“Are we sure Top Hat isn’t a ghost?” Gizmo’s captor muttered to herself, looking past it to the large silver-stained mirror where dark red letters hung. It squinted halfheartedly, trying to determine the writing, but even for all of the knowledge it possessed, and the thousands of languages it could effortlessly translate, the mortal exorcist’s spells held fast. “Really, such a creature. This is getting rather unreasonable!” She broke off into some garbled muttering it couldn’t hear, rubbing her hands together anxiously as they stared together at the ghost trap.
“Come, Gizmo, come, come. This will not do. I have not spent over a decade at this squalid building to be foiled by one mere spirit. Really, the board should consider taking my license if I can’t catch a mere ghost.” Maggie nodded firmly at it, and it nodded back, forced to follow as the command took hold. The spell caught at some part of its existence, even bound as it was to this form, a mere housecat. Why, at least Ahpuch was trapped in the form of a flying creature.
This form, weak as it was, did have some uses, however. As it followed the captor, it spent its time gazing over the apartment complex, watching the others who’d come to escape their persecution and torment. A Saytar dressed in a rather unbecoming suit leapt out of its captor’s way, while several Hajit whispered to themselves as its captor rolled her eyes at them. Even as trapped as it was, these lesser creatures knew not to mess with it. It bared fangs at the Saytar, and the being darted away.
“You always do this, Gizmo,” Maggie scolded it. “Stop scaring our dear neighbors; they don’t deserve that.” It rolled its eyes, but knew better than to push its luck. A cat was much better than what Inama was trapped as, a mere fish. It had considered dispatching its former colleague, but … there was some small pleasure to be held in watching the fat goldfish struggle to swim in small circles.
Unfortunately, not all were as respectful towards it as the saytars. A dokkaebi, wearing the form of a wizened old man, smiled as it hobbled towards Maggie, ignoring the beauty of it. It hissed, and the man nodded at it, before looking back towards its captor.
“I saw the words. Another silver trap? Surely you know that wouldn’t have worked, Maggie. Are you perhaps giving up?” he asked, a small smile on his weathered face.
“I’m not giving up. Oh, a pox on it all. Top Hat isn’t a normal ghost, you know that. He … it … it’s downright intelligent; made too many friends, that’s what. Why, if it weren’t for The One, I’d have captured that ghost within days! Days, I tell you!” Maggie grumbled. The dokkaebi chuckled nervously, knocking on the wall with the palm of his hand.
“Well, I can’t disagree with you there. A class 1 exorcist should clearly be able to defeat a ghost.” The dokkaebi smiled politely. “But, I figured I should offer you some help, because Top Hat has been, ahh … skimping on my kimchi orders. They’ve been off by 30 grams these past few weeks.”
“You’ve been taking bribes from that ghost too? Who in this damned apartment isn’t friends with this ghost?” Maggie looked mystified.
It looked at its captor and smirked. Maggie looked down at it and frowned.
“Oh quiet, you. I don’t need your sass.” The dokkaebi smiled pleasantly, watching them.
“Top Hat’s rather charismatic when he wants to be.” The dokkaebi smiled guiltily. “But, I have fortunately found a new kimchi supplier. And well … I’m sure you know of the whole housing situation, correct?” Maggie nodded. “Well, it appears that rumors are going on about a kidnapping plot with the mouse boy, Zander.
“Zander? Zander isn’t a — wait … a kidnapping plot?” Maggie frowned. “Why in the world would Top Hat want Zander? He’s not into terrible music.” It frowned at its captor. Despite Zander’s lack of any sign of intelligence, he could play some decent music. Very horror-esque. Plus, if pressed, Zander was the only one who was stupid enough to dare pet it. When it escaped, for it was a when and not an if, Zander might be spared for this treatment. One didn’t kill the unintelligent when culling the flock.
“I’ll say; that racket keeps me up at night.” The dokkaebi frowned, wincing at the mere memory of the music. It nodded happily; yes, Zander wouldn’t be killed when it escaped. The mortal would be kept as a bard. One always needed a musician when ruling over a hellscape. “But yes. The Lucifer’s Angels apparently realized that Zander’s got some money. Figured they’d be able to get it from him if they trapped him.”
Maggie’s eyes lit up. Her smile tightened as she grabbed it by the scruff. It huffed at the mistreatment, allowing itself a second to relax at the thought of that music. Very loud, all out of tune, with different pitches and cadences. Yes, pure hell. One could be reminded of home upon hearing it.
“Gizmo,” Maggie hissed. It felt its fur lift as it turned slowly to watch the exorcist close a wrinkled old hand around its head. “Search!”
It yowled as the ancient spell coursed through muscles, tendons, ligaments racing through its bloodstream as the energy rippled through the physical being like lightning. Maggie watched to make sure the enchantment had run its course, and then nodded to it, letting it drop to the ground, before turning back to talk to the dokkaebi.
It huffed as it plodded down the hallways. Now, where to start? The long-held instinct to try and escape forced a burning wave through its feline skull, as it yowled, trying to shake the curse off. It had to go somewhere; might as well go to Zander’s. If the mortal was there, at least he would pet it. Its tail puffed up at the thought and the curse dissipated, leaving just a headache behind.
Zander was three floors down from where they were now, on the main floor, and it huffed as it made for the stairs. Just because it had traumatized a phoenix one time, that didn’t mean it should’ve been stuck walking down like a plebian. Grumbling, it glared at a lone centaur, struggling to walk upstairs. It watched with murderous glee, pondering on how best to knock the creature down, before the curse reminded it abruptly of its job with yet another headache.
As it made its way to Zander’s floor, grumbling at the humility, it noticed a noxious smell. Someone had messed up making their gouda; really, it should’ve been eaten years ago. Making a split-second decision, it decided to follow the scent. After all, hadn’t that dokaebbi thought Zander was a mouseboy?
The scent led past Zander’s room and into the old ballroom’s closet, which lay open, revealing several pounds of rather unappealing cheese, a rather large cardboard box held above, by rope. It smirked, as it spotted a rather distinctive top hat. Well, well, well, what did he have here?