Be Careful What You Wish For: A Zombie Apocalypse
Chapter 387: The Seer

Chapter 387: The Seer

Selene stiffened at my words, her back straightening so much that I was almost worried that she might snap her spine in two. That would be a problem because I was pretty sure that Tank wanted that honor for himself.

"Is that a threat?" she hissed at me, pushing me forward until I was in Daddy’s arms. "You are nothing more than a child. I have seen scarier things than you in this world; there is nothing you can do or say to make me fear you."

"Oh," I chuckled, even as I nuzzled against Daddy’s chest. "I can promise you, there are plenty of things in this world scarier than me. But you’ll never have to see them."

Her face twisting with rage, Selene took a step toward me even as Dimitri blocked her path. "I’d be careful if I was you," the man grunted with a smile. "If’n de Devil don’t get you, de Sins will."

"I have never committed a sin," replied Selene. Dimitri smirked, not meaning it that way at all, but before he could correct her, a man in leathers and a spear interrupted the conversation.

"The Seer will see them now," he announced, his soft voice somehow managing to make Selene turn pale. Interesting. I thought she was the head of everything here... why would she be scared of a single guard?

And just who was this Seer?

Rhys cleared his throat, his eyes focused on Dante as if he were the leader of our little team. "Follow me to the Seer’s hut."

There was no question, no asking for permission; it was a simple statement, and the expectation was that we would follow.

Meh, it’s not like we had anything else to do today. Might as well play this game to the end.

We followed Rhys through the rope bridges and the maze of huts and platforms until we got to the straw hut at the highest point of the village. It wasn’t especially large; it wasn’t even that pretty. Nothing made it stand out other than the fact that it was at the very top of the highest tree.

But the way the villagers bowed their heads when they passed it, the way the guards outside stiffened at attention, it was clear: this was where the person with all the power lived.

The territory of the Seer.

The air inside was thick with incense and smoke from a dozen different herbs, none of which masked the stench of desperation clinging to the woven walls. Every corner was cluttered with totems, bundles of dried plants, crystals, bones, and feathers.

It looked like a scene from some B-rated movie that the Step Stains would have watched late at night. You know, the one with the half-dressed women moaning in corners and the man with the loincloth seated on the throne.

What can I say? The Step Stains had an interesting choice in entertainment.

But instead of all the things that would have made this hut at least semi-interesting, the only thing in here aside from the knick-knacks was the man sitting in the center, an ornate crown of bones and vines on his head.

"You must be the Seer," scoffed Dante as Rhys led us even further into the hut.

The man looked up from his place on the mat as we entered, eyes shining with performative awe.

"The jungle whispered you’d come," he said, his voice low and reverent, like we were some long-lost prophecy the gods whispered in his ear.

"Sure it did," Dante muttered, stepping through the threshold like he owned the place. "What’s the next line? Something about fate?"

The Seer smiled, not missing a beat. "Ah, you’re skeptical. That’s normal. The soul resists truth at first."

I almost choked on my own spit. Trying to control my coughing, I reached out for the mug of fresh coffee that Luca had handed me.

If he managed to keep refilling my drinks like this, I would have to keep him around just for that.

Tank stood at my left like a statue, while Daddy flanked my right with his hands crossed loosely at the small of his back. Salvatore and Dante moved as one, drifting closer to the seated man, their shadows lengthening unnaturally as the air shifted.

The moment Carter laid eyes on Salvatore, something flickered in his gaze.

Then he saw Dante.

And he paled.

Spirit users always recognized other spirit users.

He was good—almost good enough to keep his expression neutral—but not good enough to fool them.

"Carter Wells," nodded Dante. I almost expected him to be adjusting his shit cuffs like he was in a board room or something. Instead, the man was dressed all in black, wearing cargo pants, but his presence was no less impressive than it had been before.

If anything, the promise of blood and pain seemed to be even stronger now.

It wasn’t until he mentioned the name that even I had to pause for a second.

Carter Wells was once such a celebrated "spiritual entrepreneur" from Country M that even I had heard of him.

The Step Stains mentioned him a lot. I guess he had made millions selling vague visions and soul-deep affirmations to the lonely and the lost. His suits used to cost more than most people’s rent. Now, he wore a threadbare robe dyed with berry juice and painted bone jewelry strung around his neck like power was something you could wear.

Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

"Country M," Salvatore said flatly, his expression completely unimpressed. However, I suppose that as another spirit user, Salvatore would easily be able to see through the man.

Carter’s smile faltered. "A long time ago."

"Not long enough," Dante added, tilting his head. "I remember you gave workshops on how to manifest financial freedom and spiritual wealth. You once charged ten grand to whisper sweet nothings about chakras to bored housewives. Didn’t you also invite me to one of your talks? I’m sorry, I think I was busy that day."

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