“There’s something else. Something I didn’t notice before, the day she carved herself.”
The day I carved myself. Does she know me? Nausea welled in Ursula’s gut. Something felt wrong. It was too hot in here—too bright. She needed the cool night air, needed to slip into the shadows, to ride the dark wind into cool, quiet space. Her body trembled, and she clamped her eyes shut. She wasn’t sure she could speak, even if she wanted to.
“You remember her?” asked Kester. “She doesn’t know where she came from.”
“That’s for the best,” Emerazel spat. “I want to see her kneel before me.”
The words rang in Ursula’s head, and without thinking, she fell, her knees cracking against the floor. Her body trembled. Emerazel had complete control over her, just as Kester had told her she would.
“A loyal subject to do with as I please. How delicious.” The goddess’s voice hissed like water on a hot stone.
Ursula had no reply, couldn’t meet the goddess’s eyes. Nausea and dread wound through her, curling around her thoughts. I don’t belong here.
“Tell me you’re my subject,” whispered Emerazel.
Ursula felt her mouth moving. “I am your loyal subject,” she intoned. “I am yours.”
A deep laugh rumbled through the room, shaking the floor. “You burn for me.”
With a great force of will, Ursula dared to raise her eyes, though not high enough to meet the goddess’s shining gaze. She stared instead at Emerazel’s lips, cracked into a cinder-flecked smile. She knows something about me. If Ursula had had any control over her own body, she’d have asked what it was.
“Do you remember when she carved herself?” Kester pressed.
“I remember the day, though I didn’t know who she was then. So many souls came to me that day. It was glorious.” An ashy smile played about the goddess’s lips. “That’s all you need to know. I have an assignment for my sniveling little subject.”
Ursula fought against the urge to scream. Her skin was on fire, and she was in the center of a volcano. Pain ripped her mind apart. Why didn’t Kester mind the heat? How could he stand this?
Emerazel’s smile widened. “The target is a particularly delectable soul. He allied himself with me a few months ago. You might have heard of him—Hugo Modes. You’re to collect his soul for me. Do not disappoint me. Kester, give her a ledger. One thousand pages. One page for each task, until the book is full.”
Ursula’s body trembled. Did she say a thousand pages?
Kester nodded. “She’s had no training, so I will go with her on her first assignment.”
“No,” Emerazel bellowed. “I want to see what she can do on her own. And, Kester, when you train her, make sure she remains submissive. Do not go gentle on her. I want this one to obey.”
“Of course,” he said, his tone flat.
“If she needs to die,” Emerazel mused. “Be sure you bring her to me first. I will dispose of her myself. In fact, I rather look forward to it.” Emerazel’s lips began to crumble, and her body collapsed into a pile of ash.
Ursula gasped as cool air filled the room, and the icy winter day returned through the windows. Shaking, she hunched over on her hands and knees, fighting the urge to vomit. Her body twitched uncontrollably. A strong taste of creosote filled her mouth, and sandpaper seemed to line her eyelids. Coughing and gagging, she blinked, trying to force some moisture from her tear ducts.
“That was awful. You didn’t tell me it would be that awful.” She hated the way her voice broke. She didn’t want Kester to see her weakened like this. He already had far too much control over her life.
“Gods below,” said Kester, his voice low. “Your first lesson is never to look directly at her.”
He held out a hand, lifting her up. “Are you all right?”
Too tired to care about her pride, she leaned into him. “I won’t make that mistake again,” she managed. She needed a cool bath, and a long sleep.
Kester slipped an arm around her waist, holding her up, and studied her. “I didn’t know that would happen,” he said quietly. “I’ve never seen her act that way before. And her flames shouldn’t burn one with the mark. I don’t feel her heat when she appears. You were in agony.”
“I thought I was dying.”
“You’ve certainly earned that Mystery Girl nickname.”
She straightened, pulling away from him as the nausea subsided. “I don’t suppose I can convince Emerazel to tell me what she knows about me.”
“She clearly hates you for some reason, so no.”
Trapped in the constant desperation of trying to pay her rent and buy food, she’d ignored the most fundamental question for so long: Who am I? And now it blazed in her mind like Emerazel’s terrifying eyes. “Why would she hate me? What did I do?”