Janelle Chevalier

4. Lady Ceren

Artefact Shop

Bradford stayed in the shop some minutes later after the stranger, Bates, had left, pondering on what had just occurred. He never thought he would live until the day someone would ask him for a Shamanic weapon, and to ask specifically for a Conjuring weapon. It felt like his mind was full of fog; his murkiest thoughts chose that moment to swirl around—he shivered—and started to give him that uncanny feeling of being watched.

He looked around his shop anxiously, waiting for that moment when one of the artefacts would jump at him and claw out his eyes for merely glancing at their marvellous shine. He let out a long, tired sigh; he was being paranoid and that was exactly why he hated the idea that Shamans existed. The root of all evil, his father would say. His great grandfather had fought in the Great War of Gwelnasyer and lived to tell the tale. Shamans, with the help of spirits and other-worldly nightmarish creatures, beheaded and gutted the greatest of men and women, the children weren't excepted from the horror they bestowed upon anyone who went against them.

His body went into a full quiver, his heart beat rapidly, and he was sure that his skin was cold and clammy. He shook his head in hopes of getting rid of those blood-curdling thoughts, and in seconds, he had his keys in his hands and was out of the shop before he started hyperventilating inside.

Once he was outside, the cool, crisp air of London greeted him. It gave him relief, felt good against his sticky skin. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to throw away any fears; unnerving and appalling. When he was calm enough to start walking without shaking, he headed home.

✽

Bradford's Residence

The smell of cookies hit him full force when he opened the door to his apartment, making him smile absentmindedly. "I'm home," he called out, and not two seconds later, he was trying to balance two blond-haired toddlers on his arms.

"Daddy!" One of them hiccuped in happiness, hugging her father's neck tightly. "You are late," she pulled back to pout at him.

"Sorry, Angie, Daddy had work," he playfully pushed his nose at hers. She laughed heartedly before squirming around in his arms to be let down on the ground so she could continue playing.

The other toddler chose that moment when Bradford was closest to the floor to climb on his father's back.

"Will, no, you're too heavy now," Bradford wheezed out, straightening his back a little to give his son a better position. "Have you been nice today?"

"Yes!" He shouted proudly. "Mum is making cookies!"

Bradford smiled. "I figured, the smell is too sweet to ignore."

At that moment, a tall, slightly overweight blonde woman walked out from behind the wall. The simple pink apron on her baby blue pyjamas made his smile grow.

"Charles," she smiled widely and went over to her husband to give him a quick kiss on his cheek. "What gives? You always come back earlier than that."

Bradford took a moment to look at his wife—his beautiful wife—and then sniffed at her, trying to get much of her scent as possible. He was drunkenly in love with her. Remembering that she asked him a question, he shook his head but couldn't shake off the smile plastered on his face even though what he was about to say would bring back the daunting thoughts he was trying to get rid off. But the presence of his wife reassured him that nothing was wrong.

"I was about to close the shop when this, well, peculiar person entered," he answered and looked away. He felt more than saw his wife coming closer to him. She took the now silent Will off of her husband's back and signalled him to go to his room with his sister.