VIOLA POV

The bass thumped through my veins as I spun and laughed with Emery and Kaylee, lost in the flashing lights. Just another Friday night in Toronto—drink, forget, and do it all again tomorrow. The thrill had dulled but what else did I have?

Suddenly, Kaylee stumbled, clutching her belly. The neon lights flashed around us, and bodies continued moving with the rhythm of the music. 

“I don’t feel so good,” she mumbled, clutching her stomach.

Emery and I stopped dancing, and my friend rolled her eyes. “That’s what happens when you keep accepting drinks from random guys. You know vodka makes you sick.”

“You can’t be allergic to alcohol!” Kaylee protested weakly and then she ran a hand across her temples and through her brown waves. 

Emery sighed, exasperated, and glanced at me. 

I shrugged and reminded her. “Last weekend, I was holding her hair.” Because Kaylee can’t ever hold her liquor, and she can’t say no to free drinks either, the night was bound to end in disaster.

Grabbing Kaylee’s arm, Emery pursed her lips. “Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

Left alone, the music pulsed around me. The heavy beat vibrated in my chest as bodies crowded the dance floor. A sea of swaying hips and raised arms, lost in the rhythm. I’d been dancing for what felt like hours, the bass pushing me deeper into a heady haze. My skin glistened with sweat, but I didn’t care. 

The lights seemed to flicker more than usual, casting long shadows that danced along the walls. For a moment, the music became a muffled echo in my ears, as if I were hearing it from underwater.

Then, beneath the music, I thought I heard it—faint—the clink of chains. 

For a moment, I froze, as the pounding bass drowned out every other sound around me. Bodies brushed against mine, and I shook it off, convincing myself it was nothing, and kept moving, letting the music swallow me again.

I closed my eyes, swaying and moving my body. The world faded into nothing but sound and sensation. For a moment, I felt free. No expectations. No magik. Just the beat. 

Then, I heard it—faint whispers in an ancient language, beneath the thrum of the music. Weaving in and out of the lyrics, each word like cold fingers trailing down my spine. The lights seemed too bright, the crowd too close, the air too thick to breathe.

Long forgotten words in Latin—the language every witch, young or old, learns for spells and incantations, one of the oldest tongues known to mankind.

I hesitated, my movements faltering because we were in a normal human club and maybe I was hearing things.

As the beat pulled me back, the whispers faded and almost immediately, out of nowhere, I felt him. A body pressed up behind me—solid. His chest was hot against my back, his breath close to my neck. The stranger’s hands found my hips, pulling me into his rhythm. 

My body responded, and I moved with him, our bodies in sync. His hands tightened on my hips as we fell into a slow grind, every movement deliberate and intense. 

Every inch of me tingled with awareness and I didn’t turn to see his face; I didn’t need to. I didn’t care. The music wrapped around us, drowning out everything but the electric friction of our bodies moving together.

Other dancers pressed in close, but they faded into the background. The strangers fingers brushed the bare skin just under the hem of my shirt. The sensation shot straight to my core, and I felt the rush of desire build. I bit my lip, eyes still closed, giving myself over to the moment.

But as the song reached its peak and the beat changed, I suddenly remembered myself. My chest heaved, heart pounding from more than just the dance. I needed air.

I tried to step away, ready for a break. But his grip tightened.

“Hey, come on,” He said, pulling me closer and I froze. “One more dance.”

I turned my head slightly to catch a glimpse of the guy without fully pulling away.

“No thanks,” I said firmly, though my words came out a bit slurred, and I expected his hands to fall away from my arm.

They didn’t and I still needed that fresh air because now the club felt stifling, sweat making my clothes cling to me.

“I’ll buy you a drink,” He offered and I accepted only because I wanted more alcohol and I wasn’t like Kaylee. I could handle my liquor without puking it back up.

At the bar, he offered small talk and I played along as his hands settled on my lower back. We pushed our way through the crowd, slipping between the bodies with ease. The stranger’s hands had no choice but to fall away.

When the bartender finally noticed us, I flashed the guy my pretty smile. “Four shots of tequila, and a rum and coke” I said, my voice carrying over the noise. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure you can handle that?” he asked

“It’s for both of us,” said the stranger behind me. 

“What he said,” I pointed behind me, and let a slow, playful smile spread across my face as I held the bartender’s gaze.

I let a few dark curls slip across my cheek, tilting my head just so. The bartender’s gaze lingered a heartbeat too long as I toyed with the silver ring on my index finger. 

The bartender disappeared to get our order, and though focused on mixing drinks down the bar, I caught how his eyes would flick in my direction between orders.

The stranger behind me prattled on about his job construction and I let the conversation flow. The stranger hung on my every word, clearly smitten. I played along, enjoying the attention knowing full well nothing was going to happen. Not even another dance.

When our drinks arrived, I raised my shot glass with a wink. “Cheers…” I said and we knocked back the shots back to back. 

As the stranger fumbled for his wallet, I snagged my rum and coke from the bar. “Thanks for the drinks,” I said, flashing him a smile that promised everything and nothing at the same time. 

Then, quick as a shadow, I slipped into the crowd, leaving him in my wake and hollering after me. It was a game I knew well – appear, captivate, disappear. As I weaved through the mass of bodies, drink in hand, I felt myself wavering, just slightly but I controlled my footing.

“Come on, Viola,” I muttered, trying to focus through the haze of alcohol. “You can do this.” I thought of my home. My tiny apartment – the worn couch, the overflowing bookshelf, the chipped mug still sitting on the coffee table from this morning. 

Warmth tingled in my fingertips as I whispered the incantation, my voice barely audible over the city noise. “Domum reditus, iter breve.”

Translation: The return home is a short journey.

Damn it. On A curse, the music hadn’t faded, and it was the same crowd of partiers stumbling past me. I was still right where I started.

Of course it didn’t work as I had expected. 

My pathetic excuse for magik never did anything useful.

Finally bursting out onto the sidewalk. The bustling sounds of downtown Toronto surrounded me and the cool night air was a blessing on my overheated skin. Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself, but out here the world started to spin far worse than inside.

Laughter and chatter filled the air, mixed with the occasional car horn. Before I knew it, I crashed into someone, my drink slipping from my hand. 

A splash, a shriek, and then an angry, “What the hell?”

Blinking, I focused on the young woman in front of me, her shirt now sporting a large wet stain. “Oh no,” I giggled, unable to stop myself. “I’m so sorry!”

The woman’s boyfriend appeared, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, babe,” he said soothingly. “Let’s go home. I’ll buy you a new outfit tomorrow to make up for it.”

As they walked away, I called out after them, my inhibitions lowered by the alcohol, “You’re lucky, girl! Wish I had a man like that!”

My phone dinged, cutting through the noise. It was Jamal.

“Where u at?” His text read.

I snapped a selfie, of me and the club, and its vibrant logo twinkling in the background. I sent it off and then, feeling cheeky, I typed: “I want a shopping spree.”

His reply came quickly: “Ain’t nobody got that type of money.”

I snorted, about to type a snarky response, when something caught my eye. In the middle of the street, a man was now kneeling. Shirtless. Pantless and bleeding.

Glancing around me, I had to confirm that someone else was seeing him because he wasn’t there just a moment ago.

My breath caught in my throat, confused and he was bound by chains at his wrists, arms extended as if someone was pulling them. But there was nothing there. No one was holding the chains. Cars were driving right through him like he wasn’t even there.

Holy fuck!

“Are you seeing this?” I asked a random group of friends passing me on the sidewalk, and I pointed toward the street.

The man held captive, his head hung low, light hair a mess. I couldn’t see his face.

The strangers followed my gesture, looking confused. “See what?”

“The man! Right there in the street!”

They exchanged worried glances. “Maybe you should sit down,” A woman suggested gently.

I blinked hard, my mind reeling.

Was I going crazy? The thought of someone spiking my drink flashed through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. The bartender had served me directly. 

No, this had to be something else…

Was this some kind of magikal vision? 

No, my magik had never been strong enough for anything like that. I was barely more than a human with a knack for tarot cards and barely enough powers to change the color of my hair.

I racked my brain, trying to explain what I was seeing. Had I accidentally ingested something at Kaylee’s earlier? Her high school brother was known for his “special” baked goods. 

But no, I’d only had just a few slices of pizza, nothing else.

When I looked back to the street, the man was gone. Vanished. As if he’d never been there at all. But a faint clinking of metal chains lingered in the air, sending a shiver down my spine.

I should have known something was off when I heard the whispers inside of the club. The magik in me, faint as it was, stirred uneasily. Was it because Hallows eve was in a week and a half? 

Chewing on my lower lip, I racked my brain for an explanation. But even as I grasped at straws, I knew this was different. In all my years, I’d never experienced anything like this – not even during the most potent time of the year for witches.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around me from behind. I squealed, startled out of my thoughts and already off-balance from the alcohol and the bizarre vision.

“How’s your night, babe?” Jamal’s familiar voice rumbled as he nuzzled the curve of my neck. 

I inhaled, expecting the comforting scent of his spicy cologne. Instead, my nose wrinkled at an unfamiliar sweetness – floral and cloying. 

“I’m hungry,” I replied, my mind still reeling from what I’d seen—or thought I’d seen.

“Burritos,” he suggested, predictable as always. I nodded, grateful for the distraction.

It was his go-to on these late nights when he was working a case with his uncle. Jamal was a man of routine—he liked what he liked and rarely strayed. 

Steady, stable, safe. 

Maybe that’s why I stayed with him. No surprises. No risks. Just the predictable comfort of routine… even if it was a little boring.

I fired off a quick text to Emery, letting her know I was leaving with Jamal. We walked a few blocks to his favorite burrito place, then caught a bus back to his apartment. As we ate on the bus, I watched the city lights blur past the windows.

Back at Jamal’s apartment, the night took its usual course. Kissing and barely any touching aka foreplay, and then sex. As usual he finished first, rolling off me with a satisfied sigh. His arm draped lazily across his chest, and within minutes, he was snoring softly beside me.

While he slept, I stared at the ceiling, frustration simmering like most nights. It wasn’t just tonight’s sex—though that, like always, was too quick, too routine, leaving me unsatisfied. It was everything. Jamal was safe, predictable, but inside, I felt restless. Trapped.

Yet, he was everything I should have wanted. But inside, I felt like I was slowly suffocating. 

How could I feel more alive with a stranger pressing against me on the dance floor than I did lying next to my boyfriend?

The question sank into me as I laid here. 

I closed my eyes, trying to push away the gnawing fear that I needed a change—a woman content with mediocrity, both in love and in magik. 

Was this all there was for me? 

A relationship that felt more like a cage, and powers so weak they were barely worth mentioning?

My thoughts drifted to the bartender and how he had studied me when I ordered the drinks, his gaze lingering just a second too long. It all reminded me of the spark that had long since faded with Jamal.

My fingers grazed the edge of the sheets, inching under and lower as my breath hitched. My vagina walls clenched on nothing as I imagined the bartender gripping me roughly, and pressing me against the bar. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. 

The thrill of imagining someone else—anyone else—sent heat coursing through me, even as guilt twisted in my stomach. Jamal’s steady breathing beside me should have been enough to still my wandering hand, but I couldn’t stop myself. 

My fingers crept lower, drawn by an ache that had nothing to do with the man sleeping next to me. I was horrible for this, for letting my mind drift to other men while teasing that growing tension between my thighs. But in the darkness, with only my shameful desires for company, I didn’t care.

But just as my hand reached near my sex—

Clank.

The image of the man in chains flashed through my mind, and I stilled, withdrawing my hand. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed help. Which, of course, sounded crazy. But as the silence pressed down, thick and unsettling, the faint city buzz faded into the background.

Then I heard it. Faint at first, like a whisper carried in the wind. A voice. No, voices. I strained to listen, but the more I focused, the more they slipped away, just out of reach. My heart quickened, and I held my breath.

Clank.

The unmistakable sound of metal chains echoed through the dark, sending a jolt of fear straight to my core. My pulse thundered in my ears, and I turned my head slowly toward the corner of the room, where the shadows seemed to thicken and shift.

Was someone there? I wondered but knew that wasn’t true because I saw the room before the lights went off.

I sat up slightly, my breath shallow, and peered into the darkness. Jamal snored beside me, blissfully unaware, while I stared into the inky blackness that now felt more alive than it had any right to.

Clank. Clank.

The sound was louder now, closer, as if the man from the street had followed me here, into the safety of my boyfriend’s apartment. I couldn’t see the chained man, but I could feel him. His presence was suffocating, pressing in from all sides.

My skin prickled with an eerie awareness, and a chill snaked down my spine. I wanted to wake Jamal, but something in me—some instinct—told me not to move. Not yet.

The Latin whispers grew louder and then, just as suddenly, it stopped and the room fell silent. The chains stopped. The whispers vanished.

I swallowed hard, my heart still pounding in my chest and I laid back down. I closed my eyes, as my body trembled slightly, and the darkness felt alive, watching, waiting. 

Sleep wouldn’t come—not tonight.

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