Reborn as a Ghost Rider

There was nothing unusual about her appearance: long chestnut hair, minimal makeup, modest clothes. Yet something about her immediately caught Johnny's attention.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly.

"Do you always look this grumpy?" she replied, tilting her head. "You seem like the kind of person who never smiles. People probably feel uneasy around you, thinking you might kill them any second."

Johnny smirked involuntarily but quickly regained his composure.

"So what? Maybe I just don't like anything in life."

"No," she said calmly. "You're capable of being happy. Just not around these people. Not among the normal ones."

Johnny frowned but didn't leave. Her words had struck a chord.

"And you? Sitting up there means you're not a fan of these parties either."

"I'm just another loser who came here to feel normal," she shrugged. "Didn't last long, though. The roof's better—great view, fresh air, no smell of sweaty bodies. Want to join me?"

"How'd you get up there?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Flew up on a broomstick," she said with a smirk, winking as she mimed holding something in the air. "Though it only works for witches."

Johnny walked toward the house wall. With a single jump, he grabbed the edge of the roof, pulled himself up, and sat beside her.

"Don't see any broomsticks here," he said, brushing off his hands.

"You're not the only one whose gym coach makes them practice pull-ups," she said, pulling something from her bag. "Since we're stuck at this dumb party, might as well have a symbolic drink."

She held out a can of beer to him. Johnny eyed it skeptically, remembering the awful taste of the one he'd left by the couch downstairs. Even plain water was better.

"I don't drink beer. Don't like the taste."

"Already tried the local poison, huh? First party, then," she noted with a grin. "The pros always bring their own drinks."

Still, he took the can, opened it, and took a sip. To his surprise, the beer was pleasant—almost like nectar.

"Not like the garbage downstairs, is it?" she said, taking a sip and gesturing dramatically toward a drunk guy throwing up on the lawn. "I didn't get how people could drink alcohol either, until I stole my dad's stash."

"Is this from his stash too?" Johnny asked, inspecting the can with German labels. "Never seen this in stores."

"I was born and spent half my life in Europe," she said with a shrug. "Got used to quality."

Johnny looked at her. Her calm demeanor and the ease with which she spoke intrigued him for some reason.

"I'm Johnny," he said, extending his hand.

"Wanda," she replied, shaking it. "Did your friends drag you to this party too?"

Wanda talked about her acquaintances, whose names meant nothing to Johnny. All he gathered was that she wasn't from his school or even his city. That made her more intriguing. With strangers, you didn't have to drag out your buried humanity. You didn't have to suppress your darkness. You could simply be yourself.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the distant lights and neon signs of New York.

"You said you don't like places like this," Johnny finally broke the silence. "So why'd you come?"

Wanda took another sip of beer and thought for a moment.

"I wanted to feel normal," she said. "Sometimes you just want to forget that you're… different."

Johnny frowned.

"Different?"

"I've always seen strange things," she continued, staring at the sky. "When I was little, it even scared me."

"You mean prophecies and other mystical stuff?"

"Exactly."

Johnny also gazed at the sky. Some might scoff at talk of prophecies, but it was hard to deny the supernatural when your mom was a witch, your maid was Satan, and you were an immortal skeleton.

"Tell me more about your prophecies," Johnny asked. "I'm no expert, but I read fantasy, and I know it's a rare gift."

"It first happened when I was eight," Wanda said, taking a long sip as if bracing herself. "In art class, my teacher spent ages trying to figure out what I'd drawn. All I could tell her was that it belonged to her." She wrapped her arms around herself, as if suddenly cold. "A few days later, she called me a witch in front of the whole class and grabbed my arm. It took every adult nearby to pull her off me after I started screaming. She was crying. My skin was stuck under her nails. In her other hand, she held an X-ray and my drawing. Both showed a tumor in her abdomen."

"And she thought you cursed her, didn't she?"

"You have no idea what kind of hysteria broke out at the orphanage. 'Plague Witch' was the kindest nickname I got," Wanda said with a bitter smile. "But there was a silver lining. That incident is how my father found me and my brother and took us out of that place."

"And what happened to the teacher?"

"Thanks to my prophecy, she got a medical checkup in time and had a successful operation," Wanda said distantly. "She's alive and well. Probably still working at that orphanage."

"And I bet she never thanked you. Probably didn't even apologize," Johnny said, taking a sip. "Ever thought about sending her a bunch of homemade postcards?"

"Heh, that'd make a great Halloween prank," Wanda said, smirking darkly for a moment. "You're the third person to say she deserves punishment. Third, after my dad and brother."

"Sounds like they understand justice," Johnny shrugged.

"Johnny, you seem oddly okay with me being a witch," she said, tilting her head. "Aren't you scared to be around me?"

"I recently studied my family tree," he said, meeting her gaze fearlessly. "One of my ancestors was a real inquisitor."

"How many witches did he burn?"

"None. But he did burn three hundred corrupt priests and got excommunicated for it."

Wanda burst out laughing.

"What a dark irony!" she said, catching her breath. "Johnny, I hope you similar after your ancestor."

"More than you think," Johnny thought, remembering Noble Kale, the Ghost Inquisitor.

"Is that your motorcycle?" Wanda pointed at the bike. "Let's get out of here."

"Leave this roof?" Johnny set down the empty beer can. "I'm not against it, but where to?"

"I know we've only known each other for 15 minutes, but I have a favor to ask," she said, locking eyes with him. "If you're not busy, could you give me a ride home?"

"Sure," Johnny agreed easily.

He usually turned down girls asking for rides. It was his way of keeping others at a distance, protecting them from his curse. But something about Wanda, this brooding witch, drew his dark soul toward her.

They climbed onto his motorcycle and vanished into the night.

---

Johnny pulled his motorcycle up to the grand entrance of a luxurious hotel in the heart of New York City. The golden sign gleamed under the streetlights, and glittering chandeliers were visible through the glass doors. He removed his helmet and glanced at Wanda, still sitting behind him.

"You live here?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Wanda hopped off the bike, smoothed her skirt, and shot him a look from beneath thickly lined lashes.

"Temporarily," she replied. "I'd prefer a small apartment, but my father insists that even outside the family castle, I have to live in a mansion."

Johnny snorted.

"You have a castle? What are you, a princess?"

Wanda squinted, her eyes flashing.

"Call me that again, and I'll turn you into a toad."

He smiled but said nothing. As she adjusted her black nail polish, Johnny studied her. The gothic style suited her perfectly. Her dark beauty, like Wanda herself, was mysterious—something that kept him on edge.

When he revved his motorcycle, Wanda stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going? You promised to help."

"I thought you just needed a ride," Johnny said, turning off the engine.

"Wrong. I need help in my room."

She turned and headed toward the hotel entrance without waiting for a response. Johnny sighed in frustration but followed her inside anyway.

The hotel's interior was even more luxurious than its exterior. Johnny followed Wanda, taking in the surroundings: marble floors, gilded railings, mirrors in antique frames. This world felt alien, as if it didn't belong to ordinary people.

They were silent in the elevator. Wanda stared at her reflection in the doors, nervously fidgeting with a ring, while Johnny tried to figure out what kind of help she might need from him.

"Definitely not to fix a leaky faucet," he thought. "Maybe it's a trap? Am I walking into something like black-market surgeons or worse? Fine by me. The cross on my neck demands punishment for sinners, and taking out a couple of thugs earlier was just a warm-up."

When the elevator doors opened, Wanda nodded at him and walked down the hallway. She opened the door to her suite, and as Johnny stepped inside, his gaze was swallowed by the overwhelming luxury.

"You live here alone?" he muttered.

"Yes, but I don't use half the space," Wanda replied, sitting down on the massive canopy bed. She gestured to a chair across from her. "Sit. I need to talk to you."

Johnny sat, tense, waiting to see where this was going.

"Johnny, listen to me carefully. Will you intercourse with me?"

He froze. That was unexpected. His heart, long unfamiliar with surprises, suddenly started pounding wildly. He tried to stay calm, but his voice wavered.

"Why?"

Wanda looked away, then turned back, her expression serious.

"It's simple. In a year to kill me, and I don't want to die a virgin."

"In a year? Is this a prophecy? Who's going to kill you?"

"None of your business," she snapped. "Now, will you help me or not?"

Johnny studied her, trying to make sense of it all.

"Why me?" he asked.

"I found you through magic. You're the one I need. And no, escorts won't do. I want someone who's close to me in spirit, not a paid service. So, you agree?"

Johnny considered. He already realized pressing her about this mysterious killer was pointless. It was a simple yes or no.

He looked at the girl he'd met just 30 minutes ago. A girl with demons the size of horses in her head. The only girl in New York who'd invite guy in room over before a first meeting.

Wanda fit seamlessly into his chaotic life.

"Alright, I'm in," Johnny said, taking off his jacket.