There should have been a pop.

  That was, oddly enough, what Malina thought when she saw Stella pluck out her eye. Yarrien was shouting, on his feet, eyes wide at the scene.

  Malina felt oddly calm. Cold, somehow. There was sweat running down her back –

  – and there should have been a pop.

  She was angry because of that, but it was a distant feeling. The world itself felt distant right now. Instead, her mind was locked on the sickening squelch of Stella digging underneath her eyelid, squeezing her eyeball and plucking it without even a grunt. The offending orb had dangled off her face at first, but the Priestess had squeezed the connecting nerve between her nails until it cut.

  Then it fell off with a final slurp, like someone sucking on noodles – like a taut, wet rope being cut in half, the tension suddenly released. Stella raised one of the orbs – eyes – she had taken from the chest, shriveled and dry, and placed it on the socket.

  When Malina blinked, jaw dangling uselessly, a half-preserved eye was looking back at her, iris bleeding a rusty color into the rest of it. Stella winked at the two of them – with her original eye, of course – opened her arms like a victorious gladiator, and grinned.

  “Ta-da!”

  Malina vomited all over the floor.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, with her clothes and the floor cleaned by a quick miracle from Stella, Malina was sitting on her stool once more with Yarrien at her side and a sighing Priestess in front of her.

  “Well… that was unexpected.”

  Stella said, rubbing her temples, and Malina wished her seat had a back she could curl against. Instead, the girl squirmed uncomfortably. Her stomach’s pain, once limited to the bruises she had accrued from her previous escapade, was now enhanced by the violent contractions of her nausea. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and though it had been fully cleaned, Malina could sense the acidic smell lingering like a ghost.

  Yarrien still looked faintly green, even after his shock had faded and Malina’s sickening show had caused him to echo her distaste for the scene. He was sweaty now, his white shirt glued to his skin, and raised both hands to Stella as if seeking mercy.

  “Please, Priestess. No more.”

  “Bah. Weak-willed. Fine, fine. Although I still need to get the other one in, so you better look away.”

  She shook the other shriveled eye as if it were an ornament, and Malina felt her stomach contract. Without further prompting, the Witch closed her eyes and heard the quick slurp of Stella trading an orb for the other.

  When Malina opened them again, she tried very hard not to stare at the two unnerving bloody spheres now resting at the table, their amber gaze glassy and seemingly moving to follow her every move. Instead, she focused on the Priestess, but the scene was not kinder.

  Stella had used her veil to clean the blood that had dripped, but the thin cloth hadn’t been enough and now she had large scarlet stains over her cheeks. They didn’t seem to bother the Priestess, who was grinning all the while. Still, it was the eyes that unnerved Malina more.

  The young woman had expected them to return to their more living form once Stella worked her magic. Instead, the eyes remained desiccated and dry, too small for the orbits, and Malina feared any jerking movement from the Priestess would have them falling from her face like marbles of a child’s hand. The image was sickening, and only made more uncomfortable by the Flesh Matron lazily blinking at her, one eye after the other.

  Malina raised a warning finger as her stomach contracted, barely managing to keep the nausea at bay.

  “Stop that. Gods Below, I’m gonna be sick again.”

  Stella pouted.

  “You guys are no fun.”

  Malina felt her jaw tighten.

  “And what’s that all about? Whose eyes are that?”

  “Well, that’s a secret first and foremost. And this is how we do things in the upper leagues, child. Consider this your welcome into the secrets.”

  “It’s disgusting!”

  The Flesh Matron rolled her loose, new eyes so hard they danced within their sockets.

  “Your preferences have been duly noted, Malina. Do grow a spine as soon as possible if you can.”

  Malina felt her cheeks darken and crossed her arms, fuming quietly. Yarrien raised a hand, seeking permission, and Stella nodded at him. The young man’s eyes were no longer disgusted – but cautiously fascinated – and Malina couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed.

  “Where did you get the eyes from? An Arcane Beast? They don’t look very… mortal.”

  “Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. These are… special eyes. Well, were. They are carefully preserved tools now.”

  “From a Sorcerer?”

  The young man asked, a small frown on his face as he tried to understand Stella’s words.

  “A Caster, actually. A very particular type. Don’t worry about it. When we took them, the owner’s had no use for them anymore.”

  “Ah. You stole them.”

  Malina felt a vein of her forehead pulse at the commentary as Yarrien nodded, sagely.

  “That’s what you took from all of this?”

  The young man shrugged, and Stella cleared her throat before he could reply.

  “Calm down, children. And yes, Yarrien – for a given meaning of stealing, that is. We did try very hard to convince him to give them willingly, but people are often cagey about their fleshy bits. A pity, really.”

  Malina listened with her mouth open in shock, then raised her hands in defeat. Stella winked at her.

  “Now, a… head’s up. I’m gonna need you guys to hold on to your stomach for this next part. If you do puke over this, I’m going to be really, really mad.”

  Uh-oh. Malina shivered again, looked at Yarrien, and the young man traded quick glances with her. They both swallowed thickly.

  Slowly, like someone uncovering an artifact at an auction, Stella began to pull one last object from the box. Half of Malina wanted to edge away, close her eyes – but she couldn’t deny the fairly fascinating aspect of all of this.

  Her compromise ended up looking more childish than expected – and she did ignore Yarrien’s choked guffaw at her side – but it was with hands over her eyes, fingers separate so she could see between them, that Malina gazed at the last of Stella’s components.

  At first, it looked like a satchel, but only until Stella realized she was holding it upside down and held it properly. It had hair, some remaining black strands that had survived both time and alchemy, and some stubble on its chin though it was hard to guess that when there was no chin left.

  Malina gave up. The image had been printed in her brain with such violence she saw ghosts of it behind her eyelids. When she opened her eyes again, it was still there, blindly sitting on top of the table, placed right in front of them.

  A head. Or what had once been one. Someone had removed the eyes and stitched every hole of the face closed. Malina saw a large, stitched over incision right behind where the feline-looking ears should have been standing up on top of the head instead of sewn onto the scalp. A Cheshire, she dully thought. Malina had expected a human, for some reason.

  It should have been enough to recognize it as a head, but the features were mangled – loose without the bones to support them. She saw Yarrien extend a finger to touch it, eyes glazed over in disgust and fascination, and held his hand back. Malina shook her head until the young man could see her again.

  The message was clear. Don’t touch it. This reeked of powerful magic – the type that would belong in her books, not in front of her. Malina inspected it again, suddenly serious as she held onto Yarrien’s hand.

  A charming aspect? She couldn’t discern it without examining it closer, but the Witch was unwilling to risk it. Touching magic with her bare hands, especially with her Core out for the count due to the mana exhaustion, was a Bad idea. Capital B.

  Regardless, what seemed to fascinate Yarrien could be fought off easily enough. Probably an accidental effect of the magic within. Whoever had done this was much, much more powerful than her – and as Malina examined it from far away, eyes catching the glyphs carved onto the loose skin, she began to understand how it had been done.

  They removed the skull entirely. Is that what the incision is for? But there was something beneath all the loose flesh, giving it a round shape. Malina’s eyes narrowed, becoming purple streaks on her face as her mind reeled with possibilities – an old Witch’s exercise, suddenly receiving a new purpose.

  The brain. Whoever had done this had taken off the skull entirely, then refilled the fleshy remnants with the brain once again, and Malina would bet what she had with her that the other components would be in there as well. Almost like–

  The realization made her almost lose the sudden focus. It had been obvious from the start, especially considering who her sisters were. This… this was a hexbag. A Witch’s deployable spell, made out of someone’s skin and brain instead of the little hemp sacks Malina used. Gods Below, she even had some of her own in her Bag of Holding!

  The Witch raised her head, and found Stella looking at where she was holding Yarrien back, her hand still gripping his arm. The Flesh Matron raised an eyebrow.

  “Sharp reflexes. Kassia would be proud.”

  “What is this, Stella?”

  The Priestess sighed.

  “A type of… sensory spell. A necessary part for the Augury of Genesis to work. It will strengthen the connection to the immaterial so that the Nameless Ones can better participate. Touching it is harmless, but it can be disorienting.”

  Malina tried to parse any falsehood from the words, but she knew too little to better judge it. Worse of it all, she believed in Stella – if anything, the Priestess was being much more forthcoming than usual with her explanations. It made her unnerving, but Malina managed to settle back enough to calm down.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Alright. Alright. Gods Below, is there anything else?”

  She didn’t hold back the bite in her voice, and it seemed to not affect the Priestess in the slightest as she shook her head. If anything, her voice grew excited.

  “Nothing more. Are you two ready?”

  Malina took a deep breath and nodded, settling her heart. She wouldn’t break this early on. Stella looked at Yarrien, and the young man took only a second longer to give his silent assent.

  “Good. Malina, you first. Tell me your name.”

  The Priestess had taken one of the marked seeds onto her hands, holding it between her thumb and index finger like a coin. She barely paid attention to them, shriveled eyes half-covered as she concentrated, but Malina didn’t let that dissuade her.

  “Malina Vizar. Novice Witch.”

  Stella grinned in pure excitement, and flicked the plain seed into the air. Malina saw it spin almost in slow motion, the two different sides almost fighting for dominance. Crossed. Uncrossed. Crossed. Uncrossed.

  Then it fell, without a sound, and all three looked at it.

  “Uncrossed. Alright. Yarrien?”

  The Priestess picked another of the seeds, and Malina felt him squirm under her grip. She quickly removed her hand.

  “Yarrien. Coreless.”

  Another flick – Crossed. Uncrossed. Crossed. Uncrossed – and then it fell within the enneagon Stella had delimited on the table. The seed landed, spun a few more times – and kept on spinning.

  Stella seemed as confused as they were for a second, then looked at Yarrien.

  “Don’t you have a surname, child?”

  The young man paused, then his expression turned the sourest Malina had even seen. A mix of anger and repulsion that left her frowning, wondering what was going on. Some sort of silent communication was shared between the two, Stella’s gaze echoing a smidgeon of pity, and that seemed to break enough of him.

  When he spoke, it was with enough poison to leave Nintrakilous salivating if he were here.

  “Yarrien Ofricken. Coreless.”

  The seed settled. Crossed.

  Malina wanted to ask, but the young man’s expression remained stormy. She focused on Stella, instead.

  “Good. Now, you two, follow my voice – and touch our little friend over there. Let’s see what the Gods have in store for today.”

  Yarrien moved first, so quickly Malina barely relaxed before she saw his hand move. Quickly, before she could think, the Witch moved as well. Both of them touched the head at the same time.

  For Yarrien, without the experience to better parse this feeling, it was like a shock onto his soul – like hitting his elbow in just the right spot so it would make him yelp.

  For Malina, who breathed magic from as soon as she was born and prayed at the altars of The Nameless Ones, the sensation was unmistaken. A hundred fingers, clasping at her, holding her in place – then pulling her down.

  Down. Down. The world began to melt around them, both Witch and mortal looking wide-eyed as the walls folded like wet paper and stone dripped like ink.

  Then, without a sound, they fell through.

  ***

  They were falling – and then they were no more.

  The dull thud of her behind striking packed dirt should have been unfamiliar to Malina, if she were better, but it brought only memories of her failed attempt at climbing down from her window early tonight.

  Gods Below, that was just a few hours ago. It felt like days. Malina got up, shaking her head, coughing at the dust cloud that surrounded her from her bad landing, squinting to see past it. She waved a hand, took a step–

  –And then, light. A muted, yellow color, almost fuzzy to the touch as it glowed down from far above her – a ceiling so tall she could not see it. When she looked up, there was only the vague outline of… lines? Cracks? It was difficult to surmise from this far away, and she could barely see it due to the brilliance.

  There was a grunt, and Malina was pulled out of her musings. Looking around, she soon found another dust cloud, slowly fading as gravity did its work on the dust, and revealing a prone Yarrien. Her concerns forgotten, she kneeled beside him as fast as she could move.

  “Hellfire! Everything alright?”

  “Ugh, yeah. Just – shit!”

  Yarrien tried to move and Malina saw the pain reflected on his face. The young Witch narrowed her gaze, searching for what was wrong, and found Yarrien flinching after she patted down his bad leg. She rolled up his pants, nonchalantly taking in the sight of a limb consumed by Rot.

  The pale, already dead-looking skin had turned into a blue mishmash of different bruised tones. Malina saw clean holes on the back of his calf, the enlarged pores dyed black around the edges with the telltale signs of necrosis. From before the medicine? If she knew it correctly, whatever the Coven had made for him was enough to slow the disease’s advance, though far from a perfect cure.

  Still, despite the strong smell of burnt Corpse Roses that seemed to emanate from the leg, hiding away the fetid underlying scent of decay the disease was known to give, it was Yarrien’s ankle that made Malina curse again. The area was a swollen purple, the fragile skin rupturing in places and letting the dark, corrupted blood that circulated the area ooze out like a thick sludge. Malina shot him a questioning look as she prodded the area.

  “It’s the fall. The bones are fragile as well, must have fallen badly with it and… well, you see it now.”

  He chortled, a choked sound that made Malina wince. The young woman looked around, and there was an archway on the opposite side to the one they had fallen. Were those… words on it? Like the walls around them, it had been built out of black stone bricks, carefully designed pillars standing every few meters with the filigree at the top and bottom made out of old, burnished gold that no longer shone.

  There were odd increments as well. Places on the walls where one of the bricks would have a handle attached to its front, like a drawer. She had no idea what those were for, and with Yarrien wounded also unwilling to explore.

  “We need to move. Find out what in the Hells we’re supposed to do.”

  “Maybe ask Stella about it?”

  Yarrien said, pointing at something on Malina. She frowned, and looked down. Hanging from a necklace upside down, the neck’s skin serving as the opening of the hexbag, the shriveled head was struggling against the stitches on its mouth, trying to speak.

  Malina groaned.

  “Oh, come on!”

  Looking around, the young woman tried to find something to cut the stitches off, and discovered her Bag of Holding was still hanging from her waist. With a quick check to see if it worked – and sighing in relief when it did – Malina picked one of her stashed, emergency knives and sliced at the bindings.

  Stella’s voice came out oddly clear – the same sultry, deep tone Malina was accustomed to, now spilling out from the lips of a desecrated corpse.

  “Well, finally! Everything alright down there, children?”

  Oh, Malina hated her sister just a bit at that.

  “Stella! Where have you sent us now?”

  “Don’t shriek, Malina. It’s unbecoming of you. And that’s the Augury – I’ve told you touching it could be disorienting.”

  That damn… Malina bit on her own arm and gave out a muffled scream, to which Stella laughed at.

  “Now, now, everything is fine. The fall hurts a bit, but it’s tradition to let the Initiated experience this without warning. Relax, alright? I’ll guide you through it.”

  “Fine? Fine? Yarrien broke his leg, sister! How is he supposed to walk when he can’t even stand!”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Oh, right… Yeah – that would be bad. Hold on. Uhmm.”

  The head went silent again, Malina tapping her foot on the dirt floor as Yarrien kept looking at her funny. She shot him a glare.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  The young man raised his hands in self-defense, a barely contained smile playing on his lips. Malina huffed and kept on waiting, arms crossed over her chest. When the head spoke again, Stella’s voice seemed to come from far away before getting closer.

  “Alright. Everything should be set now. You two need to go down the–”

  Malina frowned heavier, interrupting.

  “What did you do?”

  “Hm? I healed him. His ankle splintered quite badly. Do try not to get hurt over there. Anyways, as I was saying–”

  “Stella! It didn’t work.”

  Malina was looking at the wound, still oozing that dark, cold blood. Running as molasses, like from the sugarmakers that lived outside the city. Fear began to creep in, her apprehension further enhanced by Yarrien’s confusion.

  “Explain.”

  The Flesh Matron’s word came as an order, brooking no argument. Malina was thankful for that.

  “It’s still bleeding. Swollen. Can you move it?”

  She asked Yarrien, and the young man tried. He gave up a half-second later, a choked grunt escaping him. He shook his head at Malina, looking scared.

  “He can’t walk.”

  The silence was what unnerved her most. The two of them waiting for a response, Yarrien’s face a rictus of pain and regret – one that worried Malina, who was too anxious to put on the usual snarl.

  “That shouldn’t happen. Malina, do you have the components for a healing spell?”

  She did – Malina knew the contents of her Bag of Holding like the back of her hand, a necessary knowledge for any Caster that needed physical means to cast magic. The only problem was…

  Mana exhaustion. Malina felt the heartache of regret climbing from her stomach. She had everything necessary – except for the most crucial aspect of them all, magic.

  And she didn’t have any of them as a hexbag. The easily deployable spells, pre-charged by her own mana, were made only out of the spells she had on her Grimoire – the ones she had used to graduate from an Apprentice to a Novice – and that didn’t include a healing one.

  Hindsight was a bitch. Malina looked at Yarrien’s hopeful gaze, and felt her heart shrivel just a bit. Still, there was a decision to be made.

  Should she lie? She could tell Stella she didn’t have the components. That she had nothing on her Bag of Holding but her ready-to-go spells and her knives. A small mistake, it would be. Malina could even tell her she didn’t have the right Meaning to do a healing spell. Something to be expected from a novice Witch.

  “I’m in mana exhaustion. I can’t cast anything.”

  Malina spoke, loud enough for both of them to hear it. Honesty wasn’t something she had expected from herself. Yarrien’s eyes were locked onto her own, searching for something, and the young woman looked away.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t think of saying that, young lady? Are you serious? Mana exhaustion? Didn’t you think that was something important to bring up?”

  Malina’s cheeks darkened in embarrassment. Stella’s tirade was long and ugly, but eventually she settled down, though the Witch’s ears were ringing still.

  “Ugh. Fine. Malina – you need to go forward on your own. I’ll guide you through it. Yarrien, I’m sorry child, but there’s something wrong going on. We’ll have to postpone your Initiation to a later date.”

  The young man paled. His lips trembled, his hands shook against the dirt ground he was sitting on, nails digging into the earth. Malina saw the tears beginning to gather on his dead eyes and looked away.

  She could hear the sound of a quill scratching on parchment. A debt she couldn’t repay. Malina was shaking herself.

  “Wait. Wait!”

  “What is it now, Malina?”

  The young Witch hated how much Stella’s tone made her quake, but she bit on her lower lip until the pain surpassed whatever hubris she had right now.

  “I’ll carry him. We just need to get to the other side, right? Past the arch or whatever?”

  “That’s not how it works. The Augury of Genesis can’t be done together.”

  “Why not?”

  Malina was looking at Yarrien now. Purple eyes certain, seeking confirmation from him. A question, but also an apology. He met her with certainty.

  “That’s… things don’t work like that, Malina. You can’t barge through someone else's–”

  “That’s not a reason, Stella. Is there anything that would stop us from doing that?”

  She stopped the Priestess before she could go further. There was grumbling from the head.

  “...No.”

  “Alright. Gods Below. Okay, we’re doing this.”

  She nodded, more to herself than anyone else. Malina set herself beside Yarrien, his arm across her shoulders, and nodded at him. He was crying, cleaning his tears with his other hand, but Malina didn’t react to it. Crying was good, right now.

  “Ready?”

  “You’re mad, Mal.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Okay – one, two, three…”

  Both managed to get to their feet, and the weight of Yarrien’s body was nothing to scoff at. Still, Malina kept quiet.

  “Thank you.”

  Yarrien whispered. Malina didn’t look at him any longer.

  “Stella, where to?”

  “You need to walk down the hallway. The doors should be at the end of it. I’ll throw the seeds when you’re closer. And Mal?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful. One change heralds many more.”

  Malina grunted, adjusting Yarrien’s weight on her shoulders. She tried not to think about the veiled anxiety in Stella's voice and how that made her heart dance. Instead, together, they took their first step, and began to limp towards the entrance.