West Monroe Police Department - Sheriff's Office
Deputy Sheriff Ryan Coleman stepped into Sheriff Brielle McKenzie's office, the weight of strange reports evident in his stride. At 6'2", Ryan had a rugged build and short, dark hair trimmed with military precision. He wore the standard West Monroe deputy uniform: a light blue shirt tucked neatly into dark blue pants, a polished badge gleaming on his chest.
Behind the desk, Sheriff McKenzie looked up from her laptop. Her bald head reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, and her warm brown skin had a subtle glow, though her expression remained cold and stern. Her sharp jawline and narrowed eyes gave her an almost unyielding presence. Dressed in the full sheriff's uniform - dark blue shirt and pants, badge and insignia neatly in place - she cut an imposing figure.
"What's the report, Coleman?" she asked, her voice calm but firm.
Ryan stepped forward and handed her a stack of papers. "It's more strange activity in the city, Sheriff. People are finding symbols carved into buildings, hearing strange noises at night... One guy even found his cat up in a tree, eyes removed."
Sheriff McKenzie arched an eyebrow. "And you think this is connected to... what, exactly?"
He gave a half-shrug. "I don't know. Feels like something... off. Could be some kind of occult activity - witchcraft or something."
The sheriff gave a dry snort. "Things that go bump in the night? Come on, Coleman. I don't believe in fairy tales."
Ryan chuckled lightly. "Maybe someone's just trying to scare us away from the real issues in town."
McKenzie leaned back in her chair, exhaling through her nose. "Well, I'm starting to get tired of these reports. Take point on this from here on out. I need a break from the nonsense."
Just as she rose to leave, the office door creaked open. Elian Crust stepped inside. Sheriff McKenzie's posture stiffened in surprise.
"Elian? I thought you were in New York," she said.
Ryan gave a polite nod and slipped out of the room, leaving the two alone.
Elian looked worn - his eyes rimmed red, his face pale and drawn.
"I'm still in West Monroe because of my fiancée's death," he said, his voice low but steady. "I'm investigating her accident."
The sheriff studied him. "A car accident? You think there's more to it?"
Elian's jaw tightened. "I'll find out what really happened."
McKenzie's expression softened - just slightly - though doubt still lingered in her eyes. "Hey, man. Hit a club, find a classy girl, roll with her. Life goes on - I'm not speaking in riddles."
Elian didn't flinch. "I don't need advice. I need the truth."
A faint smile curled on Sheriff McKenzie's lips. "I know you can handle it, Elian. Just don't stir up trouble in West Monroe."
"I won't. I've got to go," Elian said, already turning.
"Good luck with your investigation," she replied, the faint smile still lingering.
As the door clicked shut behind him, McKenzie stared at it for a moment, then sighed. She had the distinct feeling that stranger things were yet to come.
.
Rhyn and Lucian arrived at the intersection of Ferrand Street and Cypress Street, a charming corner of West Monroe, Louisiana, known for its historic homes and vibrant, close-knit neighborhoods.
They pulled up in front of a modest row of apartments, the exterior worn but inviting, framed by ivy-covered brick and soft porch lights that glowed against the deepening dusk. This was the home of Cove Galloway.
Rhyn stepped out first, her presence striking beneath the streetlamp. She wore a flowing sapphire blouse that shimmered subtly with each movement, its hue complementing the soft waves of her hair. Black tailored trousers hugged her form, and her polished shoes clicked confidently against the pavement.
Lucian followed. He was the picture of enigmatic calm, wrapped in a creamy trench coat that flared slightly in the evening breeze. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt contrasted sharply with his black trousers. Scuffed boots, solid and worn, hinted at a man accustomed to uncertain roads.
As they approached the apartment, Rhyn turned to him, her voice soft but sure.
"This is the house of my friend Cove-a warlock who can help you."
Lucian's gaze lingered on the doorway ahead. His voice was low, edged with caution.
"Is it safe?"
Rhyn offered a warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Don't worry, Lucian. Cove is trustworthy."
They climbed the creaking wooden steps to the second floor. Rhyn knocked twice. A pause-then the door swung open.
Cove stood there, lean and sharp-eyed, with streaks of silver in his dark hair and the faint scent of burnt sage trailing from inside. His face lit up when he saw Rhyn.
"Rhyn."
He stepped aside, ushering them in with a flourish.
"Come in, both of you."
The interior was dim and filled with the quiet hum of enchantment-books stacked high, candles flickering, and symbols etched into the walls. It felt like stepping into a pocket of time.
Rhyn gestured toward Lucian.
"This is Lucian-the vessel."
Cove's expression sobered instantly. He studied Lucian for a long moment before nodding with grave understanding.
"Everything will take place in my basement," he said plainly.
Lucian's brow lifted, just a touch of suspicion creeping into his tone.
"Basement?"
Cove crossed his arms, his voice dry with sarcasm.
"You got a problem with basements?"
Lucian glanced at Rhyn, his jaw tight. She placed a calming hand on his arm and smiled, her tone gentle but firm.
"Everything will be okay, Lucian."
*********
Elian pulled his car to a stop and stepped out, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet the only sound in the quiet evening. The scene of the accident lay just ahead. The police had come and gone-their yellow tape fluttering weakly on a nearby branch, half-forgotten in the breeze.
He walked to the edge of the road where the barrier was bent and the earth was freshly scarred. This was where his fiancée's car had veered off the road.
A chill ran down his spine.
Something was off.
The road twisted through the forest like a serpent, the trees pressing in as if keeping secrets. He scanned the pavement. No skid marks. No signs of braking. Just a silent stretch of asphalt that gave away nothing.
It was as if she had driven off the road on purpose.
Elian's mind buzzed with unease. What really happened that night? Was it an accident... or something darker?
Then-footsteps.
He turned sharply.
A woman was approaching from the shadows. She moved with calm purpose, her gaze fixed on him. She looked to be in her late twenties, with light brown skin that caught the fading sunlight, a lean, graceful frame, and long, curly black hair that framed her striking face. Her dark eyes held a guarded intensity, like she had seen too much and said too little.
"Who are you?" Elian asked, his voice edged with caution.
"I could ask you the same thing," she replied smoothly, her eyes never leaving his. "This is the scene of the accident, isn't it?"
Elian frowned. "How did you know?"
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I have my ways. Let's just say... I'm interested in the same thing you are."
Something about her set off alarms in his head, but at the same time, he felt a strange pull. She wasn't just passing through. She knew something.
"What do you know about the accident?" he asked, his tone firm now, demanding.
Her smile deepened, but it no longer reached her eyes. "I know it wasn't an accident," she said softly. "At least, not in the way you think."