Chapter 1

I was wearing the hand-sewn ritual cloak my mentor, Joel Whuzmarc, made for me when a luxury sedan escorted me to the Stratton mansion.

When the door opened, I saw a middle-aged man standing at the entrance with a frown.

That was my biological father, Ted Stratton, a man I had never met before.

“That’s what you chose to wear after coming back down from the mountain?”

He sized me up with unconcealed disgust in his eyes.

“What a disgrace! Go get changed now!”

Before I could say anything, a young man in a smart suit, who looked about my age, walked over with a glass of red wine in his hand.

“Dad, take it easy. He just got back. He needs time to adjust.”

He raised his glass toward me in a mock toast. His smile was bright, though his eyes were filled with cold contempt.

“Welcome home, Ethan. I’m Mason Stratton.”

Suddenly, he seemed to stumble. His red wine splattered the leather satchel I held against my chest.

The dark liquid soaked through the ritual parchment Joel had drawn for me.

It was the first protective charm Joel had painstakingly prepared for the Stratton family.

“Oops. I’m sorry, Ethan. It was an accident.”

Mason apologized, but there was a smug grin on his face.

I looked at him quietly.

Ted waved his hand dismissively.

“Enough. It’s just a ragged old satchel and some worthless scribbles. What’s the big deal? Let’s get something straight, Ethan. This is the Stratton home, not your occult shack. I want you to put away all that bogus psychic nonsense!”

The butler led me to a small attic room in the farthest corner of the third floor.

It was cramped. It only contained a bed and a desk. It was more like a storage closet than a bedroom.

I opened the soaked leather satchel. The ritual parchment inside was ruined. The carefully inked sigil had blurred into black smudges.

The first protective charm for the Stratton family had been destroyed by their own hands before I even stepped through the door.

I looked out the window at the glittering city lights, then down at my out of place ritual cloak.

I thought to myself. “Fine, since you’re determined to see me as a clueless fraudulent psychic, I’ll play the part then. Let’s see how long your perfect lives last without this charm. After all, that mass of thick, pure dark energy hanging over your heads is no joke.”

I did not touch the designer clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

Instead, I remained in my rough, hand-sewn ritual cloak.

The attic might have been tiny, but at least it was quiet.

I set my suitcase in the corner as a makeshift altar. Then, I put three white warding candles into a small dish and lit them.

Whether they believed it or not, the energy in this house was totally chaotic. If I did not stabilize it soon, something bad was going to happen.

I had just lit the candle when the door slammed open with a violent bang.

Mason stood there with our father, Ted. He pointed at me with feigned, dramatic concern.

“Dad, look! I told you he was being weird and creepy. What the hell is he doing in here?”

When Ted saw the small candle setup, his expression turned livid in an instant.

He stormed into the room and kicked my altar over.

The white candles skidded across the floor. The wax spilled across the wood.

“Ethan Stratton!” He jabbed a finger toward my face while his body shook with rage.

“What did I tell you? Instead of studying, instead of doing anything real or scientific, you chose to become a con artist! Do you really think this is something to be proud of?”

Looking at the mess on the floor, there was not a ripple of emotion inside me.

“I was trying to bless our family.”

“Bless?” Ted snorted, as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in the world.