The peace that followed the purification of the souls lasted only a few moments. As the golden glow of the fireflies faded into the night sky, Aurelian's keen senses picked up a subtle disturbance in the area.
His eyes narrowed. There was another magical presence very close to them, hidden among the shadows of the trees.
Without wasting a single second, Aurelian raised a hand and fired a dense, fast-moving ball of magical energy directly toward where he sensed the disturbance.
Boom!
The ball of energy missed its target. It bounced sharply off a powerful shield with a bluish flash, veering off course and crashing violently into the trunk of a nearby tree, shattering it into pieces.
From the darkness, the sound of dry applause broke the silence. Margaret Sayre, the elderly headmistress of the Salem Institute of Witches, walked calmly forward with the help of her cane, stepping out of the shadows without a single scratch.
"I must admit, young man," Margaret remarked, stopping her applause with a smile of amazement on her wrinkled face, "I really didn't expect you to pull off such a feat. Breaking this curse was something I considered impossible. But I'm so glad to know I was wrong this time—I thank you."
Before Aurelian could respond, Hestia stepped forward, lifting her chin. Her instinct and unwavering support for her husband immediately put her on the defensive.
"Of course it was obvious that our husband would succeed," Hestia snapped coldly and haughtily. "He is the strongest of all wizards. There is nothing in this world that my Aurelian Gaunt cannot do."
Margaret Sayre looked at her and burst out laughing, not at all offended by the young woman's tone.
"I don't doubt Mr. Gaunt's great abilities in the least, my dear," the headmistress replied calmly. "Of course he's an exceptionally powerful wizard, but he still has a long way to go before he's the greatest of all time. You must understand… at my advanced age, one no longer places such high expectations on people's shoulders. Disappointments hurt less that way; you'll understand when you're my age."
Flora, who had remained silent, took a step forward to stand beside her sister. She fixed her icy gaze on the old witch, challenging her wisdom with her own ambition.
"Well, you'd better start having them, Headmistress," Flora warned her with conviction. "Because our Aurelian will one day be far greater and more important than Merlin himself. And by extension, we'll go down in history as his Morganas."
Margaret Sayre shook her head, amused by the overwhelming arrogance and pride emanating from those two young girls. "It's good that the new generations have such big dreams; at least these two have the skills to back up such words—that's something," the old woman thought to herself.
Putting those fierce and loyal wives aside, Margaret approached Aurelian and held out her wrinkled hand.
"Give me your hand for a moment, boy."
Aurelian raised an eyebrow, wary of the strange request, but under the old witch's insistent gaze, he complied, extending his right hand.
Margaret took his hand in hers for a brief second, muttered something unintelligible under her breath, and then let go.
When he opened his palm, Aurelian looked with curiosity at what the headmistress had given him. He now held a card in his hand; to be exact, an Ace of Spades. But it wasn't just any card. It was made of a metal-like material; the edges of the spade symbol had a faint, almost imperceptible sheen, and its center pulsed like a heart.
The old witch smiled at him with a hint of complicity.
"If the time comes, I believe this will help you on your journey through North America, Mr. Gaunt," Margaret said, pointing at the card with her cane. "Honestly, I hope you never have to use it. But, knowing the world we live in, it's always better to be prepared—anything can happen."
Aurelian studied the letter for another second before tucking it away into the inner pocket of his coat. He gave her a respectful nod.
"Thank you for everything, Madame Sayre."
Margaret nodded, satisfied.
"Good luck on your journey." And without saying another word, the old headmistress spun on her heels and vanished into thin air with a loud Crack!, fading into the night.
The cemetery was finally left in complete peace and silence.
Aurelian turned to his wives, folding his arms, and let out a slight sigh.
"That was… pretty strange, don't you think?" he whispered to them, still trying to figure out the old woman's true intentions.
"Without a doubt, my love," Hestia agreed, finally relaxing her shoulders and tucking her wand into the folds of her dress.
Flora, hoping to lighten the mood after the intensity of the early morning, approached them. She took one of her sister's hands and, with the other, intertwined her fingers with Aurelian's. She gave them a sweet smile—an expression she reserved solely for her family.
"Well… at least those souls are finally resting," Flora remarked, looking up at the sky where the golden fireflies had vanished.
Aurelian stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, returning her smile.
"That's true, my love. We did the right thing," he whispered, before shifting his tone to a more cheerful and determined one. "Now, we'd better head back to the hotel and get ready. In a few hours, we'll be leaving town. Time is a gift I don't intend to waste."
Hestia and Flora let out a small sigh at the thought of getting back on that noisy Muggle metal machine and all the exhaustion that entailed, but they both nodded obediently, resting their heads against their husband's arms.
After all, with their business settled in this town, their chaotic and mysterious road trip would resume.
The afternoon sun was beginning to set over the picturesque town of Salem. On the terrace of the town's tallest building, high above the streets and out of sight of the Muggles, Margaret Sayre was quietly enjoying a meal. Leaning against the stone railing, the elderly woman watched in the distance as a noisy black Ford Mustang left the town limits, disappearing onto the highway.
At her side, a cup of tea in his hands, stood Solomon Grayes.
The old Archmage let out a laugh.
"I told you so, Margaret," Solomon remarked, flashing a smug smile. "That boy is special. I've never before felt Salem to be so… normal. It's a real relief to breathe without feeling that ugly, suffocating heaviness in the air."
Margaret took a sip of her coffee, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the car had disappeared.
"You were right this time, old friend," whispered the principal, admitting defeat.
The old Archmage laughed again, thoroughly enjoying being proven right, but Margaret wasn't about to let it go that easily.
"However, you didn't think that at first," Margaret continued, turning toward him with a much more serious expression. "From the way you spoke a few years ago, about how your ability to see the future had been severely impaired—that the lines of destiny had become blurred and chaotic—and that it was only when you met that boy that you understood everything. He's involved in all of this somehow. "He's the anomaly that's breaking the script you knew, making you… weak," she finished with a smile.
Grayes turned his blind eyes toward her.
"You really are quite the witch, Margaret," murmured the old man, in a reproachful tone.
"I appreciate the compliment," she replied, raising her cup slightly.
Solomon Grayes rose from his chair, calmly stroking his beard.
"You should stop being such a grumpy old woman," Solomon advised her with a mocking smile. "Maybe if you relaxed a little, you'd have more friends."
And without giving her time to reply, the Archmage vanished into thin air with a soft pop, leaving the terrace empty.
Margaret was left alone; she shook her head and let out a laugh.
"Look who's talking… the blind hermit."
Meanwhile, several kilometers away on the highway, the atmosphere inside the Ford Mustang was quite different from the peacefulness of Salem.
Hestia and Flora were sitting in the back of the car, completely oblivious to the scenery. Both were intently studying the strange Ace of Spades card that the old witch had given to her husband.
Flora ran her fingertip along the edge of the card.
"It's very strange," Flora whispered, frowning. "It seems to be made of iron, though I'm not entirely sure."
Hestia nodded, leaning in to examine the faint magical patterns glimmering on the surface.
"There's very ancient protective magic embedded in the design. I wonder exactly what it's for…"
Suddenly, Aurelian turned his head slightly, stretched his right hand back from the driver's seat, and snatched the letter from their hands.
"Hey!" the twins protested in unison.
Aurelian tucked the letter into his pocket without looking at it and put both hands back on the steering wheel.
"This isn't the time to analyze magical artifacts from old witches, my darlings, " Aurelian warned them, glancing at them through the rearview mirror. "Just relax and enjoy the ride. That's what vacations are for."
Flora slumped heavily against the back of her seat and let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"This is so boring, Aurelian," Flora complained, crossing her arms. "We're already sick and tired of looking out the window. It's just trees and more trees."
Hestia, sharing her sister's annoyance, peered between the two front seats. She raised her hand and tugged on her husband's right ear.
"Ouch!" Aurelian groaned.
"You should at least have brought Nythoros along on this trip," Hestia whispered in his ear, reproachfully. "With him here, at least we'd have something to entertain ourselves with—or we could let him scare the Muggles along the way."
Aurelian rubbed his ear, keeping his eyes fixed on the highway, and replied patiently.
"Nythoros told me he wanted to rest. He spent his whole life living in the dark pipes of Hogwarts beneath the castle; lying peacefully in the sun at our mansion, without having to do a thing, is the least that old basilisk deserves."
Hestia and Flora exchanged glances and nodded, reluctantly understanding their husband's point, and sat back down.
But that understanding lasted exactly two minutes.
Boredom struck again. With nothing else to do, the twins decided that their new and best source of entertainment was their own husband. Hestia began tugging at the collar of his shirt from behind, while Flora pulled on the sleeve of his coat.
"Aurelian, we're bored!" Flora sang out, tugging insistently at the fabric.
"We want to get off this noisy metal thing already!" Hestia shouted, shaking him lightly. "We'd better use the apparition spell! Or a Portkey!
Aurelian, ignoring the tugs on his clothes and the drama of his wives acting like little girls, gripped the steering wheel tighter. He kept his eyes on the road and pressed the gas pedal a little harder, praying for a little more patience and some help to reach his next destination as quickly as possible.
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