Chapter 183: The Witch

Lorali

The office looked exactly the same as it had when I was a terrified, bruised child standing on the other side of the desk. The towering stacks of dusty files, the rattling radiator, the smell of cheap pipe tobacco.

Seated behind the large mahogany desk was the Og witch of my life, Celia. She looked vastly older. Deep, canyon-like wrinkles etched her face, her hair was a brittle, dirty grey, and her posture was completely hunched over. She had aged like absolute milk, the cruelty in her eyes hollowed out by pure, miserable time.

The moment Celia spotted me standing in the doorway, her head snapped up.

"Oh... Loralie," Celia gasped, her voice raspy and thin. "It has been such a long time. It’s... it’s great to see how you’ve bloomed into such a beautiful young woman."

Oh, please, my mind snarled, venom flooding my veins. She was never, ever this nice to me. Not once in the years I was here. Still, I pasted on a bright, blindingly sweet smile. I wanted something from her, which meant I had to play the game.

"Oh, I missed you too, Headmistress," I cooed, letting my voice drip with sickening warmth. "I’ve missed everyone here so much."

I hope you rot in this room, I added privately in my head.

"Well... I’m here today on a very important matter," I continued, getting straight to the point without wasting another second of oxygen on her. "I need to find out who my biological parents are. Do you have any intake files, adoption records, or information that could somehow help me track them down?"

Celia went completely still. Her clouded eyes stared at me across the desk for a long, heavy second. "No. We don’t. Unfortunately, it’s strictly against orphanage policy to share that information... even if we did happen to have it."

"You’ve got to be kidding me," I hissed, my fists clenching at my sides. Erin didn’t even hesitate. He stepped forward, pulling out his checkbook again. "Four thousands."

Celia blinked, leaning forward slightly. "Excuse me?"

"I’ll pay you one thousand for you to hand over whatever information you have," Erin said smoothly, uncapping his pen. Celia gave a dry, raspy cough. "Oh... well, I truly don’t have any information. I told the young lady the truth."

"You do. You’re lying," Erin stated, his voice dropping an octave as he began writing. "Two thousand."

Celia’s lips parted.

"Three thousand," Erin added, his pen scratching against the paper. Celia swallowed hard, her greedy eyes tracking the movement of the pen.

"Four thousand... five thousand," Erin continued, his tone entirely unbothered as he scaled the numbers higher and higher. "If I reach ten thousand and I still don’t have that folder in my hands, then I’m walking out and you get nothing."

When Erin hit eight thousand, Celia let out a sharp breath, her hands trembling as she reached across her desk and grabbed a set of heavy metal keys.

"Okay," Celia surrendered, her voice cracking. "We do have the confidential CPS investigation file... the one they compiled when they were fruitlessly trying to track down your parents right after you were abandoned here as a newborn. That is all I have."

"Yeah. That will work," I said, a dark thrill of triumph spiking through my chest. "Can I have it?"

"O-Okay," Celia muttered. "I’ll fetch it from the back vault. I’ll be right back."

True to her word, the old woman moved faster than I’d ever seen her move, scrambling out of her chair and scurrying out of the office through a side door. She was in and out in less than a minute, returning with a thick, yellowed manila folder tied with a faded red ribbon.

"Truly... that is all we have left on record," Celia wheezed, handing the folder across the desk directly to me. Erin pulled out his checkbook one last time, scribbled the final figure, and handed her the slip of paper. "Thank you for your cooperation."

I clutched the manila folder tightly against my chest, the paper like gold beneath my fingers. My parents’ file, I thought, a strange, electric shiver running down my spine. After all these years... the answers might actually be inside here.

Before Celia could even look down at the check in her hand, I stepped forward.

SLAP!

My right hand struck Celia’s cheek with a loud, ringing crack that echoed off the office walls. Celia shrieked, stumbling backward and crashing hard onto the floor, her chair flipping over behind her as she clutched her red face in shock.

"That," I whispered, leaning down slightly so she could see the venom in my eyes, "is for every single night of hell you put me through under this roof." Celia whimpered on the floor, too terrified and stunned to even speak.

"Let’s go, Erin," I said calmly, turning on my heel.

We walked out of the office, heading back toward the front entrance. As we approached the reception desk, Riley looked up from her phone, her eyes widening as she saw us walking out.

"Give me one second," I muttered to Erin. "I’ll be right back." I veered off toward the front desk, stopping right in front of Riley.

Riley blinked defensively. "What? Did you forget something?"

"No," I smiled sweetly. "This is nine years ago."

Without a microsecond of warning, I swung my hand across the counter and slapped Riley hard across the face.

CRACK!

Riley gasped, her hands flying up to her cheek as she staggered backward into the shelving unit. "What the hell—?!"

"You were a terrible child," I noted brightly, adjusting the manila folder under my arm. I turned around, walking back out the front doors into the fresh air of Old Town where Erin was waiting by the pavement.

Erin looked at me, a knowing, slightly amused smirk playing on his lips. "Let me guess... you slapped her too?"

"You know me so well," I laughed, stepping off the porch.

"Thanks for accompanying me," I added, looking down at the thick folder in my hands. "Once I go through these documents tonight, I’ll call you and inform you on my findings. So get ready for my call." I leaned in, wrapping my arms around him in a quick, genuine hug of gratitude before pulling back and flashing him a bright grin. "See you later, Erin."

I turned around and rushed back across the street to where Oracle’s Aston Martin was idling at the curb, sliding into the passenger seat, ready to tear open the file and finally uncover the ghosts of my past.