Under His Spell

26. Songs of A Magician

Strings Attached

Den stepped out of the police station, the early evening sun casting long shadows across the pavement. She looked disheveled, her blouse wrinkled and hair tousled, but there was a familiar sparkle in her eye that had always drawn Eno in. As she emerged, she spotted Eno waiting, his expression a mix of relief and worry.

"Eno!" Den called, her voice a mix of joy and feigned exhaustion. "You won't believe what I went through in there! Tortured, I tell you! They were ambushing me, under Detective Ret's orders. They had it out for me the whole time!"

Eno felt a chill run down his spine at the mention of Ret, the detective who had seemingly become a specter in their lives. He approached Den, taking in the sight of her; there were fresh bruises on her arms and a slight cut on her cheek that hadn't been there before. "Den, what happened?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Oh, it's just the usual harassment," Den said with a wave of her hand, brushing off Eno's concern. "You know how these things go. They can't handle a little magic, I suppose."

Den smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Eno felt an uneasy sensation, as if the air between them crackled with unspoken words. "Let's get you cleaned up," Eno suggested, taking Den's arm and leading her toward their home.

Once inside, Eno carefully tended to Den's wounds. As he dabbed antiseptic on the cut, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, avoiding eye contact, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Den chuckled lightly, a sound that felt more forced than genuine. "It's nothing I can't handle, really. Just a little misunderstanding. They thought they could get me to confess to things I'd never do."

Eno's hands paused, and he looked up, studying Den's face for any signs of truth. "Confess to what? You didn't..."

"Of course not!" Den interrupted, a hint of irritation creeping into her tone. "I'm innocent, Eno. You have to believe me. But they can be relentless. It was like they were trying to break me."

As she spoke, a flicker of something dark passed through her eyes, and Eno felt the air grow heavy. He finished bandaging Den's cut, then turned to face her fully. "You're not hurt anywhere else, are you?"

Den laughed, a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet room. "Oh, you'd be surprised what I can endure."

"Den..."

"It's all part of the act, my dear," she said, her tone lightening as she put on a grin that didn't quite mask the tension beneath. "Just a few self-inflicted wounds, really. No big deal."

Eno's heart sank as he processed Den's words. "You mean... you did this to yourself?" He felt a mixture of confusion and concern.

"Just a bit of theatrics," Den replied, a nonchalant wave of her hand dismissing the gravity of the situation. "To make it seem like I was actually suffering. You know how it is, keep the audience guessing."

Eno felt a knot form in his stomach. "You hurt yourself... to make a point? What point, Den?"

Den stepped closer, her eyes sparkling with a manic energy that sent shivers down Eno's spine. "To show them I'm not afraid! I'm the master of my own magic! I can control everything! Even the narrative of my own suffering!"

Eno held his breath, feeling the weight of Den's words settle between them like a thick fog. "You've always had a way with words," he said slowly, searching Den's eyes for a flicker of truth. "Any more victims of your love other than myself?"

Den's demeanor shifted, the playfulness replaced with something darker. "What are you asking, Eno?" she replied, her voice low and almost threatening.

"Have you controlled anyone besides me?" Eno pressed, feeling a mix of fear and resolve.

Den's smile faltered, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face before it was replaced with the practiced charm. "You really think I would hurt anyone who didn't deserve it? I'm an artist, Eno. Sometimes the canvas has to bleed to create something beautiful."

Eno took a step back, shaking his head. "You're not an artist; you're a madman."

Den's gaze hardened, and for a moment, the magician's facade slipped, revealing a glimpse of the woman behind the tricks, someone darker and more complex than Eno had ever wanted to admit. "Madman or not, I control the narrative here. And you, my dear, are the centerpiece of my greatest illusion. I thought I came clean with that already."

The weight of Den's words hung in the air, a heavy blanket of uncertainty that smothered Eno's resolve. As the tension between them thickened, Eno realized that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Would he confront the truth of who Den really was, or would he allow himself to be swept away in the enchanting whirlwind of his manipulations?

Eno took a deep breath, staring into Den's eyes, and steeled himself. "You are exhausting."

Den's expression shifted once more, a mix of surprise and a hint of something darker, a flicker of anger that made Eno's heart race. "You're tired of me."

"Yes," Eno replied firmly. "I am not your magic trick, Den. I'm a person like you. I will never stop fighting you."

"Yet you defended me. Deny me all you want, but you love me just as much as I love you."

Eno chucked. "Still a madwoman."