Against Devil

16 - Trip

I didn't know what was worse—freezing my ass off in wolf form or realizing I was dumb enough to follow Lizzy into what basically looked like a haunted snow-globe from hell.

We were hours in, slipping through forest and tundra, when she finally let us slow down. I flopped onto the ground, panting, snow sticking to my fur like nature's way of saying stay down, bitch. I shifted into human form with a hiss and yanked a towel from my pack, wrapping it around me like a war cloak.

"Three hours, Liz," I groaned, flopping back in the snow. "We've run for three hours, and I still don't see the mystical 'purpose' you dragged me into."

Lizzy, of course, looked barely winded. She tossed me a baggy t-shirt, all smug Luna energy. "Another hour."

I glared at her. "You said that an hour ago. You're like a motivational speaker for masochists."

We suited up—thermal pants, boots, coats. Real cozy until the wind punched me in the face with arctic fists. I trudged behind her like an underpaid intern on a death hike.

The further north we got, the more the trees gave up on life. Snow fell harder. The air bit deeper. And then—surprise!—a fence. Because apparently haunted ruins come with perimeter security.

"What the hell?" I muttered, breath fogging as I stared at the metal barrier like it had personally insulted me.

Lizzy found a rip in the fence. Of course she did. Golden girl's got built-in plot armor. She waved me over.

I slipped through the gap and immediately muttered, "Why does this place feel like Satan's Airbnb?"

"Maybe because it is," she replied, way too casually.

"Cool cool cool," I muttered. "So happy to be part of your emotional archaeology tour."

As we moved further, the woods thinned into a tundra so white and silent it felt like we were walking through someone else's dream. A bad one.

"You were joking about the cursed part, right?" I asked, voice too small in the open cold.

Lizzy didn't look back. "Witches were involved."

I stopped walking. "Oh my god."

By the time we reached the skeleton pinned to the wall with a metal arrow, I was so done. But I didn't say anything. Not even when my hand curled around Lizzy's arm just a little tighter.

I made jokes, sure. That's what I did. But the truth? This place felt wrong. Dead wrong.

As we walked through the ruins—burned homes, scattered bones, snow-covered sorrow—I didn't crack jokes. Not even one. Not until we saw the cliffside house.

"Nice. Home sweet home," I deadpanned. But even I couldn't force humor into the air. Not here.

I kept close behind Lizzy as we climbed the stairs—falling at least seven times and cursing every god who invented ice. The doors to the house were wide open like they'd been waiting.

And the moment we stepped inside, I felt it.

Something watching.

Something old.

I didn't see the grey figure Lizzy swore she saw, but I saw her face. The way her focus narrowed. She wasn't just guessing. Something was pulling her forward.

"You're telling me there's a ghost in here? Are you fucking nuts?" I hissed, my hand already on the knife in my boot.

She didn't answer. Just told me to stay close.