Madam Firosa

Seventeen wailing ghosts. One furious witch. And a first date never to be forgotten.

The Isle of Indamar had been called the most haunted province in the Kingdom of Malakanth for millennia.

Tonight, I was going to prove it.

As a teenager, I had already seen my share of spirits, but this time, I wasn’t just looking—I was hunting. And not just any ghost. Madam Golda Firosa.

I wasn’t alone, either.

Trailing beside me through the brambles was Isaac—tall, blond, blue-eyed, and my latest love interest. This was our first date, and really, what could be more romantic than tracking down a wayward spirit and basking in its tortured wailings?

Am I right?

"So, how many wizards did you say this woman killed?" Isaac asked, swatting at a thorny branch. "Because when you said we were going on a date, I pictured more candles and fewer thorns."

"Seventeen," I said, glancing down at the glass orb in my hands.

It remained clear, still, and utterly unhelpful. No swirling colors. No hints of spectral activity.

For now.

"Seventeen?" Isaac looked confused. "Madam Firosa? I've heard stories about that witch my entire life. I heard she only killed three wizards before the High Council captured her and burned her alive."

I shook my head as we approached a towering oak tree, its gnarled branches stretching over what was left of the Firosa stead. A crumbling red brick chimney was all that remained of the house.

"No," I said, keeping my eyes on the ruins. "I have it on good authority that she killed seventeen of Aginor's finest. All by herself, I might add."

Isaac scoffed. "By good authority, I assume you mean that crazy vagabond you call your auntie. What was her name again? Muriel?"

I frowned. "Yes, her name is Muriel, but she isn’t crazy. Far from it. Muriel is the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. And she’s seen the world, Isaac. All of it."

I glanced at him, my grip tightening around the glass orb.

"I want to be just like her."

Isaac raised his lantern, casting a flickering glow over the overgrown ruins. In the distance, the rusted remains of an old plow jutted from the earth, marking what had once been a cornfield.

Nothing had grown here in over a century.

Since Firosa’s death, the land had remained fallow—untouched, abandoned. But there was no sign of the woman’s ghost.

"This is where she’s supposed to be," Isaac muttered, lowering the lantern. "That old witch has run off every tenant who’s ever claimed this place. So, what gives?"

"Oh, she’ll show." I didn’t even consider the possibility that she wouldn’t.

I had researched this haunting thoroughly. Every sign pointed to her appearing tonight.

I adjusted my grip on the orb, anticipation humming beneath my skin.

"She’ll be holding the severed head of her final victim," I said, eyes locked on the ruins. "And we’ll hear them wail for all they’re worth—all seventeen of Firosa’s victims."

Isaac shivered. "How did you learn to hunt ghosts?" He shot me a sideways glance. "Let me guess—your Aunt Muriel?"

"But of course." I smirked. "Muriel taught me well. Madam Firosa will show. Guaranteed."

"But not yet?"

I glanced down at the orb. It was still clear, utterly devoid of the swirling colors I was waiting for.

"No, not yet," I admitted. "We’ll have to wait."

Isaac nodded, scanning the darkness around us. "So, what now?"

I tilted my head, watching him.

"Well," I said, flashing a wry smile, "you could give me a kiss. After all, we are on a date."

Isaac laughed. "A kiss?" He gestured vaguely at the decaying homestead, the eerie silence, the whole haunted graveyard atmosphere we were standing in. "Here?"

But his laughter faltered when he saw the look in my eyes.

Before Isaac could react, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down to my height, pressing my lips to his.

It was sudden. Deliberate. And over just as fast.

I felt him start to give in, to lean into the moment—right before I let him go.

Because I wasn’t here for him. At least not entirely.

I turned my attention back to the orb, already knowing what I would see.

Crimson smoke curled inside the glass, filling it from within.

A slow smile spread across my lips.

"Oh, my goodness," I murmured, eyes gleaming. "It’s happening."

Isaac’s sharp inhale made me look up.

And there she was.

Madam Firosa, in all her spectral glory.

A severed head dangled from her grasp—the bearded man who had been her final kill before the High Council captured and burned her. Rage twisted her translucent features, her fury so intense it bled through death itself.

Isaac and I pressed ourselves against the old oak, barely breathing as she drifted past.

I didn’t blink.

"Wail for me," I whispered, feeling Isaac’s fingers tighten against my shoulder. "Wail, scream, and moan."

And the ghost obliged.

Madam Firosa threw back her head and unleashed a howl that ripped through the night.

Isaac flinched, his fingers digging into my skin, but I barely noticed—because soon, they joined her.

No less than seventeen voices—the cries of her victims—rose in unholy harmony, filling the air, riding the wind to every corner of Indamar.

This was why I had chosen Madam Firosa.

Of all the thousands of ghosts that haunted this land, she was the one I wanted to hear.

I didn’t leave disappointed.

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