Chapter 2: The Witchcat Pen’s Secret

No wonder the governor looked so wiped out yesterday. I piece it together in my mind, and suddenly the dots connect. This pen isn’t just any pen—it’s trouble, with a capital T.

I have to confiscate this pen, or our governor’s done for. If I don’t, I’ll be the one blamed when the next disaster strikes. I can already hear the butler grumbling. Great.

As I’m figuring out what to do, I hear Sarah ask, “Stories? Are those the ones on your desk?” Sarah’s eyes light up with mischief. She’s always the first to go snooping.

Lila panics, trying to cover the little booklets spread out on the table. She lunges for them, but Sarah’s too quick, snatching a page before Lila can react.

Sarah, quick as a fox, grabs a page and reads aloud: “The sheriff pinned the outlaw against the gun rack, the cold steel digging into him. He said: Spend one night with me and I’ll let you go—how about it?” Sarah’s voice is theatrical, milking every word for drama. Lila’s face goes scarlet, and I have to fight back a laugh.

“Oh my god, Lila, how could you write something like this?” Sarah’s eyes are wide with mock horror, but I can see the amusement lurking beneath. She’s loving every second of this.

“Give it back!” Lila stomps her foot, face blazing red. She grabs for the paper, but Sarah holds it just out of reach, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

Watching them, inspiration strikes. “Miss, have you noticed the pen getting hot when you write these stories?” I keep my tone serious, hoping to drive the point home. Sometimes a little drama helps sell the story.

Lila’s eyes go wide. “How did you know?” She clutches the pen to her chest, suddenly wary. I can see the wheels turning in her head.

“That’s it—the pen is the problem.” I nod gravely, letting the words sink in. The girls exchange worried glances.

Seeing their confusion, I sigh and put on a worried look. I give them my best ‘concerned doctor’ face, the one I save for when things get really weird.

“Miss, you need to know this isn’t just any purple pen. It’s made with a strand from the tail of a nine-tailed witchcat.” Yeah, I know, it sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but just go with me here. I lower my voice, letting the words hang in the air. Witchcat tales are the kind of thing you hear around campfires, but in this house, legends have a way of coming to life.

Lila is stunned. “A nine-tailed witchcat? Isn’t that just a legend?” Her voice trembles, half-scared, half-fascinated. Sarah leans in, eyes wide.

“Witchcats can be good or evil. This pen’s tip came from a nine-tailed witchcat that’s lived a thousand years—masters of seduction.” I let the words roll off my tongue, adding a little Southern gothic flair. The girls are hanging on every word now.

I quickly pull a yellow charm from my bag and press it to the pen. “Miss, have you noticed your thoughts getting out of control while writing, like your characters start acting on their own?” I wave the charm over the pen with a flourish, like I’m casting out a ghost. The girls gasp, eyes glued to my every move.

Lila is dazed for a moment, then nods. “How did you know? I just wanted to write a normal romance, but somehow, the characters always…” She trails off, her cheeks burning brighter than a Georgia sunset.

Her cheeks flush and her voice drops. She can barely look at me, and Sarah’s mouth is hanging open in shock.

I sigh. “That’s the witchcat pen at work. You’ve been enchanted, miss.” I let my voice drop to a whisper, adding a little extra drama. Sometimes you have to sell the story to save the day.

“Worse, this pen will drain your energy. At best, you’ll feel confused. At worst…” I lower my voice, “you could age too fast, or even just drop dead.” I give her a grave look, letting the words sink in. The color drains from Lila’s face.

“Ah!” She covers her face with her hands, peeking through her fingers at the mirror. The fear is real now.

Lila covers her face, panicked, staring at the vanity mirror. “I—I have felt tired these last few days. Could it be…” Her voice is barely a whisper. Sarah grabs her hand, squeezing tight.

Sarah is rattled too, urging, “Lila, hurry and give that cursed thing to the doctor!” Sarah’s usually the brave one, but right now she looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Lila, as if holding a hot coal, tries to throw the pen to me. She practically tosses it across the room, her hands shaking.

Like I’d dare touch it! I jump back, holding up my hands. “Whoa there, Miss. Not so fast.”

I jump back. “Miss, only the one who started the trouble can end it.” I keep my distance, making it clear that this is her mess to clean up.

I pull out a wooden box covered in runes from my bag and instruct Lila to wrap the witchcat pen in red ribbon and place it in the box. The box is old, carved with strange symbols I picked up from a flea market. The red ribbon’s just for show, but it adds a nice touch.

As soon as the lid closes, a few muffled sounds come from inside, then it goes quiet. There’s a faint rustling, almost like a sigh, and then silence. The girls stare at the box like it might jump off the table.

Sarah, still spooked, says, “That thing really is wicked…” She edges away from the box, eyeing it warily.

I wipe imaginary sweat from my brow. “Lucky we caught it early. A few more days, who knows what might’ve happened.” I let out a long, dramatic breath, milking the moment for all it’s worth.

Lila nods. “I’ll never pick up random stuff again…” She looks like she means it, but I’ve seen her kind before. Give it a week, and she’ll be poking around the attic for more mysteries.

In the study, the governor is playing chess with the young master Mason when he suddenly groans. The black pawn drops from his hand onto the board. The game’s tense, the room silent except for the ticking of the old grandfather clock. The governor’s hand trembles as he moves his piece.

“Big brother, what’s wrong?” The young master’s voice is sharp, concern etched on his face. He drops his own chess piece and rushes to the governor’s side.

The young master rushes over, only to see the governor clench his knees together, forehead pressed to the desk, trembling slightly. The governor’s breathing is shallow, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the desk.

“Nothing…” the governor grits out. “Doc Harper… is already handling it.” He tries to wave off the concern, but his voice is strained. Sweat beads on his brow.

At the mention of my name, young master Mason instantly bristles. He scowls, crossing his arms. I can see the suspicion in his eyes from across the room.

“She’s just a fraud!” He spits the words out, voice rising. The butler glances nervously between us.

“Big brother, you still trust her?” He turns to the butler. “Call the doctors! Now! Immediately!” He’s nearly shouting, panic creeping into his voice. The butler fumbles for the phone.

Before he finishes, I walk in, holding the wooden box. “Sir, I found the culprit—it’s this pen.” I stride in, holding the box like it’s a holy relic. The room goes silent as everyone turns to look.

The young master glares at me. “Harper! What trick are you playing on my brother now?” His eyes are blazing, and I can tell he’s itching for a fight.

I’m about to explain when he snatches the box from me and grabs the pen. “I want to see what kind of cursed pen could mess with my brother like this!” He pops the lid open before I can stop him, defiance written all over his face.

“Don’t!” I shout, but it’s too late. My heart sinks.

I rush to stop him, but the young master has already dragged the pen across the paper—

The ink barely touches the page before the room erupts in chaos.

“Ugh!”

The moment the tip touches the paper, the governor’s face goes ghostly pale. He suddenly grabs his lower back, sliding off his chair, curling up on the rug and shaking violently. “Stop, stop…” His cries echo through the study, and everyone freezes in shock.

The young master is stunned, his hand shaking so badly the pen clatters to the floor. He stares at the pen, horror dawning on his face. For once, he’s speechless.

“Big brother, I just…” His voice cracks, guilt and fear mixing in his eyes. He kneels beside the governor, trying to help.

The governor’s groans grow more painful, his slender fingers digging into the carpet, knuckles turning white. The sight is almost too much to bear. The butler wrings his hands, helpless.

The butler is terrified. “Call the doctors! Hurry!” He bolts from the room, nearly tripping over his own feet.

I dash forward, snatch up the pen, and stuff it back in the box. I don’t waste a second, snapping the lid shut and tucking it under my arm.

Turning to the young master, I sneer, “With that one stroke, I’m afraid your brother won’t be getting out of bed for at least ten days.” I can’t help but let a little satisfaction creep into my voice. Maybe now he’ll think twice before calling me a fraud.

Thinking of how he treated me before, I add, “I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen. Or did you have some other motive?” I arch an eyebrow, letting the accusation hang in the air. The young master’s face goes red with embarrassment and anger.