It was March and harvest season, but the skies were gloomy that morning. In fact, it seemed angry, pouring heavy rain, and wafting strong winds across the woodland. The creatures that lurked between the trees took to their homes, and those that enjoyed the mud played like children, their laughter mingling with the strong whistles of the wind.

Isla slid the delicate window made of capiz shells to the side, allowing the wind to sashay into the room with tiny sprays of rainwater.

She clucked her tongue with annoyance. Her delicate vintage dress was being attacked too early in the morning. In a matter of seconds, the sheer long sleeves of her dress were sticking to her forearms. So much for fabric made of unicorn tail, she thought.

She stepped back from the window, curious, when she saw a woman standing outside. Her green heels left a wet trace on the hardwood floors of her bedroom as she stepped further back with a frown.

Turning, she found the little boy sitting beside her bed again, looking at her with knowing.

"Do you know her?" she asked him, finally giving the silent treatment a break.

He just smiled. Isla frowned. As far as she knew, ghosts could talk.

"Do you know what I can do to you, kid?"

He just looked at her, as if challenging her.

"Do you know that a single drop of my blood can burn you, extinguish you from this world completely before you even see the light?"

The boy's eyes lit up with fear. But there was also a glint of malice, as if he doubted if she could really do it.

"If you are trying to talk, boy, I'm afraid I don't have all day." She looked around. "I think I have a knife here somewhere. I only need to make a slight cut, really."

"Goddess." His voice was an echo, a sound at the end of a tunnel. "She's a goddess."

"You know who?"

He shook his head.

"Has she been here before?"

Again, he shook his head.

"That was easy, wasn't it?" Isla asked, turning to the door. "Be a good boy, Jeremiah."

She heard him snicker before the door shut close.

Lola was already waiting for her by the second landing, hair fuchsia, face as bright as the sun that was not shining outside. "Someone's at the gates," Lola said, phone in hand. "The house doesn't recognize her. She's a—"

"Goddess. Jeremiah told me." She looked at her sister's pink PJs. "Go and change. I might need you. Prepare my knives."

"Your knives?"

"The one in the chest under my bed."

"But—"

"I'll try my best not to find any reason to use them." She turned to the stairs. "And I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Cris already left."

"Where's Tien?"

"Out there guarding the door, I guess?" The wind howled outside. "You think she's doing all this?"

"I'm not sure." Running a hand through her updo, Isla descended the stairs. "Don't come down. The walls will tell you if I need you."

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Tien walked through the open main doorway.

"What does she want?"

"She wants to talk to the manager of the Tree House."

She frowned. "Tell her to go to the Tree House."

"She refuses to go. She's demanding to see you now."

Isla took a deep breath and sighed. "Have you made breakfast?"

Tien blinked. "I was not given instructions to."

"Let her in," she said, turning to the back of the staircase and into the kitchen.

The room was dark and the lady at the corner looked up. Her raven black hair curtained both sides of her face, extending down to the floor. Like the boy, her face was pale. She was dressed in a nightgown, the skirts long, covering her feet. "Get up," Isla ordered.

The ghost just looked at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Get up or I'll call a priest."

The woman's eyes lit with alarm. "Don't." Her voice came as a whispered wind around Isla.

"Then get up. What is it with you ghosts and being useless?"

The woman scowled at her.

"I reckon you've been here long."

She just stared, her face disappearing.

"No, you don't disappear on me, woman. You have nowhere to go anyway," she ordered. "Go on, get up."

Slowly, the woman got up and as she did, Isla heard a soft tinkling sound. She looked down to find that the woman's left ankle had a chain around it.

"You're no longer trapped in that corner. Step forward," she ordered.

The woman hesitated.

"I said you're not trapped there. Walk." This time, her voice was firmer, more impatient.

"I can't..."

Isla pointed. "Can't you see that your chains aren't attached to anything?"

The woman looked down and, seeing it for the first time, her eyes rounded in surprise. Looking up to Isla, her face changed. It transformed to something more... human. And she looked almost beautiful. At that moment, Isla knew she was looking at the woman before the chains.

"Walk," she ordered the ghost.

The woman did, dragging her chain along the floorboards, the sound vibrating around the kitchen.

"I'm not sure if you can leave this house." The woman looked at her, confused. "I can't read your thoughts, but you want to escape this realm, yes?" Again, the woman just stared. "Fine. I can help you find a way." At her words, the woman glowed. "For a price."

"What?" she asked, her voice almost a lullaby to Isla's ears.

"What's your name?"

Her brows furrowed as if she was trying to remember. "Maria..."

"Maria, can you move things?" Maria looked behind her, movement almost dreamlike, her form leaving behind a trace of translucent sheet, an echo of her energy. At the spot where she had been curled up for years were different coins and trinkets.

"Yes," she replied, turning her head back to Isla, her face blurring as she moved. It was like watching smoke being blown away by the wind, and when she stilled, the distortion was gone and her apparition became clearer.

"Good." Finally, someone useful. "This manor needs a housekeeper."

***

"So, I looked her up. It wasn't easy."

"Who?"

"The Boss, of course," Al said. "I'm telling you, Esha, it wasn't easy. I had to resort to threats. I called everyone who got drunk with me during my Boothkeeping training days. I'm telling you, the Emperor has been keeping her low key. She doesn't even have an Opulense account."

Esha's face lit up with interest. "Okay. And?"

"And," Al said, leaning over the reception desk, "She's a trained Villain."

"Villain?"

"Yes! Department of Villainy," he whispered. "Villain Captain."

Esha's eyes widened, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. "No way!"

"And apparently, she has been practicing Villainy for over five years before she was promoted as Captain, manning over a hundred agents to perform covert operations for the empire."

His friend swallowed. "She was promoted because she's the great-granddaughter of—"

"No, darling," said Al, wriggling a forefinger. "I thought the same as well. But no. She graduated from the Academy with full colors, top of her class." He leaned closer and murmured, "She's a badass."

Esha looked around. "You think she's killed before?"

"It won't be surprising." He looked around before he continued, "But I bet this one will surprise you even more."

"What?"

Al smiled. "She's the strongest candidate to replace the Emperor."

Esha's eyes widened even more. "No way! That's why she has that hot Opulent guard!"

"Tien, my new fantasy, yes." Al shook his head. "Isla Develler renders us all so insignificant. I wonder why she's even here."

"She told us."

"And you believe her?"

"Well, of course. Don't you?"

Al shrugged. "I don't know. She's been to the Booth three times this week. And I think she was not just checking Cris' card. I think she has her own cards. That's so weird. Why would she do that? She's obviously adept to the thing. She doesn't need practice."

Esha narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you thinking?"

"I want to tailor my next heroine to her."

"You can't write about us!" Esha hissed at Al. "You graced a contract last week. Have you forgotten about that?"

"My grace will stop me from writing about us, I get it. But I tried writing last night, and I finished a chapter."

His friend blinked. "You did?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then your novel is not about us."

"How many times do I have to tell you? It's not about us!"

"Are you fighting?" a deep, young voice asked behind them.

They both turned to find Cris standing in the doorway, wearing a black schoolbag. He was dressed in his typical plaid shirt, brown pants, and suspenders. A strand of his black brushed-up hair fell over his forehead while he was bent on his phone.

"No," they both curtly replied.

"Then try to lower your voices. It's too early in the morning. Or better yet, go to work. Isla will be a little late." He turned left, walking away with his head still bent.

"It's only been a week, but I swear I already hate that kid," Al growled to Esha.

"I said lower your voice, Al," Cris said over his shoulder, disappearing into the main office.

Al rolled his eyes. "My novel is going to be different from us," he repeated to Esha.

"Okay, I get it. Your story is going to be different." Esha opened her mouth to ask a question, but then the door opened again.

Al frowned, looking over his shoulder.

"Cris just said the boss is going to be late, right?"

"Yes."

"And Cris was the last one in among us, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Just checking. The last time someone walked in, we got a Devller."

The silhouetted figure was not Isla, that's for sure. Both Opulents frowned when the figure stepped onto the hardwood flooring, revealing muddy black sneakers.

Slowly, Al and Esha circled around the reception counter, their eyes adjusting to the strong morning light from outside. Glowing specks of dust floated in the threshold, carrying with it the soft, whimsical sounds of the air outside. Again, a maya bird flew into the office and landed on the reception counter.

The girl stared up at them, eyes wide with amazement. Al and Esha looked at each other before they snapped their heads to stare at the girl dressed in an oversized shirt and jeans. She was not a child, rather a teenage girl. The cloth which she carried like a satchel was as filthy as her sneakers.

Now, the Department of Lost Things may not be Olympus, but its doors did not easily permit entrance to just anyone, not when it was guarded by one of the most-feared entities in East Isles.

And there had been beings that entered their doors, but they were all paying clients and definitely not humans.

This girl was different because she seemed human.

***

The wind was howling outside as Isla stepped into the parlor. The light through the windows was low enough to hide the dusts, and bright enough to show the portrait of an unknown man hanging on the wall, his eyes seemingly alive, his tight lips keeping a secret. Whoever he was, if he ever was an Opulent, he did this house and every bloody being trapped inside such great injustice.

"Good morning," she greeted her guest, taking the cushioned seat across the woman who was sitting in front of the wide window. The dirty curtains on both sides, which were obviously once white, floated in the air behind the guest, who appeared dry after standing outside in the rain.

The tree by the gate was mercilessly waving as the goddess glared at Isla. If Isla was to paint her mood, there would be a constant shot of lightning over her, and her glitters would be black, typical of the gods.

Her perfect long, wavy black hair was framing her face at both sides; her light blue eyes glowed in contrast to her smooth, caramel brown skin; her white patterned dress a far more extravagant sight than Isla's. However, her makeup was overdone.

"Let's make this quick. I have an appointment for our solar panels."

"What took you so long?" the woman's high-pitched tone demanded.

"I sleep quite peacefully when it's raining," she nonchalantly said. The goddess pursed her lips. The strong wind flew right into the parlor and Isla stood to close the window. "I was told that you are here to acquire my services."

"And who may you be?"

Isla smiled as she searched the goddess' thoughts from the back of the woman's head. Reading gods had always been a challenge. They had epochs of memories. The hallways she would always find in their thoughts was like a maze, and it was always a headache—an intense thudding against her skull. She only stayed long enough to find the woman's name.

"Anitun Tabu," she said. "I've never heard your name before. But I like Annie better. You're right, it sounds more appealing. And thank you for thinking that I'm beautiful."

She saw the woman's shoulder stiffen. "Who are you?"

Isla walked back to the antique chair and settled down, resting one slender leg over the other. "Isla Develler," she replied.

The goddess froze, and in a blink, her mind blocked Isla.

Isla clucked her tongue. This woman was not just a mere goddess of some minor thing. She was one of the fucking big guys.

"What is a Develler doing here?"

Without answering, Isla said, "You could have gone straight to the Tree House, Annie. You would have been accommodated there." The window rattled again. Isla inspected her yellow fingernails, testing the goddess' patience. When she lifted her face again, she met Annie's furious gaze. "Ah, of course. You're not comfortable there. It's a Vesta."

The wind whistled sharply outside.

"You have to calm down, Annie. This house is the only one I have here. I don't want it ruined."

The rain died down, not completely, but at least the windows went still.

Isla did not blink away until Annie herself did with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Now, since you came here and found us, I assume that you understand our terms?" she asked the woman.

Her long lashes flickering with impatience, Annie gritted, "Yes."

"Then you understand why you have to come to our office."

"I will never set foot in that place," Annie gritted out.

"But you must, Annie. How else do you think we can collect payment?"

"Can you not do it here?"

Isla stretched her lips into a mocking, sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Annie, that's not how we do things."

In an instant, the strong wind and rain began another attack outside. "Sweetheart, you really don't realize who you're talking to, do you?"

Isla sighed.

"You Opulents think yourselves powerful, don't you? Why? Because you have the blood of the gods?"

Isla smiled. "And the grace of angels. We were your most powerful soldiers once—or have you forgotten?"

"Don't lecture me about the war, darling, because unlike you, I was there," Annie continued through gritted teeth. "And I have seen how your kind struggled through epochs because, let us face it, sweetheart, your kind may have been powerful soldiers during the war, but I cannot say the same after the Spell of Thousands." Annie tilted her head to the side to look Isla up and down. "You say you're a Develler. What is your relation to Ivor Develler?"

"Great-grandfather."

Once more, Annie stiffened. Then she slowly nodded. "And why is a Develler in East Isles?" she asked again.

"Opulent business," Isla replied with a smile and added, "And not your business."

Annie shrugged. "Your wing is in your mind then."

Isla just smiled, but deep inside she wanted to break the woman's defenses and delve further into her thoughts, seek her secrets. But it was impossible. This goddess was powerful. Who was she and why had Isla not heard of her? But then, there were thousands of them.

"Opulents have to live with a Curse after the Spell of Thousands, right? I wonder what yours is. And I wonder..." Annie opened her right hand in the air and made a twisting motion, as if she was picking an apple from a tree, blue eyes igniting as she smiled. Suddenly the wind outside howled like Isla had never heard of before. "I wonder if I can make things a bit more difficult for you."

Isla felt her muscles tighten, but she contained herself. Instead, she smiled at the goddess. "Annie, you're not the first major deity I worked with. I may be new in the Tree House, but I know the business." The confidence Annie collected thus far waned as Isla continued, "There were others who willingly pay for the services we provid them, you know," she pointed out. "You know what that means, right? Now, what does it mean for you?" Isla mockingly gasped as Annie's face twitched with alarm. "Oh, yes, it means we have in our office dirty little secrets about anyone—including you—that may make your old man go berserk."

Annie's nose flared. Something heavy crashed on the ground outside, and Isla could only hope it was not her new car.

There was nothing more effective than mentioning the creators of these conceited deities.

"I don't want to go to your little Tree House." The woman's voice was shaking with anger.

"We can process your payment later once you are confident enough to go to the office."

"I'm not afraid to go there!" The silhouette of a twig slapped against the windowpane.

"Of course, you're not. I can sense by the wind and rain. If you don't like our terms, you can go to other offices."

Annie's face turned scarlet. "I already did. I came straight to the western office because they're supposed to be the best, but they're currently indisposed."

"So I've heard," Isla said with mocking pity. "The southern or northern offices?"

Annie's jaw tightened.

"I'm assuming the waiting list is too long for you?"

Annie's eye twitched and thunder rumbled outside.

"My team can certainly make room for you, but we don't really like working in bad weather."

The goddess closed her eyes and took a lungful of breath to calm herself, perhaps finally realizing that her anger was not serving her well.

Satisfied that she had tamed the woman for now, Isla crossed her leg over the other. "I understand you lost something quite dangerous and you want it found." Isla lifted her hand just as Maria glided into the room to deliver her pen and leather-bound notebook.

"Yes," Annie absently said, frowning at the ghost.

"This my housekeeper, Maria," Isla replied, opening her notebook. Maria glided out of the room through a wall, the sound of her chains echoing behind her. "Now, what do you want us to find?"