The Red Devil Reckoning
No one knew exactly when the spell took root, only that the air had shifted.
It started with a bold invite in Pa’s personal holler mailbox. Mid war, no less. The Red Devils, top of the board and puffed with pride, had the gall to toss a line out to Pa. Quiet, steady, war hardened Pa. Leader of the holler. Father of the clan.
Ma saw it. She just smirked. The kind that meant someone had made a mistake. A big one. And that she would be the one to handle it.
That night, the fire burned a little lower, and Ma’s scrolls got real short. She took note where the Devils’ lair was. She let the war play out, let the goblin cousins holler and fight. Let the Devils have their stars. But in the quiet between battles, she lit a different kind of fire.
She didn’t go alone. She called dutiful Ellie to the porch.
“I need you to listen close,” Ma said, voice low, steady. “This ain’t playin’. This is long game, real war.”
Ellie leaned in, eyes wide. She was eager, loyal, and just discreet enough to pull it off.
Ma gave her the plan: battle ready, a new name, a story about just lookin’ for a good clan home. “Don’t act too smart,” Ma warned. “Don’t lead. Just follow. Smile. Learn ‘em. Earn that trust.”
Ellie nodded. “When do I go?”
“Tonight,” Ma said, handing her a scroll, a tourmaline and amethyst bracelet for protection, and a faint smelling root charm soaked in moon water. “I’ll guide you every step. Just report back. We don’t strike until it’s time. Might take awhile. Be patient.”
So Ellie slipped into the Devils lair under a new face, her goblin ears tucked beneath a borrowed hood. She was quiet. Polite. Earnest. Asked just enough questions. Offered just enough help. Followed all rules. Fought alongside them. Even helped them win.
Every night, by the fire, she reported back to Ma.
“They’ve got weak leadership and disagree a lot. One of ‘em only hits once. They have issues with people showing up for attacks. They leave the base wide open during Territory Wars. They trust too easy.”
Ma stirred her tea and whispered ancient Appalachian incantations into the steam, letting them drift off for the old mountain spirits to grab hold of. Bit by bit, the cracks began to show. The Devils started losin’ more. Hits failed. Their fireside grew tense. Members left.
Then came the moment Ma had waited for.
Territory Wars. Seven full days of back to back war. The Devils left for battle, proud and stacked. Ellie stayed behind to “keep watch”, but she was now entrusted with the keys to most of the lair, having earned trust.
She dismantled every ward. Dragged them out into the open, left ‘em like scraps for rival clans to scoop up and add to their star tally easily. Locked out every clan member she could with the keys she had, re-keying what locks she could with the knowledge that Cletus had taught her. Then stood alone at the center of the base, and whispered Ma’s final spell to the Appalachian mountain spirits.
The ground shook. The walls groaned. And then, flames shot up.
When the smoke cleared, the bases were ash. The gate blackened.
And nailed to the gate, still warm from the fire, was a single scroll written in Ma’s signature script:
“Shouldn’t have tried to steal my baby daddy.”
Back in the holler, the cousins howled next to the campfire that night while roasting their stolen marshmallows.
Ma just stirred her stove top potion innocently while Ellie Mae stood at her side, sorting empty spell jars. She never admitted to a thing.
Pa studied them both for a long time, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say a word.
The very next morning he went out just before dawn and glued his mailbox shut.
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