"Lucky Charms"

  Curtis Palmer was a curious and strange old man. He smelled like mothballs and cinnamon whiskey, his fingers yellowed by time and tobacco. His house looked like a museum curated by someone with dementia—chaotic, dusty, and crawling with ominous energy.

  He had called upon a pair of self-proclaimed "paranormal experts," Ryan and Chloe, for a very specific job.

  “These artifacts I’m asking you to retrieve, they possess immense power,” he said, voice shaky with intensity. “You must be very careful when handling—”

  “Yeah, man, I get it. They’re fragile, I—” Ryan interrupted with a shrug.

  But the old man snapped.

  “No! I don’t think you do get it, you little shit!” he barked. “You think I’d pay you this much money for some frugal little trinkets!? This is important! Get your head in the fucking game!”

  Ryan stumbled back, genuinely stunned.

  “Hey, look, man… relax. I apologize if I came off unprofessional. This is actually very important to me and my partner. I really appreciate it.”

  Curtis eyed him up and down like a predator sizing up a deer. Then, without another word, he shut the door.

  Ryan returned to their rented office, half-laughing, trying to keep it together.

  “You’re not gonna believe this shit, Chloe,” he said.

  Chloe, half-annoyed but always morbidly curious, looked up from her grimoire.

  “What’s up, Ryan?”

  “This old motherfucker... Palmer. Curtis fuckin’ Palmer wants to pay us four million dollars to go to the Netherlands and grab his lucky charms. I swear to God, I’m not making this up.”

  Ryan cracked up.

  But Chloe didn’t laugh. Her eyes got serious.

  “Ryan, this is fucking serious. If we pull this off, we could sell the company. No more weird science, no random violence, no sexual misconduct—”

  Ryan raised a finger.

  “Yeah, you make a good point, Chloe.”

  (Just like that old fucking man, you bitch, he thought.)

  “I heard that,” Chloe snapped. “And don’t ever call me a bitch, you fucking asshole.”

  “Sorry! I can’t help myself sometimes—”

  “Yeah, I know. But zip it. We’ve got a job to do.”

  ACT TWO: NETHERLANDS

  They landed in Amsterdam, fog covering the tarmac like a veil. The air smelled like damp moss and rot. Philippe, their contact, met them at a dim café with one flickering bulb overhead.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “These runes you seek,” Philippe said, “are hidden in a fortress built into a mountain. It is heavily guarded.”

  Ryan clapped Chloe on the back.

  “You hear that, Chloe? Heavily guarded, hidden fortress. Heh.”

  Chloe narrowed her eyes.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” she said, coolly.

  That’s when Simon, a German man seated in the back, exploded.

  “Not a problem?! You’re going to walk in with your dick in your hand and a witch by your side?! You’ll be dead in a flash, you fucking idiot!”

  “Whoa—will someone tell this fucking Nazi to chill before I—”

  “I am not a Nazi, you goddamn American bigot!”

  Chloe stepped in.

  “Before anyone says something they regret—shut up. Mr. Palmer hired us for a reason. We can do this. All we need is a way in.”

  A tense silence.

  Finally, Philippe slid a torn map across the table.

  THE FORTRESS

  A jagged peak loomed against a blood-red sunset. The fortress was wedged into the mountain like a wound. Two guards stood at the gate.

  “Ryan,” Chloe said, “put your goddamn serious face on.”

  Ryan obeyed. Chloe murmured an incantation—her voice like wind through cracked bones. The guards’ eyes glazed over. They stumbled like drunks, then collapsed.

  “Go ahead, Chloe. A little more,” Ryan urged.

  “What the fuck, Ryan? They’re immobilized.”

  “They saw our faces.”

  Chloe winced. Then pulled harder.

  The guards’ limbs twisted like pipe cleaners. Bile sprayed the snow. One man’s spine snapped like a branch.

  “Goddammit, Chloe! Just kill them next time. You always go full Hellraiser.”

  “I don’t like death spells! I haven’t practiced them!”

  Ryan smirked.

  “Practice? Don’t you know how to get to Carnegie Hall?”

  “I will gut you.”

  THE VAULT

  Inside, cold stone corridors twisted like intestines. They found the vault deep beneath the fortress. One lone guard.

  “Chloe. Wait here.”

  She didn’t object.

  Ryan flicked his telescopic baton. The guard heard the click—but it was already too late. Ryan went to work, bones breaking, blood pooling, his face expressionless.

  Chloe couldn’t look away.

  The vault was locked magically and manually. Chloe whispered ancient words. A rune on the door glowed, then cracked. The lock turned with a hiss.

  Inside were three ancient runes, glowing faintly.

  “Please tell me you can read this shit,” Ryan whispered.

  “I can read it,” Chloe said. “But we don’t want to.”

  BACK IN AMERICA

  Curtis Palmer was waiting—with two mountains flanking him.

  “You ready if this goes south?” Ryan whispered.

  “Shit, I don’t know—maybe!” Chloe whispered back.

  “Bring me those fucking rocks!” Curtis barked.

  The thugs patted them down. Chloe felt naked without her grimoire.

  “You idiots don’t even know what these are,” Curtis growled.

  “Honestly? We don’t care,” Ryan began.

  “Doesn’t care!” Palmer laughed. “Bet you'd care if your little partner got fucked to death!”

  Ryan blinked. Looked at Chloe.

  “Fuck it. Go ahead, old man. Have your guy rape my witch. It’s four million dollars.”

  One of the brutes grinned and approached Chloe, undoing his belt.

  Chloe twitched.

  His body twisted like licorice. Then combusted.

  “OH SHIT!” Chloe gasped. “I just wanted him to stop!”

  Ryan laughed.

  “Ya don’t fuck with a witch, old man!”

  The other guard bolted. Curtis didn’t flinch.

  “You think this is about money? Take it. Take your fucking cash!”

  He threw a duffel bag at Ryan.

  Ryan opened it.

  “Give me a sec to count it, ya old cunt.”

  They left without another word.

  EPILOGUE

  Back at the office, a few days later.

  Ryan was playing solitaire on an old PC. Chloe floated a pencil above her palm, bored.

  “Hey, Chloe…”

  “What, Ryan?”

  “You ever think about those stones? What that old fuck was up to?”

  Chloe slammed her palm on the desk.

  “We made four million in one day. I almost died. I almost got raped. I don’t care about the fucking rocks! Bring it up again and I’ll turn you into one!”

  Ryan held his hands up.

  “Okay, okay… TGIF, right witch?”

  “Fuck you, Ryan.”

  And with that, back to the grind.