Humid air clung to Trinity like second skin, seeping into her pores and pulling a sharp, sour stench from her flesh. It reminded her of forgotten meat, buried in the back of a fridge until summer returned and soured the air. Even worse, it made the itch unbearable.

  "I don't have all day, Vivian." Her voice came tight and forced, jaw clenched to stifle the snarl threatening to rise.

  The one who brought her had long since vanished, a mistake she realized too late. The house loomed over her now, its presence more daunting up close. Windows gleamed like black glass, reflecting her gaunt face. Skin stretched tight over bones that seemed to ache more with each passing day. The sun, once a beloved comfort, now sapped her energy, leeching away what little strength she had left. She ran her dry tongue over her teeth, annoyed at the rough catch of it against the jagged edges, like sandpaper scraping stone.

  "How long are you going to pretend I'm not here?"

  Her voice was low, steady. Her gaze fixed on the shadow that glided inside. The figure paused, raising a hand in mock acknowledgment... middle finger raised delicately in reply. She bit her lip, glaring until the acrid taste of black blood filled her mouth. The air shimmered before her, like heat rising off asphalt. The urge to reach out, to test the ripple with her fingers, gnawed at her, but the voices whispered their warning.

  Ward. Strong. Controlled, but rotten beneath.

  Memories stirred in her mind, not hers, but those she'd carried for lifetimes. Faces blurred together: a laughing boy balancing on her shoulders in Santa Barbara; a trembling broker clutching a bottle in a Broad Street office; a nurse pressing a blood-soaked rag to a man's Trench foot while fighting to stifle her own sobs. A thousand memories bled together, each flickering behind her eyes, their emotions draping over her.

  But then came one sharper than the rest; Jay's smile. Bright and warm, it cut through the noise. Their home unraveled before her; sunlight trickling through the blinds, motes of dust dancing in the air, the scent of burnt coffee in the kitchen. He was sitting on the floor, half-built shelves scattered around him, frowning as he cursed the instructions. Trinity reached for him, craving the warmth of his presence...

  But the vison bled away, and Jay’s face, once full of laughter, withered. Skin peeled, eyes hollowed, the smile began gaunt and bled. She extended her arms, inhaling sharply while her hands passed through him like smoke. Their home blackened and crumbled, until she stood in the cold, oppressive air of Qwen's throne room.

  "Have you made progress in convincing Vivian to join me?" Qwen's voice slithered through the air, each word curling against her skin.

  She opened her mouth but stilled caught when she saw the body sprawled before her. Skin stripped away in patches; glyphs carved deep into exposed muscle. Black blood pooled around him, coagulated and dark.

  "Should I repeat myself?" Qwen rose from her throne, her beastly ward trailing close, a child tethered to its mother. Her face hardened, gaze narrowing like a blade. Every step Qwen took towards Jay pierced her unbeating heart.

  “There’s a ward on the house,” Trinity uttered, grasping at anything to shift the attention away from him. “Strong but rotten. It’ll be a while to get in.”

  Before Trinity could ask, seven figures entered through the open doors, each draped in maroon robes. One brushed Trinity’s shoulder, its presence a whisper, then it passed through her. A flicker of something frigid and wrong twisted in her gut.

  “There he lays.”

  Qwen’s voice dropped into a purr, and the robed figures swarmed Jay’s body. Her scowl curled into a grin as her skin rippled and shifted. Features blurred and reformed: an old man with sunken cheeks, a raven-haired woman with a hooked nose, and then, the nurse who treated the Trench foot.

  “Jay’s resurrection will be complete soon,” Qwen’s voice slithered through her ever-changing lips, “I have a conference to attend. Do not fail me.” The grin sharpened.

  “Jay...” Trinity whispered. Her voice cracked, hungry...inhuman.

  Then- the world jolted, and she startled.

  The odor of rusted iron and earth filled her senses. Chains rattled when she moved, and her neck met resistance. Confined...caged. She took in the thick iron bars surrounding her, slick with age and something darker. The phantom aches of Qwen’s magic lingering her chest. Her body trembled- not of out fear, but fury.

  “He’s not gone, and neither am I.”

  The cage dangled in the air, suspended by chains that disappeared into the darkness above. It creaked with the weight of her movement, and she narrowed her eyes. The air around shifted, thick with a strange, oppressive energy. Footsteps came close, slow, deliberate, tapping the floor with the rhythmic sound of a cane.

  “That wench has always been impatient.”

  The voice was gravel, worn with age yet sharp enough to flay.

  Each tap of the cane echoed in her chest and briefly she imagined it her heart. The room seemed to stretch, the shadows curling and twisting with a life of their own. She whipped her head toward the sound. The fireplace casting flickering shadows across the walls, odd, since she was sure there was no chimney. Her claws tapped against the cage and her muscles coiled, preparing for anything. She was used to being on edge, but this felt different. It wasn’t the familiar dance of predator and prey.

  The cane clicked once more, closer now.

  “You’re far too tense, host.” Like honey thickened with rot. The voice seeped into her ears, settling in her mind as if it had always been there.

  She tried to pinpoint its source, but the flames never quite reached their face…or body for that matter. There, but not. A specter seen at the edge of sight, only for them to blink out. It was as unsettling.

  “You must be Vivian.” Her voice was steadier than she felt.

  There was a soft wet chuckle, almost a snort, followed by the sound of the cane rapping twice.

  “Qwen never understood how vulnerable her host are when she does her mind bullshit.”

  Trinity tensed. She knew better than to take the bait. Vivian didn’t elaborate. Didn’t speak again. Fine. She tilted her head, voice riddled with fake sweetness, “Let me guess, you already know what our Qwenie wants.”

  A shuffle of movement, and then- there. A figure emerged from the shadows, just outside the light of the fire. It was like staring at a phantom. But not in the way Qwen’s illusion worked. Not an ethereal, intangible specter. This was real, alive and ancient. In a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

  “Always demanding more than she deserves, and when she does…. people break.”

  An elderly woman stood before her, hunched and frail, eyed obscured by the matted black hair. Her skin was thin, the veins tracing the light brown surface like cracked earth. The woman’s lips curled into a faint smile and her hands, gnarled with age, gripped the cane with surprising force.

  Trinity’s smirk faded. This was not the Vivian Qwen had showed her. The figure wasn’t like she depicted. She squinted, mind racing. She pictured it perfectly: convince Vivian, by force if needed, then prance her ass back to Washington, where Jay will be waiting.

  “...I take it you and Qwen have history.”

  “History is subjective when you become my age.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The breath of her words rushed into Trinity’s left ear, causing her to whip her head towards the source. Nothing there but a foul stench.

  “Qwen has her little tricks, doesn’t she? But she’s not the first to think they can control everything they touch.”

  “Tell me how you captured me?”

  Vivian's pushed the hair from her dark eyes. There was a depth to them, a history too vast to comprehend.

  “Captured? Who said you were captured?”

  Her throat tightened, unease creeping in. She didn’t like the way the words hit the air, weighted. One that suffocated, for just a moment.

  "Qwen may think she has the upper hand, but Qwen doesn't understand..." Vivian’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for Trinity’s ears.

  Her form shimmered, like ripples on a pond, a kaleidoscope of colors, and Trinity’s eyes blurred with tears. There were many, too many.

  Then Vivian took a step forward, the cane tapping lightly one last time created a thunderous boom. Shadows drew back, revealing nothing more than what she had deduced:

  A dark room, no fireplace, her in a cage, and Vivan, now settled in a rocker. Past the elder, she stiffened. An obscured yet familiar figure stood in one of the windows.

  Thats- that's m-

  “When you manipulate pieces on the board, there are those who learn your pattern, and one day...they’ll move on their own.”

  *~*~*

  “Welcome to Boones Blood Magic! Please watch your step as you browse our catalog! For personal potions and/or spells please see one of our specialists up front. Thank you for shopping!”

  “Do you think it breathes oxygen?” Parasita cocked her head and Khalia shrugged, catching the eye of their fixation.

  Her ears rang with the dull, steady tone of a flatline, as if her brain had stopped processing sound for a moment.

  The thing was... wrong.

  It looked like a squid, vaguely humanoid, if you squinted and were generous with your definition. Its body was a lumpen mess, playdough shaped by a toddler's hands. A translucent membrane stretched too thin over twisting muscle and pulsing veins. Lidless eyes blinked out of sync, one narrowing to a slit while the other dilated.

  The creature’s beak clicked softly as it dipped into a bow, tentacles fluttering with anticipation as it waddled to them. Sea salt and rotten fish settled on the back of her tongue the closer it came, and she recoiled instinctively, composure thinning.

  “Hello shoppers! Welcome to Boone’s Blood Magic! The greatest emporium for all your needs! Travellers? Tourist, looking to spice up your romance? With our skilled specialist, you never have to worry about shortages or knockoffs!”

  The word snapped from its beak with such force, a glob a spit launched onto her shirt. It didn’t seem to notice - or care, not missing a beat as it circled them, eyeing Diem and his scowl.

  “Ah a Lycan! I have just the thing for you!”

  She upturned her nose as a glistening tentacle curled up toward Diem’s face, a brown vial stuck to a sucker like a wart.

  “Is your special someone struggling to reproduce? Having trouble getting in the mood? Difficulty finding that elusive egg-”

  “E-egg!” Her voice cracked in horror.

  “Well, here we have it! 40 IU/L of LH! Enough to have your partner feeling like a-”

  Diem cut the creature off with a sharp wave of his hand. The look he shot the squid was beyond startled, something Khalia hadn’t expected.

  “Oh, shy? Don’t worry! Our products have been thoroughly tested, even on unfortunate Kirmas like your lovely mate! Would you like to try a sample?”

  Before either could object, a tentacle popped the cork with a wet slurp then shoved the vial beneath her nose.

  She gagged instantly.

  The smell a toxic blend of acrid onions and sweet citrus. Her stomach rolled and she staggered back, thrashing her hands upward. The vial made a popping noise as it fell off the squid's sucker. The liquid coated her hands and arms. While it didn’t burn, it tingled. An invasive sensation under her skin, like her nerves were being strummed.

  “Ugh!” Parasita hissed, before baring her fangs. The young Diem pup tilted its head, then chuffed.

  Squid beast reeled back, stunned by her slap. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from Diem’s throat, thunder caught in a cage. The squid’s eyes synced up and widened, its tentacles freezing mid-air.

  “H-hah! Haha-oh! Ahem, customer enthusiasm! Yes, we like that here! Wonderful!”

  With a nervous chuckle, it slapped a slimy sticker onto Khalia’s cleavage and bolted, tentacles bumbling, disappearing around a tall shelf.

  Khalia blinked in stunned silence. A thick smear of translucent goo shined beneath the slimy label stuck to her shirt. Diem walked over and peeled the sticker off with two claws, holding it up with a frown.

  “Five thousand,” he said flatly.

  “Five thousand what?” she rubbed her tingling hands on her thighs. The sensation was fading, but now her palms smelled vile.

  “Dollars.”

  Khalia choked.

  “Dollahs? I didn’t buy anything! I didn’t even want to breathe near that-that-”

  “I know,” he spoke calmly. “Emporiums like these, touch counts as intent. Flawed system of magic consumerism.”

  Khalia stared at him, mouth agape. “Humans call that a scam,” she rubbed her temples slowly.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it my unemployed Luna.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his teasing, catching the way he was sniffing subtly at the air around her.

  A flick of the nose here.

  A sharp inhale there.

  “Diem,” she warned.

  He looked, eyes slightly glazed, then he was alert once more. She took a step in the direction the squid ran. It being only logical he’d hide, and what better place than a back office.

  They moved deeper into the store. A labyrinth of aisles stretched before them, stacked with glowing jars, whispering tomes, and artifacts that blinked when you stared too long. Then a voice: sharp, cheery, and painfully high-pitched crackled over the store intercom.

  “T-hank you for shopping at Boone’s Blood Magic! For questions, credits, or returns, please see Lydia Boone at the front counter! As always, we appreciate you!”

  She looked at Diem just as the aisle they were in opened into a large oval-shape space. The ceiling stretched high above, an open sky of color that shimmered like the Northern Lights. Walls made of stone arched inward, alive with gentle pulses of magic. And before them, dozens, maybe hundreds, of creatures bustled about.

  Beasts. Humanoids. Ethereal phantoms that moved like mist beside solid bodies. Some walked. Others hovered, crawled, or simply pulsed forward. There one second, gone the next. No violence, just movement.

  Purpose.

  Leisure.

  Khalia’s eyes watered, the sheer wrongness of the place battling the beauty. Her brain haphazardly tried to categorize what she saw- to make sense of centaurs gossiping to sentient puddles, or a dragon delicately picking through a clearance bin of expired charms.

  “Okay,” she wiped her cheeks. “This is… something. God I’m going to need tons of therapy.”

  She nudged Diem, then began weaving through the crowd toward it, trying not to gape at the checkouts as they passed.

  Seven broad aisles stretching out from the opposite far end, each ending at a distinct checkout, marked by tall arches with glowing signage. They shimmered a different hue, a swirling script that looked jumbled. English and something else, the letters bent impossibly, twisted between runes and symbols and runes. She squinted, trying to read.

  Potion…? Arti...

  She rubbed her eyes. When she glanced again, the signs had changed. Solidified too English. Her face scrunched. “Those are oddly specific.”

  ? Potion

  ? Artifacts

  ? Curse & Hex

  ? Groceries

  ? Weapon Enchantments

  ? Spiritual Bindings

  ? Soul Transfer or Restoration

  Diem made no comment, but she sensed him burning a hole in the back of her head, as if watching for cracks. People, families, and creatures queued up, chatting casually, but what happened on the other side was far from ordinary.

  At Soul Transfer or Restoration, a hunched man with papery skin passed through- and emerged a young child, hair brown, eyes innocent, mouth bold...and his left arm missing.

  She winced.

  Further down, a massive four-legged beast lumbered through the Spiritual Bindings archway a limp body cradled in its giant arms- and exited as the thin body, a woman, in a gray hoodie. Her eyes glowed faintly yet the smile she bore didn’t reach them.

  At Groceries, a family moved with ease. Two goat-like humanoids, and she assumed their bipedal children, all bleating with laughter as their bags were scanned. They passed through the arch unscathed.

  “Everything here has a price.” Diem whispered beside her, his voice a welcomed brush of heat.

  Her gaze drifted to Curse & Hex, where a woman screamed, her angelic face newly wrinkled. Hair thinned and stripped of color. She walked at a brittle pace.

  What would this place take from me?

  Her thoughts drifted to him, the pup. That tiny version of Diem, curled quietly beside Parasita in her mind. His soft snore, the way his ears twitched, so much of him seemed unbothered by what's happening.

  They reached the manager’s counter, a flat obsidian slab with no visible drawers or tools, just a brass bell in the center and a strange sigil carved beneath it. The air around it buzzed.

  She raised a brow and glanced at Diem.

  “Well… let’s see what the price of answers cost.”

  Then rang the bell.