“Ooh, I know. How about…the Diocese of Depravity?”

“No.”

“The Pain Parade.”

“No.”

Dahlia spun on her heel, practically skipping along the path as they walked. “I’ve got it! We’ll be the Sisterhood of Slaughter!”

Nil glared at her, tugging at the brim of her hat to keep her eyes shielded from the midday sun. “You’re doing this for the sole purpose of irritating me, yes?”

“Of course not!” Dahlia said, pouting. “Come on, Nil, what kind of villainous duo doesn’t even have a name? A title to properly instill hopelessness and terror in the hearts of any that would dare oppose us?”

“By the Gods, woman!” Cried a muffled voice from within Dahlia’s travel sack. “Dost thou never cease thine incessant nattering?!”

Dahlia paused to reach into her bag, fishing blindly for a moment or two until drawing forth the curmudgeonly old undead. She propped Augustus’ skull up on one palm, holding him aloft at roughly eye level as if he were walking alongside them, supported by an invisible body. 

“Sorry to say, Gus, but you aren’t the first to render that complaint and you almost certainly won’t be the last. Can’t stand the quiet, y’see. Makes me antsy.” She grinned mischievously. “Now maybe if we had somebody, I don’t know, old as dirt around to regale us with tales of the old days, that could really make the hours fly by…”

Augustus snorted derisively. “Thine taunts art as pointless as they art childish, hellspawn. As I have told thee already, the spell imprisoning mine spirit within these bones forces mine hand in guiding thee, and nothing more. Thou shalt wheedle no secrets from me, filth.”

“Whew.” Dahlia shot Nil a sidelong glance. “Tough nut to crack.”

“Were I not reduced to this wretched state,” Augustus went on, his voice increasing in volume and spite, “I would take great satisfaction in slaying the both of thee. Doubtless, the suffering of countless innocents could be averted, if I could but smite thee here and now.”

“Mm.” Nil gave the skull a nonchalant smile. “Shame about the way things turned out then, isn’t it?”

Despite his lack of flesh, Dahlia could have sworn to seeing Augustus sneer. “Wouldst thou like to know how many of thine wretched kind hast fallen to mine hammer, goblin? Truth be told I have long lost count, but be assured thou wouldst not be among the first hundred slain by-”

Nil’s dagger spun through the air and cracked hilt-first against the skull’s forehead, knocking it from Dahlia’s hand. The emberling jerked back, startled, as Augustus bounced into the grass beside the path.

“Augh!” He sputtered, “H-how dare thee-!”

But Nil was already upon him, cutting off any further protests with a wad of dirt kicked into Augustus’ bony face. 

“And how does it feel, you worthless old bastard?” She hissed, looming predatorily over him – the goblin bent low, lips peeling back over her fangs. “Whoever you were before, that’s over. Gone. You’re nothing more than a glorified compass now. I’m going to use you to give this world everything it deserves – and you won’t be able to do anything but watch, just as helpless and pathetic as you are right now. Maybe, when I’m done, I’ll put you on a shelf somewhere. A nice little glass case where you can sit and quietly go insane for the rest of eternity. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Nil stood and turned her back before Augustus could respond. “Stuff this sorry old fool back where he belongs and let’s get moving. It’ll be getting dark soon.” With that, the goblin tossed her hair with a sharp motion and stalked briskly away down the path, leaving the others in her wake.

Dahlia blew a breath through pursed lips and bent to retrieve the skull, taking a moment to brush away the dirt clogging his jaw and eye sockets.

“I have decided, hellspawn,” Augustus said, “that I prefer thine company greatly to that of the goblin.”

“Yeah, well. You were kind of asking for that one.”

Augustus grunted noncommittally and Dahlia resumed her pace, quickly enough to at least keep the witch in view. Nil was right – the shadows of the surrounding trees had begun to grow long, stretching out over the path like gnarled fingers. They would likely have to find somewhere to camp within the next hour or so.

“These art… strange days.” Augustus mumbled to himself. “Nothing of the world is as I remember it, I… I believe that perhaps I have been indisposed for a very long time indeed.”

Dahlia pressed a finger into one cheek. “Hmmm, well, y’know, if only you had someone around who could get you up to speed…”

Augustus scowled. “As if I could trust anything out of thine lying mouth, devil.”

“Nahh, see, you’ve got me all wrong.” The emberling raised a fist, turning to look up into the middle distance. “There is no room in Dahlia Scratch’s wicked heart for subtlety or deceit. The terror I inflict must be straightforward and to the point, like a fist in the teeth.” She grinned at the skull. “I would never lie to ya, little buddy.”

“Hmph. Even if I were inclined to believe thee, I know thine kind. Thou givest nothing freely.”

“Nothin’ in life’s free, right?”

“A bargain, then.”

Apropos of nothing, the emberling did a little spin on her toes. “Well, sure! It’s easy, I won’t even make you sign away your soul or nothin’. You tell me somethin’ about whenever you’re from, and I’ll tell you somethin’ about now. Deal?”

Dahlia hooked her free arm at the elbow, sticking her hand out toward the skull. Augustus glared at it for a moment.

“…Fine. But be assured, hellspawn, that I shall render no information which might assist thee in thine villainous pursuits.”

Dahlia’s grin widened a little. “Deal.”

“What dost thou wish to know?”

The emberling tapped thoughtfully at her chin. “Hmm. Something simple, for starters. I wanna know who you were – before, you know.” She waved a hand in a circular motion around the skull. “All this.”

Augustus cleared his throat, despite the fact he did not have one to clear, and turned his gaze toward the path ahead. “Mine name is Augustus Quontifex Philorium the Third, which I have told thee already. In life, I was a cleric in service of the great Avanaeus, Divinity of beginnings, of hope, of creation itself. I served for many years, with faith and humility to rival the greatest of the saints. And I died with honor, fighting for all that is good and just in the world.” The incandescent orbs of his eyes shifted towards Dahlia, narrowing. “Which a Villain such as thee would, of course, know nothing about.”

“True that.” Dalia said cheerfully. “Nothing but pain and damnation for me, all the way down. See, Gus, I think we’re already on the fast track to a truly awful working relationship. Now, what is it you were curious about?”

The skull went silent for a moment, watching Nil walk ahead of them. “The goblin. It vexes me.”

“I think you vex each other.”

“Thou mistakest mine meaning. Where is the creature’s pack? How is it that it speaketh the common tongue, or…this garbled and degenerate form of the common tongue, at the very least. In all mine days, never hath I encountered one of the little beasts without two score more hiding in the bushes nearby, slavering for blood. A creature such as this is unheard of.”

Dahlia cocked her head to one side. “I’m…not sure I understand.”

Augustus uttered a series of half–formed, sputtering sounds of exasperation. “They are murderers! Scavengers! I could not give thee wisdom more commonly known without stating that the sun riseth in the morning! Even now, this one surely plans to open thine throat at the first sign of passivity! How can such a thing be unknown to thee?!”

“Well, sure.” Dahlia said, chuckling. “She’s told me as much. Perfect working relationship for a duo of Villains, if you ask me.” The emberling slowed her pace to strike a series of theatrical poses as she spoke. “The constant threat of betrayal! Knives ever posed at one another’s backs, with only our shared purpose creating the faintest illusion of trust.” She nodded to herself. “Keeps ya on your toes.”

The skull’s jaw worked silently for a moment. “Ah.” Augustus said at last, a trembling weakness in his voice, “I have found myself in the company of a beast and a madwoman. Avanaeus protect us all.”

Late afternoon had given way to evening by the time the pair found themselves exiting the small forest they had spent the better part of the day traipsing through. A smattering of structures some mile or so ahead revealed themselves once they were clear of the tree line, breaking up the otherwise steady line of the prairie’s horizon. To their right, a gently rising mountain range cast its shadow over the town; Dahlia could not help but notice something vast and white poking out from between the peaks. It looked like some sort of enormous stone cylinder had been laid between the mountaintops – somewhat like a glacier, perhaps, but not shaped by the rises and crevasses of the mountains the way such a feature would have been.

The town took shape as they drew closer, revealing itself as a moderately sized hamlet – and a relatively wealthy one too, judging by the quality of the architecture. A protective wall had been constructed around the entire township, as was common practice for anything much larger than a village within the Inner Tamewylds; while roving beasts or bands of marauders might not have been commonplace this close to Dianaphon, the possibility of such things remained ever-present.

“Alright,” Nil said, “I don’t personally feel like sleeping in the dirt tonight, so we ought to get our story straight ahead of time.”

“Our story?”

“Indeed.” The goblin tilted her head, one eye peering up from under the shadow of her hat. “Listen, Dahlia, I know that you and the concept of subtlety are strangers to one another, but we currently have in our possession an artifact that the entire Triumvirate empire will be looking for. That means every member of every city guard, every bureaucrat lickspittle, and every peasant hoping to curry a scrap of favor with the Chancellor could be on the lookout for us. You want to get your hands on the Opus, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Lovely. Then you’ll agree that it would be best to remain alive and clear of the dungeons long enough to gather all these pieces that the Key speaks of.” Nil clasped her hands behind her back, turning her gaze to the township before them. “Loudly declaring our names and intent to every passerby will ill serve that goal.”

Dahlia’s brow creased. “Worked pretty well for me so far.”

Nil rolled her eyes. “I’m sure. But it is only recently that you have found yourself the most wanted woman in all of Qorth. Trust me when I say it might behoove you to try a more delicate approach.”

“Hmm.” Dahlia rubbed at her chin with a thumb and forefinger. “This kind of sneaky stuff isn’t really my bag, but I guess I take your point. You got something in mind?”

“Always. Keep your mouth shut and follow my lead, and we’ll be just fine.”

The main gate stood open as they approached, a signal of welcome to travelers passing through the area and a symbol of the relative tranquility of the Inner Tamewylds. Whatever one’s opinion of the Triumvirate, it could not be denied that the long arm of the Holy Edict’s influence had made this part of the countryside a safer place for modest towns like this one. A pair of tired-looking human guards flanked either side of the gate, leaning on their halberds; their eyes lingered on the women as they passed through.

“Welcome to Kaldemere.” One of the guards grumbled, just enough of a tang of hostility in his voice for it to be noticeable. Dahlia turned a smile in his direction, and was rewarded with only a deepening of the man’s line-etched frown.

“Didn’t seem all that welcoming, if you ask me.” Dahlia said quietly, once they had walked out of earshot.

Nil glanced at her. “You haven’t spent a lot of time around these parts, have you?”

The emberling shrugged. “I do a lot of traveling. Why?”

“No particular reason.” Nil said noncommittally. “I wouldn’t pay much mind. You’ll get used to it.”

The impression of simple wealth that Kaldemere gave from a distance held true as the pair walked down the wide central street. The buildings were austere and well-maintained, built uniformly from a pale gray stone, likely mined from the mountains nearby. Finely-made shop signs and Triumvirate banners swayed lightly in the evening breeze, the day’s last few customers bustling here and there along the street, putting in a last-minute order or two before the shops put up their shutters for the night.

There was a detail or two, however, that stood out to Nil as she and Dahlia walked along, searching the little market sector they’d found themselves in for an inn or tavern. In several places, she spotted odd structures – small platforms built into walls or roofs with irregularly shaped chunks of white marble jutting up from their surfaces, making her think of some sort of decoration that had been defaced or broken away. Then there were the beggars – a surprising number of destitute-looking townsfolk peered out at them from alleys and side streets as she and Dahlia passed, their hooded, miserable gazes following the women until they walked out of sight. Down the road a ways, a pack of dusty children were playing a game that seemed to involve rolling stones into one another. 

“Pretty quiet little burg, huh?” Dahlia said. She raised a furtive palm towards a passing citizen in greeting, who responded by hurrying down the street like a bug from under an upturned rock. 

“Quiet is fine by me.” Nil gestured ahead, where the hanging wooden sign for the local inn had just come into view. “Come on, I’m looking forward to getting off my feet for the day.”

The inn was a two-story structure near the end of the street, a wide porch laid out with several sets of tables and chairs adorning the front of the building with a clay-shingled awning hanging out above it to protect those in the outer seating area from the rain. Warm lantern-light spilled out and across the porch from several windows lining the front wall, casting blurry amber rectangles of light onto the street. A sign hanging from the end corner of the awning gave the place’s name as the Divine’s Rest Inn; inscribed underneath were the words NO VACANCY, with a sliding wooden panel currently covering the ‘NO’. 

Dahlia and Nil pushed through the heavy double-doors and into the foyer. As was the case with so many of such establishments, the first floor of the Divine’s Rest served as a tavern, and a finely furnished one at that; the tables, chairs and bar looked to be pure elsperwood, carved all by the same artisan; blown glass lanterns were installed along the walls, spreading just enough light to give the place a dim, cozy atmosphere. A large crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling, diffusing illumination where the lanterns did not. And yet, for all its modest splendor, the tavern seemed fallen into a certain undeniable disrepair. Much of the room had gone without a proper dusting long enough for it to become conspicuous, and the mirrored shelf dominating the far wall was spotted with tarnish and sparsely stocked with half-empty bottles of liquor. 

This sense of disrepair seemed to have seeped into the patrons as well. Though the place was relatively well-attended, that feeling of weary quiet pervading the town at large was present here as well. Customers grumbled to one another in muted tones or did not speak at all, nursing their drinks while staring off at nothing in particular – the loudest thing in the bar was a tableful of dwarves off in one corner, playing what sounded like a fairly intense game of cards. Everyone other than the dwarves looked up as the two women entered, fixing them with heavy-lidded, sullen stares.

Nil wasted little time, walking purposefully toward the bar with a swaying, confident gait that drew the attention of more than one of the languishing customers. Dahlia jolted, having been momentarily pinned in place by the withering glares of the patronage, and hurried to catch up with the goblin as she marched up to the bar. The innkeeper was a somewhat disheveled-looking human on the wrong side of middle-age, with a bent and swollen nose that gave the impression of a man perhaps a bit too fond of his own wares. He watched them approach with a look of poorly-concealed suspicion.

The innkeeper stretched an unconvincing smile across his bristly face as they approached, setting aside the glass he had been working in vain to un-smudge. “Welcome to the Divine’s Rest, girls. Always good to see new faces passing through. What can I do for ya?”

Nil gave the man a tight smile of the patently false sort that made his own expression wither a degree or two. “Nothing extravagant, sir. My associate and I are simply in need of lodgings for the evening.”

“Ahh, well.” The innkeeper’s expression shifted to one of slightly over-exaggerated chagrin. “Suppose I worried that might be the case, the two of ya bein’ new arrivals and all. Sorry to say, but I’m afraid we’re all booked up at present.”

“Aw, rats.” Said Dahlia, beginning to turn toward the door. “Well, maybe we can see if there’s-“

She paused. Nil had laid a hand gently on her forearm, her serene, ice-blue eyes still fixed on the innkeeper.

“That’s the funniest thing,” the goblin said, “since your sign out front seemed to suggest otherwise.”

The man’s eyes narrowed for an instant before his smile redoubled, apologetic. “Right, right – my apologies on that as well. Must’ve forgotten to move the shutter after we filled the last room. I have to use a little hook on the end of a stick, you see, it’s a whole ordeal.” He spread his hands in a shrug. “Again, my apologies. Is there anything else I can do for you girls?”

“You can start referring to us with the proper respect, for one thing.” Nil said, her tone still perfectly conversational. The innkeeper’s smile wilted in earnest this time. “Given that I am fairly certain my associate and I are both well past prepubescence. After that, you can put away this little charade and rent us a room for the night.” She tilted her head condescendingly, her little cat’s smile curling slightly further at the edges. “That is, if your hands aren’t too taken by the liquor-shakes to find us a key?”

The room around them went silent. Dahlia stood up a bit straighter, the back of her neck prickling with the realization that every eye in the tavern was now focused firmly on the two of them. Even the party of dwarves looked up, realizing after a few seconds they had become the only source of noise in the room. The men sitting along the bar on either side, slumped and half-asleep a moment ago, had begun to exude a palpable aura of threat.

“Now, you listen to me, girl.” The innkeeper growled. All semblance of hospitality had evaporated. “I’m not sure what it is you think you’re tryin’ to pull, but this here is a respectable establishment.” He jammed a meaty finger slowly down onto the countertop for emphasis. “We don’t cheat, we don’t haggle, and we especially don’t put up with uppity little zyv tarts struttin’ in from who knows where and actin’ like they know what’s what. So the next thing you’re gonna do is turn around and walk out that door, or we are really about to have ourselves a problem.”

Nil sighed theatrically, turning her attention to Dahlia. “You see, Brunhilda? This is exactly what I was talking about. Even this close to the city, these backwater yokels spend a little too long away from their betters and lose all respect for the proper order of things.” She shook her head. “It’s more tragic than anything, really.”

Dahlia crossed her arms, screwing her face up into a scowl. “That’s certainly one way to put it, milady.”

The look of scorn on the big human’s face flickered uncertainly. “Huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Nil continued, “Did you somehow fail to notice that my dress alone is worth more than this sorry little hovel probably makes in a year? Your eyes have hardly left my chest for this entire conversation, after all.”

His eyes moved across her in a burst of jerking movements, evidently taking in the quality of Nil’s garb for the first time. “I wasn’t… uh…”

“Brunhilda, my dear, do us all a favor and introduce me, won’t you?” The witch reached up to toss her hair over one shoulder. “I need a moment to collect myself, or I fear I might lose my temper quite catastrophically.”

Dahlia lifted her chin to glare at the innkeeper down the angular ridge of her nose – not an unimpressive feat, considering that he towered over her by a head or more. “The woman you’ve spent the last few minutes blatantly disrespecting is Countess Thistle of house Bittern, daughter of Count Skwirm and heiress apparent of all the holdings of house Bittern.” She narrowed her eyes, letting her upper lip pull back to reveal a hint of her teeth. “Shall I recite the possible legal ramifications of such a gross breach of etiquette, milady?”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Nil said, flapping a wrist lightly in the emberling’s direction. “Honestly, Brunhilda, the travails of the road have left me just about spent, and I’d like nothing more than to simply put this whole rotten business behind me and get some rest.” She turned an angelic smile on the innkeeper. “You can help with that, can’t you, you fat-fingered, whiskey-sodden old piece of shit?”

A fly buzzed through the air somewhere in the room behind them, the sound of its wings clear as a church bell in the deathly silence. The whole being of the man behind the bar seemed to have diminished, his skin going the color of a dead fish, greasy sweat standing out on his long forehead; every patron sitting at the bar had suddenly begun making a concerted effort to pretend as if they did not exist. 

“Of course, milady.” He croaked in a tremulous voice. “A thousand pardons, milady.”

“Mmm, I’m sure.” Nil had become a cat, toying with an enormous mouse. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a coin purse, picking out a single nicked silver coin and sliding it across the bar with the tip of a claw. “This will do for the night, yes? “

Head bobbing up and down manically, the innkeeper reached under the bar and drew forth a key affixed with a small wooden tag displaying the room number.

“Would you look at that, Brunhilda! It seems they had a room left after all. How ever could I have guessed.” The goblin inclined her head toward the key and began to walk away, making for one of the staircases curving up and away from either side of the bar. Holding stern eye contact with the man behind the bar, Dahlia swept the key from the counter and moved to follow her.

Nil paused a few steps from the ground floor, one hand on the banister as she turned. “Oh, one last thing, my good man. I don’t recall ever getting your name.”

“M-Mortin, milady. ” He stammered. “Mortin Hebert.”

“Mm. Perhaps, if you’re lucky, I won’t remember it. Sleep well, Mr. Hebert.” Nil said sweetly, turning to make her way up the stairs and out of sight. 

“Whew.” Dahlia said, joining her on the upper floor a few moments later. “You really had him wriggling on the line, huh?”

Nil stood at the top of the staircase, surveying the hallway that branched off into the inn’s bedrooms. “He’ll live.” She shrugged. “Or maybe he won’t. Myocardial infarctions put down humans his age all the time.”

“Myo-what?”

“Heart attacks.” Nil said casually. “Which room, love?”

“Oh, right.” Dahlia squinted at the key. “Uh, number four. On the left.”

Door number four opened into a small but comfortable-looking room, more or less matching the style and general quality of the tavern below. A single bed sat against the east wall, once quite luxurious but far gone to fraying and sagging, a small combination desk and dresser tucked into the corner opposite it – if a chair had been present for the desk at one point, it was no longer. A chipped mirror sat forlornly atop the desk, reflecting the dying light from the singular window set into the far wall.

Dahlia paused just past the doorway, an odd look coming over her face. “Oh. Just the one bed, huh?”

“Looks that way.” Nil put both hands on the mattress and heaved herself up and onto the edge until she sat with her stubby legs dangling halfway to the floor. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, remember?”

“No no, yeah, no problem, totally on board, I just, uh.” Dahlia fidgeted, poking a toe against the floorboards. “If there’s just the one, how are we gonna…”

Nil gave her a flat look. “You’re going to sleep on the floor. Obviously.”

“Right! The floor. Obviously.” Dahlia pushed the door behind her shut with her heel. “Ha ha. Dumb question.”

Nil watched impassively as her new traveling companion shifted uncertainly in the small space – levering herself down into a sitting position, scooting back and forth with the scraping of armor on wood for a moment, then getting up to reposition herself before repeating the entire process again.

“You put on a passable show down there.” Nil said, kicking off her slippers and letting them fall to the floor beside the bed. “If nothing else, I can admit to your having a certain talent for the dramatic.”

Dahlia looked up, pausing in her attempt to scooch her spine awkwardly into a corner. She smirked. “Listen, lady, drama is what I do. Well, that and unspeakable evil, sending the souls of the innocent shrieking into the mouth of the Inferno, et cetera, but without the drama all that’s just…” Her face scrunched up thoughtfully. “I don’t know. But it certainly isn’t as fun.”

“Fun.” Nil pushed the word past her lips like the taste of it displeased her. “Is that what drove you to this… well, I’m not sure profession is the right word. The need for entertainment?”

Dahlia waved a dismissive hand. “Hey, don’t get me wrong – once the great and terrible Dahlia Scratch gets her hands on the Opus, the world is gonna see a reckoning the likes of which would give you nightmares for the rest of your life. Maybe longer.” She grinned. “But I mean, no reason not to have a little fun along the way.”

“I see.”

“What do you think that was all about, anyway?” The emberling inclined her head toward the door. “With the bartender. Seemed like a lot of trouble over nothing, if he had the room and all.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. Do you think he was on to us?”

It was difficult to read the look Nil gave her, but the sense of weariness in the goblin’s eyes stood out. She shook her head slowly. “No, Dahlia. I would be surprised if news of our little heist made it this far this quickly.” Nil leaned forward, crossing her arms over her thighs. “Where did you say you were from, again?”

“I didn’t.” Dahlia cleared her throat and gave her best elusive smile. “The land of my origin is one cloaked in darkness and mystery. Were I even to describe it, you might run the risk of being driven insane by fear.”

The goblin gave no reaction at all. “Not one of the Inner Cities, then.”

Dahlia’s mouth opened, closed. She pursed her lips, squinting. “You might have to define that term for me.”

“Dianaphon. Fornoth. Bruised Anvil, maybe.” Nil rolled her wrist in a circular motion. “Metropolitan population centers. Buildings taller than two stories?”

“Never heard of ’em.” Dahlia said. “Actually, Adley might’ve mentioned having family in Broken Anvil.”

“Bruised.” Nil corrected. She waved a palm, putting the thought aside. “Let’s not worry about that for now. I think I’ve got you figured out.” The witch laced her fingers together, resting her chin over the arch. “Your focus. It is your breastplate, is it not?”

Dahlia’s expression went quizzical. “My what?”

“Don’t play dumb. I have seen you perform the same gesture multiple times before casting a spell.” Nil said impatiently. “The smoke trick, crashing the engine car. I assume the hole melted in the side of the vault was your doing as well. You’ve got your formulae carved into the inside of your armor there, I’m sure of it. Creative, I suppose. Amateurish, but creative.”

“Oh, no, no. I’ve got no head for that kind of stuff. No, see, what I do comes from what I am,” Dahlia grunted, using the wall to push back onto her feet, “which is the very avatar of evil itself. The scion of darkness, delivered unto the world of men to torment and destroy those foolish enough to stand against the end of all things.” She clenched a fist, eyes shining as she stared up and into the middle distance. “My power comes not from magic, but from the fury crackling within my own blackened heart! I am pain, and fear, and death, and will burn this world clean in the flames of my hatred!”

Nil looked on, nonplussed, letting an awkward silence build for a moment or two. “Dahlia, has anyone ever explained the concept of ‘delusions of grandeur’ to you?”

“I mean yeah, probably.” Dahlia plopped to the floor, hands grasping her ankles as she crossed her legs beneath her. It would have been difficult for her to have looked less like the avatar of pure evil without physically transforming into a puppy. “But what’s that got to do with me?”

Nil chuckled in spite of herself. “You’re a bit of an odd duck, aren’t you?”

“People keep telling me that.”

“Well, whatever the case, you ought to be careful.” Nil said. “Doesn’t much matter what you call it – if anyone in polite society catches you doing anything that even looks like magic, your life – and currently by extension mine – is going to get much harder, very quickly.”

“Huh?” Dahlia said quizzically. “Why’s that?”

“You’re on Triumvirate land now, love. Practicing magic-” she shook her head, “-no, simply being one of our kind is punishable by a lifetime of imprisonment. Unless you’re sanctioned by the Arcanum, and only the nobility have access to that privilege.”

Dahlia’s brow furrowed. Suddenly she sat up straight, snapping her fingers. “That’s why you keep your book hidden, right?”

Nil’s eyebrows went up. In the same instant, a leather-bound tome faded into existence on the mattress beside her, complete with latch and hook connecting it to the wide belt around her waist. “Caught that, did you.” 

“Showed up just about every time you were…” Dahlia waggled a handful of outstretched fingers. “But it was never there the next time I looked. Figured it had to be something like that. So, what’s your deal, anyway?”

The witch smirked, incredulous. “My deal?”

“Yeah, you know. I told you just about everything about me that matters.”

“Indeed you did.” Nil said mildly. “You really ought to be less trusting, Dahlia.”

“C’moooon.” Dahlia groaned. “We’re gonna be stuck together for who knows how long, you gotta give me something.”

Nil took off her hat and set it on the bed behind her, taking a moment to shake her hair out over her shoulders – it was perfect, of course, gleaming in luxurious chocolate-brown waves down to the small of her back. She leaned back on one arm, looking unbearably smug. “I don’t actually think I need to do anything of the sort. Seems to me if I wait long enough, you’ll get around to telling me just about everything I could possibly want to know, and then some.”

Dahlia sighed and let her head droop toward her chest. “This is gonna be a long trip.”

“Entirely possible.” Nil yawned, stretching with one arm curled behind her head. “You can do as you please, but I’m going to sleep. If you leave the room, the bag stays. Can’t have you sneaking off in the middle of the night.”

“Fine.”

“I’m a very light sleeper. Try anything, and I promise you’ll regret it.”

“I’m not gonna try anything.” Dahlia grumbled.

Evidently satisfied, the witch reached over and retrieved her hat, flipping it upside down and reaching inside the cone as Dahlia watched. When she pulled her hand out, a nightgown of pale blue satin and lace came with it. Nil set the gown neatly aside, leaned over to hang her hat on the headboard, and reached behind her neck with both hands to begin unbuttoning her collar.

“Hey!” Dahlia said, on her feet so suddenly that Nil almost jumped with surprise, “I think I heard something out in the hall! I’m going to just, uh, investigate really quick.”

Nil’s ears twitched and perked up. “…I didn’t hear anything.”

“Can’t be too careful, right? Be back before you miss me!”

Nil opened her mouth to respond, but the emberling had already pushed through the door and out of sight. “Really,” she murmured to herself, “what a strange girl.”