couldn''t help but smile. "Em, I need a favor," I said, not bothering with a greeting. "Can you cover my shifts at work?"


    There was a pause, then a shuffling sound. I could picture her sitting up in bed, her wild hair probably a mess around her shoulders and face. "What are you talking about? Where are you going?"


    I took a deep breath. "Something''s come up. I need to... travel." I clicked on the website link and browsed the pages.


    “How long?”


    "I don''t know," I shrugged.


    "That''s sketchy as hell," Emery said, her voice sharpening with that no-nonsense tone she used when she thought I was about to do something stupid. "Are you going away with Jamal?"


    “No.”


    "Vee, you write columns. I do spell work for clients. They''re not the same thing."


    “And?”


    "And correct me if I''m wrong," She continued, "But don''t you have an article coming up called ''How to Enthrall a Vampyr in 10 Nights''? Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?"


    I couldn''t help but laugh. "Look, I know it''s a lot to ask, but—"


    "Where are you going?" Emery cut me off, her tone softening just a bit.


    "Phantombrook," I told her, my eyes still scanning the computer screen.


    "Where in the hell is that? It sounds made up."


    I paused, realizing I wasn''t entirely sure myself. As the question settled between us, I quickly googled the location and distance. “A car ride is three hours further east of Toronto.” But I don’t have a car, and I have to take the transit so that was going to be a little over a five hour bus ride.


    There was a long pause on the other end. I knew Emery was probably rubbing the back of her neck right now, a tic she''d developed while helping me study in high school.


    Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But are you going to tell me what is going on?"


    I hesitated, not sure how to explain something I barely understood myself. "Not until I figure some things out."


    “Fine. But for every article that I have to write, you owe me. Big time."


    "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Relief flooded through me. "I promise I''ll make it up to you."


    As I ended the call, my eyes drifted back to the computer screen. On the About page, a phrase jumped out at me: "Originally established by the historic Saldana family of Phantombrook."


    Saldana. That was Jamal’s potential client’s surname, Fraden Saldana.


    I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing.


    Obviously, it couldn''t be connected because there were many people with that surname, including a popular actress. But being a witch myself, I barely believed in coincidence.


    If someone were open enough to see signs in life, in numbers and astrology, they would realize that the universe was constantly trying to tell them something. Sometimes people say things to you, confirming your thoughts and suspicions.


    Signs were everywhere, if you knew how and where to look.


    Maybe it was nothing—a random connection I was forcing. But my gut said otherwise. The vision, the library, the Saldana name—it all fit too perfectly to be a coincidence.


    I drummed my fingers on the desk, weighing my options. I could ignore this, go home, and later patch things up with Jamal.


    Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened a new tab and started looking up bus trips to Phantombrook.


    I was choosing to follow this thread, see where it led me.


    Whatever was going on, whatever these visions meant, I had a feeling the answers were waiting for me at that library.


    As I booked my ticket, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirled in my stomach. No matter what happens or how this turns out, maybe a new environment would help clear my mind with what I should do with my relationship.


    Maybe I needed this mystery—a break from my routine.


    I’d spent years pretending my magik didn’t matter—telling myself I was fine being basic. But this morning seemed like the final straw, with Jamal’s uncle brushing me aside for the hundredth time and these visions creeping into my mind, I couldn’t ignore the truth.


    I wasn’t fine.


    I wasn’t enough—not for Jamal, not for myself.


    The man in chains wasn’t just a vision—it was something more, a message…maybe. And it terrified me, yet, I hit ''confirm'' on my ticket purchase for this afternoon.


    A surge of something I hadn''t experienced in a long time: hope. Hope that there was more to my life than this. Hope that I could be more than Jamal''s embarrassing girlfriend or the witch with underwhelming powers.


    The need to prove to myself—and everyone else—that I was capable of more than just spitting out caviar at fancy parties.


    At the end of the day, something was drawing me to Phantombrook and at the very least, it would be different. And right now, different was exactly what I needed to cling to.