Author's Note: Lovin' the love, darling readers. Apparently my numerous, variously corny, sometimes borderline facepalm-worthy blowjob jokes were appreciated. I try. Less flirting in this chapter, but more danger and action! Oh, yes, and references to an iconic eighties cult classic franchise that for all intents and purposes exists in the Fairy Tail universe (as it rightly should, because no universe is complete without Bill Murray).
2. Exorcising
Lisanna sat in the corner of the guild the next morning with the latest issue of Wizard Weekly and a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She was reading "Ten Easy Ways to Wear a Scarf," thinking of giving Natsu a makeover, when a shadow eclipsed the table and a hand slapped down on the glossy magazine, concealing much of the text. Lisanna scowled up at the perpetrator murderously—that was one of the most annoying things in the world—and wasn't surprised to see Bixlow grinning down at her.
"Can I help you?" she snapped, making a grab for her tea before he could molest that as well.
Unfortunately, her sudden movement only attracted his attention. He peered into the cup curiously, wrinkling his nose at the herbal scent. "What is that?"
"Tea."
"Isn't that a plant?"
"Yes, a plant that is used to make a beverage. A perfectly acceptable beverage that deserves no ridicule from the likes of you, considering the alcohol you drink is also manufactured from plants."
"But it's booze," Bixlow retorted, as though this excused the botanical origin of the drink. His babies chorused, "Booze! Booze!" with an extra dose of enthusiasm.
"Did you come over here to argue with me about tea and beer?" Lisanna inquired.
"Nope, I came over here to show you this." He reached into his backpack—which she just noticed was slung over his shoulder—and pulled out a round purple bottle with a narrow nozzle and a cork stopper.
Lisanna smiled. "The soul glass! It looks good."
"Damn right it does. I figured I'd show it off before I used it," he explained, tossing it into the air and catching it in his hand. This nonchalant risk didn't even faze Lisanna. After witnessing first-hand Bixlow's reflexes yesterday, she wasn't concerned about him dropping the fragile glassware.
"Oh, are you going on a mission?"
"Yeah, just a quick one. Some lady needs me to exorcise a ghost that's haunting her house or somethin'," Bixlow said. Lisanna couldn't tell, but she was willing to bet his eyes were rolling behind that visor.
"You're a ghostbuster now?"
"Yeah, but you can still call me any time."
"And it continues," Lisanna sighed. "When are you ever going to stop hitting on me?"
"When it stops entertaining me," Bixlow said with a wolfish grin. "Don't get your hopes up, babe. You're pretty entertaining."
"Hopes up! Hopes up!" the babies quipped.
"I'm flattered," said Lisanna dryly. "Don't you have a demon to exorcise, or something?"
"It's a restless spirit, not a demon," Bixlow said with surprising gravity, all joking gone from his demeanor.
Lisanna raised her eyebrows. "What's the difference?"
"Gray magic and black magic, that's the difference," Bixlow explained. "Seith magic is already somewhat frowned upon, especially human possession, which is what I practice. It's legal, but sometimes the lines are pretty blurred. Like my special eyes, for instance—I could probably get arrested for those. If people think I'm messin' with demons, things can get ugly for me fast. Demons are pure evil. Ghosts are just…troubled, that's all."
"Oh," Lisanna said. "I didn't know. Sorry."
Bixlow's grin returned, tongue flashing. "You can easily make up for your grievous error."
"Just take the apology and be happy with that," Lisanna huffed.
"Will you at least hear me out? Or d'you not want to see the soul glass in action?" He waved the purple bottle in front of her face by the nozzle. It didn't sparkle like most glass—it drank in the light like a shadow, causing a slight chill down Lisanna's spine.
"Are you asking me to come with you on your mission?" she said warily.
"I'm offering you the opportunity to observe one of the most renowned seith mages in Fiore," Bixlow corrected. "Free of pay, of course."
"Oh, of course."
"It's in Magnolia, and if what the request says is true, it might even be the spirit of an animal. I'm thinkin' a bear or a wolf, maybe. What d'you say?"
"Say, say, what d'you say?" the babies chanted.
Lisanna considered it for a moment. She didn't have anything planned for the day except for the magazine Bixlow was currently holding hostage, and it could be interesting to see an exorcism. "Alright, I'll go," she decided, standing up.
"Excellent," said Bixlow, his grin growing even wider. He put the soul glass back in his backpack and they headed out the door. Lisanna frowned and glanced behidn her as they left the guild. She noticed that everyone quickly looked away when they were caught staring, all except Mirajane over at the bar, who winked and gave her a thumbs up. Blushing, Lisanna ducked her head and picked up the pace to catch up with Bixlow.
The supposedly haunted house was just on the outskirts of Magnolia, closer the rim of the East Forest than to civilization. It wasn't the gargoyle-infested Gothic mansion or the dilapidated rambling Victorian Lisanna had come to associate with ectoplasmic beings thanks to the horror-movie industry. The house was small, clean, and functional, more of a cottage than anything else, with its thatch roof and lovely rock exterior. There was even one of those wooden wheels on the side that generated hydroelectric power, but it wasn't spinning.
Still, Lisanna wouldn't have been surprised if it was actually haunted. The cottage, though pleasantly quaint from a distance, exuded a sinister aura upon nearing. A murder of crows squawked from the thatch roof, using the straw as a comfortable roost. It was clear they'd been uninvited guests for some time—the stone walls and chimney of the cottage were frosted white with bird feces. There was a single window, broken and boarded up, and the cheerful blue paint on the door was peeling. It was clear that the cottage once boasted a window garden in addition to a hearty vegetable patch, but all vegetation had dried up and shriveled into black, skeletal carcasses. Even the grass was brown and dead. It crunched under their feet as they approached.
"This isn't creepy," Lisanna whispered sarcastically, following the tiki dolls' example and keeping close to Bixlow.
He peered down at her and grinned. "Tell me, are you the kind of girl who cuddles at scary movies?"
"I guess you'll find out. It looks to me like we're walking right into one."
"Just don't trip and fall if somethin' comes after us. I ain't stoppin' to help you up."
"That's not funny, Bixlow."
He stopped at the door and rapped his knuckles against it twice. Lisanna braced herself for a demented old crone with an eyepatch or missing limb to complete the picture, but the woman who answered the door seemed normal enough. She was on the elderly side, but she looked more like someone's favorite grandmother—the kind that served cookies and hot cocoa and always had an ample supply of candy in her purse. Her hair was silver-gray, cut in that short, slightly curled hair-do that all old ladies universally possessed at one point in their lives, and her crisp white apron was stained with grape jelly.
"Hello," she greeted them pleasantly. "You must be the mages from Fairy Tail."
"Yup. You the lady with the ghost?"
"It would seem so. I can't think of another explanation for all this." She gestured vaguely at their surroundings, looking troubled. "Please, come inside, have a seat. I just made thumb-print cookies!"
Bixlow squeezed into the cottage, followed by Lisanna and his babies. His size in relation to the furniture was almost comical. He barely fit in the small wooden chair, and his knees bumped the table. Lisanna stifled a giggle and sat next to him. The inside of the cottage was as gloomy as the outside suggested—everything was covered in a film of dust and cobwebs, the lamps flickered sporadically, and there were ominous gouges on the furniture. Bixlow fingered a deep scratch on the table, peeling off a splinter. "What happened here?"
"Oh, you know. Grandchildren," the woman joked. She brought over a platter piled high with round shortbread cookies with jam in the center. She set it on the table, not quite covering the damage, and pulled up a third chair. "Please, help yourselves. To be honest, I don't know where those scratches came from. I woke up one morning and they were there. It's the same with the crows—they started appearing one by one. They're fearless, too. They just peck at my scarecrows and ruin my roof. I can't even hang my clothes out to dry anymore, or they'll get soiled by those nasty things! After the crows came, my plants all started to die. I only grew enough for me, but I don't have a source of income, so it's difficult for me to go out and buy food. And all this dust…! No matter how much I clean, it always comes back the next morning."
"Comes with the territory," Bixlow assured. "Restless spirits attract crows and ravens because they're sensitive to the electromagnetic field that ghosts create. Same thing with the dust. The plants and scratches are probably caused by the ghost on purpose. It's pretty strong, but luckily it's not human."
"How do you know?" the woman asked curiously.
"Even as a spirit, things usually maintain their former capabilities and shapes," Bixlow explained. "These scratches were caused by claws. If it was a human, the damage would be something only a human can do. Knocking over furniture, breaking mirrors, et cetera. Humans also have more consciousness when they're spirits. They're not as easily confused. So they can easily pick up things, too, and use them for a specific purpose."
"Purpose, purpose!" the tiki dolls chirped.
"Well, I suppose that's a relief," the woman said, giving them a wary glance. "If I don't have a human ghost, what kind of ghost do I have?"
"Lookin' at the intensity of the affects, I'm guessin' a bear," Bixlow said. "Don't worry, you're not in any serious danger. It's more difficult for spirits to harm living things than it is for them to lash out on inanimate objects. That's why it's your furniture that's gettin' beat up. The bear was probably poached or something nearby and wandered to the closest human dwelling to retaliate."
"Oh, dear."
Bixlow stood up, his chair scraping the floor. "It won't take long. We'll exorcise it and get everything back to normal. Let's go, Lisanna."
She nodded and swallowed the five cookies she'd managed to shove in her mouth, following him out of the cottage. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of the crows and decay. "What now?"
"We figure out what's really goin' on," Bixlow said, frowning. "No freakin' bear spirit is strong enough to produce this kind of aura. It's somethin' else."
"Why did you tell her it was a bear spirit, then?"
"Because if it is what I think it is, Granny could be in danger if I tell her the truth." He glanced back at Lisanna. "You should probably skedaddle, too."
Lisanna scowled. "No way. This is our mission…even if I'm not getting paid."
"Don't worry," Bixlow remarked wryly. "I ain't either."
"You're…not?"
"Nope. People don't usually get paid for hobbies, do they? Besides, what kind of bastard takes money from a poor old lady?" Bixlow shook his head. "We're gettin' paid in cookies. That's all she could afford. And you already ate half my pay, damn you."
"Oops," Lisanna blushed.
"If you're not gonna go, at least put this on." Bixlow dug around in his backpack and pulled out a leather necklace with a bead of obsidian strung to it. "It'll protect you."
"Protect me from what?" Lisanna inquired, slipping it over her head.
"The demon," Bixlow said solemnly. His babies moaned, "Deeeemooon…deeeemooon…"
"Demon?! But I thought you said—"
"Yeah. I said. That was before we got here and I realized the lady's report was all wrong. In fact, there's no telling if she's even herself. She might be possessed."
"Possessed?" Lisanna squeaked, thinking of all the cookies she'd thoughtlessly consumed. The jelly on the old woman's apron suddenly seemed nefarious rather than inviting.
Bixlow laughed, tongue appearing. "Just kidding. It's not a demon, and she ain't possessed. Don't worry about her poisoning you with baked goods."
"Bixlow! That's not funny, you really had me worried for a second!"
"I know! You should've seen the look on your face!" he boomed. "Nah, my best guess is that it's the ghost of a mage. That's the only thing I can think of that would be able to cause those gouges and attract a miasma like this."
"The ghost of a mage?"
"Mhm. Happens more than you'd think. In fact, most ghost stories you hear about are actually the spirits of mages since they're more powerful than human spirits without magic. Sometimes they're beneficial and stay behind so they could continue to help people, so people just let them be or make money off of them. Other times, like this guy, they're not. He's probably a dark mage. Not a strong one, though. If he was, he'd be able to manifest himself."
"Take. That. Back."
Lisanna gasped and wheeled around, coming face-to-face with a man she hadn't realized was walking behind them. He was the old and decrepit man with the eyepatch that Lisanna had expected at the door. He was even missing a leg, which he'd replaced with a wooden peg. He scowled at them, his face as wrinkled and bitter as a raisin. Lisanna noticed something else—she could see the cottage through him. He was transparent.
He was the ghost.
"Ahoy, matey," Bixlow greeted, saluting the old mage.
"Don't mock me, boy," the ghost snarled. "You know good and well I'm no stinkin' pirate. Now take back what you said."
"I've said a lot in my lifetime. What, exactly, would you like me to take back?"
"That I'm not a strong mage. I manifested myself, didn't I? So take it back."
Bixlow seemed to consider it for a moment. "Sorry," he said eventually, "no refunds."
The old ghost grew enraged as the tiki dolls swirled around his head, repeating Bixlow's taunts like five wooden parrots. Some of the crows squawked, unnerved, and flew from the roof. "I'll show you who's stronger!" he roared. He raised his hands into the air, and his fingernails became long sharp claws. His uncovered eye glowed red and his teeth grew, too, becoming jagged and pointy. "I'll rip the wings off your back, damn fairy!"
He lunged at the dolls, who squealed and zipped out of reach. Lisanna gasped when one of them let out a genuine scream and spiraled to the ground, broken. "You see?" the old man chuckled, stomping on a piece of the doll. "I am strong. How many ghosts can do that?"
"Fair amount, actually," Bixlow shrugged. "My babies get chased by cat spirits all the time. I'd be really impressed if you came at me, but obviously you're too much of an old, dead fart."
That was the last straw for the insane mage. With a wordless cry he disappeared as suddenly as he'd come. Bixlow frowned, listening closely. Even his babies were perfectly still.
Lisanna shivered, feeling cold. The hairs on the back of her neck stood in attention. Something's not right here, she thought, looking around.
"You want me to attack a living someone to prove my strength? Fine, I will." Lisanna shrieked and covered her head with her arms as the ghost shot forward out of thin air, aiming his claws right for her neck. She felt a deep stinging sensation as the claws sliced her arms, followed by a numb, icy cold.
"Lisanna, get down!" Bixlow shouted. Lisanna dropped to the ground immediately, the prickly grass pressing against her face. She peeked through the hole in her arms as Bixlow whipped out the soul glass and undid the cork. The ghost screamed and tried to run away, but it couldn't resist the force of the enchanted bottle. Its screams died down to an echo. When there was no more sign of the spirit, Bixlow corked the purple glass and swirled it around a bit. He put it in his backpack and squatted down next to where she lay.
"You were goading him on purpose," she accused.
"Yeah. Granted, I was expecting him to attack me. That's usually how you've gotta get under their skin. Spirits have a one-track thought process. That one evidently died feeling powerless. How're your arms?"
Lisanna rolled over and stretched her hands toward the sky. Blood ran down her forearms from the four deep scratches that ran across them. Some of it dripped on her face, hot and sticky. "They hurt," she said quietly. "I thought you said this necklace was supposed to protect me?"
"It did," Bixlow answered. "Without it, your head would be rollin' around on the ground right now. I'll give him that—this spirit was pretty strong."
"Fun hobby," Lisanna muttered, putting her arms back down and wincing when pain shot though them all the way to her bones. It wasn't normal pain, either—there was a chill to it, like someone was stuffing ice cubes into her wounds.
Bixlow gently helped her to her feet, letting her lean against him even though her arms smeared his clothes with blood. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up. And then you can watch while I collect my payment."
